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cryinginthebackseat · 4 years

Text

initials t.c.

Fandom: Open Heart

Pairing: Tobias Carrick x MC

Words: 7.299 (I’M SO SORRY)

Summary: Tobias Carrick makes Claire an offer she can’t refuse.

Warnings: 50% plot, 50% smut, swear-a-thon, blasphemy

Author’s Note: when the book first introduced us to tobias carrick, the first thing that hit my mind was “okay, but that dude is like the carbon copy of jesse williams and that’s hot” but then, once it reveals who he is and what’s his role in the book i went “interestinggggggg” cause you know, i’m a sucker for morally grey characters and all, and i’m not even ashamed to admit it. also, carrick is shaping up to be such an interesting character with each chapter and maybe one day- okay, maybe this sounds like a pipe dream- but one day, i hope he can be a li (let a girl dream plz) lmao

also if anyone’s interested, i made a PLAYLIST to accompany reading the fic.

the title is inspired by serge gainsbourg’s initials bb

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Cast down off heaven Cast down on my knees I’ve lain with the devil Cursed god above Forsaken heaven

To Bring You My Love - PJ Harvey

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Whenever Claire thinks about Tobias Carrick, admittedly, unfortunately, tragically, she always thinks about his eyes first before remembering what a colossal pain in the ass he is.

It always comes in that order. Like the number 3 always comes before 4, like the seawater dragging back from the shoreline before a tsunami occurs, like pouring milk before the cereal (she honestly didn’t get what the fuss is about until one day Elijah cried ‘oh, hell no you don’t, satan!‘ one morning and proceeded to give her bullet points why pouring the milk before the cereal is considered a sin and more of an abomination than Nephilims’ existence and that there’s a higher probability that she’s a psycho for being a ‘milk first’ kind of person). So apparently, Claire’s a psycho now which explains so many aspects- but she digresses and the point is, the reaction is uncontrollable and she high-key hates how she can’t control her goddamn mind most of the time.

The point is, she needs to stop thinking about him to begin with.

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Claire Castelnuovo was born in the summer, under the sign of Gemini. Marilyn Monroe once said that stands for intellect, being a Gemini, but she was too blissfully unaware of this guerdon that she devoted her adolescent years to being outdoors instead. Too many days she spent trampling along the cornfields with her cousins until the skies faded out with brilliant purple-tinged amber and she was carrying a piece of the sun in her skin and smelled like one, stuffing wildflowers inside her boots as she walked around the neighborhood with her dad’s old stethoscope, napping in a hammock with Oasis’ All Around the World on repeat. By the time she hit 15, her black strands had turned brown from repeated sun exposure. She loved it.

But it was a different time, a different place. Somewhere that only exists on the margins of her memories, lost and hidden.

Now, Claire prefers the night.

It’s 9:30 pm when she arrives at a hotel bar in downtown Boston. A newly christened establishment which has somehow become a regular spot for Hemingway’s enthusiasts once the Boston Globe wrote an article about their Hemingway Daiquiri and how, as they wrote it, ‘probably the only place that’s brave and crazy enough to adhere to the 1930s original recipe’ and bourgeois party birds at wee hours during the weekend.

Her eyes are gritty, dry and strange. Her mind’s much worse for the wear- she feels like shit, like in the middle of watching that scene from The Green Mile shit when all is hopeless and you feel like walking out of the theater, but you’ve spent your last savings just to buy the ticket, so you decide to stick through it.

Claire makes a beeline for the bar, tries to flag down the bartender. She orders an Old Fashioned, making sure to specify to double it because she’s not a regular here and he’s not Reggie and that’s how she’s been taking her drink for years.

She knows well deep in her bones that she should be somewhere else. Somewhere more familiar, somewhere where Tim Mcgraw often plays from the subpar speakers, and the rustic wooden bar countertop is gouging and discoloring from the cheap household cleaners and alcohol stains, and her friends are cramming together in the same booth in the back, reveling and laughing until they close the bar down and make a mess all over. Perhaps it’s a mistake coming here, where no one’s a familiar face and the drinks are a tad overpriced for her budget.

But then, perhaps this is exactly what she needs; the unfamiliarity, the visceral feeling knowing that she doesn’t belong here, where no one knows her name and the huge deal of weight she’s currently carrying on her shoulders. Perhaps, she can’t face her friends after what happened, after what Esme has done. Shit, how could any of this happen? Claire knows this all on Esme’s, but her guilt has grown hopelessly tangled with her anxiety. She’s her intern, for fuck’s sake, Claire’s supposed to prevent this from happening in the first place.

Man, where’s Declan Nash when she feels like punching someone in the face?

Claire makes the mistake of drinking her drink too quickly, because it hasn’t been ten minutes and she’s drained half of the content. Then she reaches for her phone in her bag, fiddles with it, absent-minded, equal parts bored before then settles on watching the band performing Art Pepper’s You Go To My Head and immediately thinks of that time she accidentally dropped her brother’s saxophone in a moment of her rather graceless, wine-soaked self with the whole family present.

Someone plops down on the empty stool next to her. Claire’s now scrolling through her phone- again, bored. Sienna commented on the post Elijah shared to the group chat with a few unnecessary-yet-totally-necessary emojis to the already convoluted series of texts and Claire only reads them in silence, not only because her friends’ texting behaviors are too chaotic for her to follow sometimes but she’s not really feeling like talking to anyone right now.

“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in.”

Famous last words.

Claire freezes in her seat. Her phone’s still glowing in her hand, alighting her features. She recognizes that voice- too well, that is and it’s enough to set off her flight-or-fight response.

She glances up from her phone, preparing for the worst.

Well, what’s presented before her is literally the worst.

“Of all the gin joints…” she says once her eyes find Tobias Carrick sitting next to her, still in his work shirt, sleeves rolled-up, a few buttons undone, reeking of smoke, soap and antiseptic with a shit-eating grin plastered over his face.

She should have gone to Donahue’s instead.

“Evening to you too, Castelnuovo. Drinking your dinner tonight, I see?”

“What, this? No, this is breakfast. 100% daily value of alcohol and pretty much nothing else. I mean, it’s not the weekend without a bad case of hangover and an aspirin snowglobe in the morning, am I right? You know, like a glass of aspirin? Not a literal snowglobe?” she blabbers, realizing just so by the time she hears him snort. Claire chokes down another sip to shut her mouth up. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m about to commit first-degree murder and burn this whole place to the ground,” he drawls, the ever goddamn sarcastic. “What do you think? I’m trying to get dru-”

“No, I mean what are you doing here, of all places? Can’t you get drunk somewhere else?” she interrupts, her midwest accent does funny things to the vowels and consonants- something that only happens whenever she’s in distress, or at least according to Jackie.

“Last time I heard, this joint’s still owned by the Hilton, not a certain junior member of the Diagnostics Team at Edenbrook hospital.”

“Dude, what do you think of the H in Claire H. Castelnuovo stands for?” Deadpan, trying to keep up with the rolling sarcasm, she retorts. He smirks.

“Horatio?”

“Get the fuck out of here,” she mutters, mid-eye-roll, mid-snickering.

He chuckles, his voice rich and smoky amidst the late-night swing and distant chatters. Carrick doesn’t leave, of course, typically him- if those anecdotes Ethan told her has taught her anything about his character, that is- defying everything, scheming his way to the top, the embodiment of ‘those devilish boys with their heavenly eyes’ type your mother warns you about.

Not that the latter is relevant.

“Or what?” His mouth twitches but there’s a hard, challenging light in his eyes that she knows too well by now.

“Or I’m leaving.“ She shoots him a glare. He’s testing her patience- again, like it’s his finesse. Some things never change, it seems.

“Come on, Castelnuovo, don’t be a sourpuss. The night is young and I can promise you, the last thing I am is a horrible drinking buddy.”

With a touch of irony, she replies: “I’m sure. I bet you asked your friends to fill out a questionnaire every time you went out with them, did you?”

Carrick hums.

“You’re funny.” But he says it in the same tone that someone might say Jesus fuck, you’re probably one of the most frustrating creatures I’ve ever laid eyes on. Also, because the next thing he says is: “A little rough around the edges, but funny nonetheless.”

“That makes one of us then.”

Carrick frowns, which is kind of a surprise because she’s half expected him to flash her that signature cheeky grin of his.

“Listen, I’m just trying to make a friendly conversation here. I know we haven’t really seen eye-to-eye with each othe-”

Claire snorts and crosses her arms over her chest. “That, doctor, is an understatement of the fucking century.”

“Okay so, we’re like Tom and Jerry but sans the background music and a naive little duckling running around calling one of us his momma, but I feel like now’s the time to call out a temporary truce between us.” A beat, then: “I heard about what happened with the intern.”

Something flashes across her face- and Carrick must have noticed it, because his face does this odd thing- it softens, even for a moment. She hates it. He’s not supposed to be looking at her like that, not supposed to see her at her weakest state or saved her ass- And Jesus, why does she have to be indebted to Tobias Carrick, of all people- But god forbid, the last thing she’ll ever do is crying in front of him.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she mutters, barely audible, trying to temper her fluctuated emotions.

“Then don’t. We can talk about anything else or fall into some sort of endless, meaningless platitudes. Whichever will work.” As if sensing Claire’s lingering hesitation, he adds. “Tell you what, to sweeten the offer, your next drinks are on me.”

She assesses him for a long minute, eyes narrowing. She’s shaking her head, but her mouth, as if against her will, instead says: “Careful, Carrick, there’s a chance I’ll be abusing that offer and run you dry.”

"Hey, if you want to butcher your liver so bad, don’t stop on my account,” he says. “Don’t worry, though, I’ll make sure to save your ass again this time around. Pro bono.”

Claire looks as if she’s just swallowed a dead rat. “Thanks, but no thanks. Death seems more like an appealing choice.”

“Well, I stopped death from interfering then, I’ll stop it again.” Carrick winks, she pretends to gag again yet remains still in her seat, so Carrick waves at the bartender for their order- she orders for a refill and he, a martini and Claire is this close from asking 'shaken or stirred?’ but then remembers who he is and immediately washes the question down with her drink.

“You know, if anyone told me weeks ago that I’d be having a drink with you tonight, I probably would have socked them.“

Carrick is in the middle of lighting his cigarette, but laughs instead. “The Times They Are a-Changin’, as Bob Dylan said.” A puff of smoke escapes his mouth, curling around his fingers. Claire instinctively looks away. “Which reminds me of that one time your mentor sang Ballad of A Thin Man on the fucking subway when we were 20.”

She swivels her head to his direction, on the verge of choking on her drink. “Hold on, hold on, Ethan Jonah Ramsey sings?”

“Give him a dare he couldn’t refuse and a few shots of whiskey, and I promise you he’ll sing like Sinatra on crack.” He grins, his eyes are all crinkled and bright; she thinks that means he’s genuinely amused. “Ah, good times. We were like- wait, who was it he’d like to say we’re like again?”

A small smile pulls at her lips. “Bert and Ernie.”

“Jesus, he really fucking compares us to some Sesame Street characters, huh?” She laughs at that, loud and bright. He does the same. “Personally, I’d always say we were like Butch and Sundance back then- rebels with a cause, a band of misfits, trying to leave our marks on the world. You know those types. We were young, we wanted so much- I still do. I mean, let’s be real, whoever’s wanted to be defeated at their own game?”

A crease forms between her eyebrows, not quite a frown.

“Nobody,” Claire concurs, hating herself for it. “But was it worth it? Betraying the closest thing you had to a brother or a lover…” Carrick coughs on his smoke from the latter. “or whatever in the process just to get what you wanted?” Claire was obviously aiming for that brash, hard-hitting jab, but it lands gloriously too soft.

The bartender finally places their ordered drinks down on the bar. Carrick reaches for it, taking a careful swig, then sets his glass down. He takes a deep breath.

"It’s nothing personal. It never was. I never considered him as my rival.”

“Yeah, but by doing whatever you did, you’ve made an enemy out of him,” she counters. “Look, Carrick, I know we live in a dog-eat-dog world and I know being good sometimes doesn’t get the job done. Perhaps Machiavelli was right. Perhaps, when necessary, you have to be ruthless, dissembling and manoeuvring- what did he say again? ‘The end justifies the means’? But if any worthwhile end can justify the means to attain it, if everyone outright surrenders to their darker side, then what’s left of our humanity?”

For an interminable moment, there is only silence. He simply stares at her, as if she’s a walking, talking Rubik’s cube he can’t solve or a book that he has opened and now he’s got to know so much more and she feels pinned under those warm irises, uneasy.

Suddenly, his mouth begins to take shape; the corners hike up, stretch and then he does the unexpected.

The bastard fucking laughs.

“Excuse me?!” she spits, white-hot anger lacing each word. Carrick laughs harder- the audacity- despite Claire’s growing razor’s edge stare. “Did you just laugh at me? I was being fucking seriou-”

“Sorry, sorry.” Wiping an imaginary tear from his left eye. “I was just remembering Harper’s words. She’s right, you really are on the side of the angels, aren’t you?”

She points at him with her glass, snarling. “And you, mister, are the devil himself with a medical degree and an egg head- and I don’t mean the slang for a highly academic person.”

“Ouch,” Carrick says out loud, still kind of laughing, borderline frowning. “Okay, I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“Damn straight. Though you have a lot to apologize for.”

He groans. “Don’t tell me you’re still pissed about that one patient I stole under your nose?”

“The North remembers, ser,” she says, mean-spirited.

“Then does the North remembers that I saved her life?”

“Oh, so you’re discrediting the efforts of the other doctors that helped you make the cure?”

“Alright, alright. You win.” Carrick holds up his hands, the universal gesture of defeat and takes one final drag of his cigarette. He stubs it out, all the while keeping his gaze on her.

“So, how exactly can I make it up to you?“

Claire blinks- once, twice, thrice, realizing his intent. His voice drops an octave and he’s leaning in, close enough for her to notice the constellations of freckles splaying across his face and the way his brown eyes glinted like two shots of whiskey under a stream of light, intense and all-consuming. She feels her mind races, her brains feel as if they underwent a short-circuit and get caught on fire, and the fact that her mind’s on the precipice of exploring the idea is not helping.

A burst of laughter erupts from her throat, not that it’s funny- there’s nothing funny about the situation, but someone ought to diffuse this shift of tension between them, or that was her aim, at least.

“What, you wanna pay me back?” she asks, trying to keep her voice from cracking but failing miserably. Fingers trembling against her glass as she chugs nearly a quarter of her drink in one go.

He notices that.

"A Lannister always pays his debts, does he? If you think that I owe you one, then I’ll gladly pay.” His eyes flick back to her face, searing into her. The air crackles between them. The band is playing a different song now, a sound that only exists on the margin of her attention. If they’re in, say a mid 2000s rom-com movie, someone would probably interrupt this moment and save her from this. But this isn’t a movie.

Claire licks her lips, a candid reaction which encourages him to inch closer- or is it her? She can’t tell anymore. Tracing odd patterns on the palm of her hand with his finger and oh god, this is Carrick, the bane of her fucking existence, she’d shoot him first before she kisses him. But something about the prospect of fucking this bastard twists her insides deliciously into a confused mess.

“How? By fucking me?” she inquires, feigning scandalized- all that Catholic guilt bullshit.

He grins, all-teeth and wolfish and shrugs as if they’re talking about his life insurance policy or shit. “Well, that’s the idea.”

“But you don’t even like me.” It should come out as I don’t even like you, but even she knows that’ll be just another lie she tells.

“On the contrary, I enjoy our rivalry far more than I should, Castelnuovo,” he purrs and places a hand on her knee. Her throat bobs. She’s wearing a skirt, it didn’t seem important then, but now his hand feels warm against her skin, dangling on the edge of impropriety. Like gravity, all it takes is a little push for him to cross that line.

“I should be disliking the way you talk to me, challenging me and putting me on the back foot every goddamn time. I should be focusing on taking you down a peg, but the more I see you, the more I realize you have an attractive kind of power. And I’m just one man. And if there’s anything I learned, the only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.”

But then his movement suddenly ceases. Claire almost asks why.

"However…”

“What?” she stares up at him, eyes wide, breath hitching.

“However if you only accept alcohol as the currency for transactions, then I’ll tell the bartender to get us another round instead,“ he tells her, offering her one last chance to back out from this, from making this mistake with him.

Claire stares into her drink, actually mulling this over. Her mind tells her no, but the other part- the alcohol-infused part of her mind- whispers otherwise. She imagines if Ethan or any of her friends are here, they would probably grab her shoulder and shake the living hell out of her for even reconsidering his offer.

But then again, intelligence, alcohol and desperation have always had a bad history of getting along together.

“What about June?” Claire asks against her better judgement, after a long, considerable pause. Carrick raises a confused brow.

“What about her?”

“I thought you guys…” she trails off, makes a face, feeling all-kind of flustered and aroused and wow, she’s really doing this, huh? “I mean, I don’t know- I don’t wanna get in between you guys.”

“Nah. It was only a three time thing, but there’s never been anything between us.” He chuckles at Claire’s askance look. “If you don’t believe me, you can fact-check it with the woman herself,” Carrick adds, looking at her dead-on with his eyes like he wants to get the message across.

She regards him silently for a long second, and maybe she’s a touch drunk now, maybe the bartender put something in her drink, or maybe she just needs to blow off some steam after what’s been happening in these past few weeks and Carrick happens to be a decent warm body for the occasion, but Claire finds herself shifting closer.

"Then I want you to pay me back.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah,” she answers, more sure this time, more determined.

Her nose bumps his, his breath fanning across her face all the while Carrick’s slightly pushing her skirt up, letting his fingertips travel higher. His eyes keep darting back and forth from her eyes and lips, checking for her reaction. There is no inhibition here, not anymore. People might be watching- heck, they could be already watching and it terrifies her that she doesn’t give a damn about it.

“But if you tell anyone about this, I swear to god… ” she warns and a shadow of mirth passes across his eyes, making her almost regretting this. Almost.

“Claire, darling.” It’s the first time he’s ever said her name and her stomach does a tango. “Your secret is safe with me.“ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

He gets them a room in the hotel, it’s on the twentieth floor. Carrick handles the accommodation- he can afford it, apparently, which is not really surprising and the nuisating check-in procedure while Claire only waits in the lobby like a beautiful, agitated china doll amidst the turbulent sea the whole time until he comes back, flashes the room key at her and beckons her to follow.

She goes ahead of him, but he catches up. His body heat sends her anxiety rocketing sky-high through the roof as they walk next to each other, hands briefly brushing against one another but she ignores that (or at least she tries).

They are silent in the elevator, they are silent even once they reach the designated floor and walk down the hall to their room where the dim and shadowed lights follow their steps like vultures.

Carrick holds open the door for her and she enters, taking in the windows and the striking view of Boston skyline peeking behind the curtains, the TV and the queen-sized bed. The latter does nothing to assuage the anticipation that’s bubbling in the pit of her stomach, by the way.

Claire hears him shut the door, locking both bolts. She peers at him over her shoulder, half-turned, one eye on him. Their eyes meet, neither speaks. He’s taking off his black peacoat, back against the door, he’s looking at her as if wanting her is his full-time occupation and the realizations comes in like a mule kick, how that tiny voice inside her head, the one that tells her that this is a bad idea and she’s better off leaving never comes.

The room is not considerably huge (with $110 per night, you would have expected you’d get a bigger room), he could easily have her in six large steps, yet he stands there. Sizing her up, smirking rather devilishly, handsomely as if challenging her to make the first move. It’s another fucking game with him. A display of power, waiting who would fall first.

Claire finally turns around to face him. With a renowned determination, she removes her coat, letting it fall unceremoniously onto the carpeted floor. Her blouse follows next and her skirt, which she tugs it oh so slowly down her legs.

Carrick’s eyes widen, if she doesn’t know better, she thinks he’s speechless. He takes a deep breath, his gaze religiously following every movement as she twirls around once more to unhook her bra. His jaw clenches and unclenches. He’s having a hard time keeping himself in check which she takes an immense pleasure in. Claire just wants to see the man squirm for a change, even if she has to shed every article of clothing she wears.

By the time she slips off of her underwear, she is breathing raggedly. He hasn’t yet approached her so she crawls onto the bed, lying on her back with one elbow props her up, legs crossed. She kicks off her heels, rolls down her stockings with a bit of that noir come-hither, Lauren Bacall-esque heavy bedroom eyes.

Finally, Carrick steps closer until he’s only a hair’s breadth away, like a target, filling her line of sight. The tension in the room is hot enough to send the thermometer reaching its maximum limit and she’s burning, burning, burning right through the core.

Claire cranes her head up to meet his gaze, noticing the way he’s drinking in her body like a pirate ogling a bottle of rum. High-strung, tense, Carrick lowers his head to her, his fingers carding through her long hair. Dimness consumes him raw, his silhouette is starting to find its place amongst the shadows except for his eyes. Never does the fire in his eyes falter, merely alight.

They are already nose-to-nose when Claire suddenly raises her hand over his lips. He withdraws from her, looking confused and hot and bothered.

“Take a seat over there, will you?” She motions to the settee near the bed, her tone leaving no room for argument.

He smirks, but she can see his bravado if faltering. “Ordering me around in the bed now, are we?”

“Didn’t you say tonight is about you making it up to me?”

“Touche, touche.” Carrick straightens his posture and makes his way to the settee across from her, shifting uncomfortably in his seat given the growing issue in his pants.

With eyes still trained to his, Claire cups her own breast, fingers pinching her pebbled nipple before the same hand travels lower down her stomach, her thighs. Carrick leans forward in his seat, obviously liking where this is going before Claire slowly and teasingly part her legs for him to see.

A surprised groan escapes him.

“Jesus, Claire,” Carrick hisses. “Fuck, I didn’t know you’re a goddamn tease.”

She doesn’t bother replying to him, but a winning grin finds its way across her face as she lays on her back, her shame and modesty are distant, knees pulled up so he can have a clear view of her. With two fingers, she runs them along her folds, dragging them slowly up to her clit. Claire imagines they are his fingers- which once upon a time would have horrified her, but tonight, as she repeats the motion over and over, knowing that he’s sitting there, watching her without being able to get his hands on her, she decides to submit to this newfound fantasy.

A rustle pulls her back to reality. He’s undoing his own pants, palming his cock, runs his fingers over the leaking head.

A low moan catches in her throat at that, her gaze snapping up from his erection to his face where his irises have darkened and pupils dilated. He wants to show her, that’s he’s as depraved as her when it comes to wanting, that he fucking wants her and in spades and she fails to think like a normal human being anymore.

Claire uses that image to work on herself harder, faster, feeling the intense pressure beginning to build beneath her fingers. She’s so wet now, despite him being able to see that, she wants him to hear it as well as she uses her idle hand to tap against herself. Carrick growls, his pace matching the rhythm she’s setting.

She slips her fingers inside her, drops her head back against the mattress and bites a loud moan that threatens to escape her lips. Flushing scarlet all over her abdomen, her breasts and up to her neck. Her blood thumping louder than bombs in her ears, her breaths begin to come in gasps.

Another fast and hard thrust from fingers, and Claire finds herself sighing his name.

“Tobias…”

And every last bit of his self-restraint snaps.

In just a blink of an eye, Carrick is already on his feet, grabs her waist, harshly, and tugs her down onto the edge of the bed where he’s now kneeling before her. He doesn’t bother with the teasings or soft kisses or caresses, and even before Claire has the time to register what’s happening, he crushes his face between her parted legs and eats her out.

She gasps, high and fleeting, twisting the bed sheet between her fists while his tongue flicks over her, moving back up, back down, lapping along her folds in the same motions she showed him with her hand, how she likes it. Claire forgets how to breathe. It just occurs to her just how arousing the sight of him on his knees like this, sending her mind hitchhiking into outer space.

“Oh, fuck.” She breathes, back arching on the bed with a drawn-out moan. “Fuck, Tobias!” Her hips gyrate over his mouth and she presses her heels against his shoulder blades. She’s so close. All she needs is a little push to send her careening into oblivion and it seems that Carrick can sense it because he brings two digits to her entrance and slides easily inside her, setting a ruthless pace.

With her hands reaching out to the back of his head, Claire cries out his name and trembles violently. Encouraged, Carrick curves his fingers inside her, hitting that exact spot that finally undoes her as she comes, long and hard, around his mouth and fingers- the kind of orgasm that you can feel deep in your bones- and watches as fireworks dance behind her lids.

When she finally comes down from her high, everything is hazy. It’s like waking up from a deep slumber after a decadent soak in a scented bath and she loses all orientation, until she feels him nipping the inside of her thighs. She hisses, glances down, heavy-lidded eyes finding Carrick is leaving bruises after bruises all over her skin like some kind of a lewd memento of his work, like he wants her to remember this the next time she wakes up in her own bed and he’s not there.

"Are you trying to turn me into a Na'vi, doctor?” She asks, still kinda breathless, feeling surprisingly conversational despite having just experienced, if not, one of the best orgasms in her life. He smiles against her thigh and withdraws from her, only after her thighs are sufficiently bruised enough, licks his fingers clean and stands up at the end of the bed.

“Maybe. You’d make a cute blue extraterrestrial creature, though,” he replies cheekily, then undoes the button of his shirt, showcasing his naked torso.

Claire feels her cheeks heating up again, but forces herself to stare; eyes following his pectoral muscles, down to the toned lines of his abdomen while he slides off of his pants. The man is one fine specimen, alright, and he knows- smug bastard- and she thinks it’s such a shame that Carrick is… well, Carrick. If the man learns how to shut up for one minute or avoid trying to sabotage everyone’s career at Edenbrook altogether, maybe, just maybe, she’d consider him.

“But honestly, I just wanted to hear you say my name again,” Carrick continues, crawling his way up to her, pulling her out of her musings. He settles between her thighs. His lips finding her ear and nibbling at the lobe while his fingers pinching and pulling at her nipple. Claire shivers. Nails scraping along his skin, raising angry marks that would certainly be there tomorrow.

When they kiss, it’s so good that she can’t help but curl her toes. He kisses her like he’s trying to steal her breath or her name. She can taste herself in his mouth, which sparks so many feelings inside her. Her mind’s foggy, sweat pooling on her forehead. Carrick is but shoves his tongue into her mouth, lapping at her, biting, sucking and she leans hard into the kiss, retaliates by scraping her teeth against his bottom lip. It spurs him on. Making his cock twitch against her thigh and Claire decides she can’t wait anymore.

Claire rolls her hips at him. He takes the hint and rolls over to grab a condom from his pants. Then he’s back on top of her, his weight and heat crushing her most deliciously and brings her body further up the bed with him; she drapes her legs around his hips, hands gripping his arms. Her lust and anticipation collaborate to the point of near madness.

Carrick nips the taut line of her jaw and drives himself into her.

They both groan in unison.

“Oh, fuck.” Carrick mumbles between shaky breaths, his face pressed against her throat. “Fucking hell, Claire, you feel so warm.”

Claire, on the other hand, goes rigid under him. Her mouth hangs open and her world narrows down to the feeling of his cock inside her and the pleasure that builds up again in her abdomen.

This is happening, she thinks, he’s inside her and it feels so amazing. She might as well be crazy for agreeing to do this with him in the first place, but the promise of the thrill beats the doubts.

He starts slow, just the smallest fraction of hips, gently thrusting back and forth in shallow motions. She whines, frustrated and impatient, raising her own hips to meet his, but Carrick’s weight pins her onto the mattress and she can’t fucking move.

“F-faster,” Claire stammers, her molars grinding like toothache.

The bastard smirks, like he’s been anticipating the word coming out of her mouth.

“Beg for it.” His words are punctuated with every unhurried stroke he’s giving her, teasing her and if she’s not in the middle of being fucked right now, she would have kicked him in the balls.

Growling, she swallows her plea by pulling Carrick down for another kiss. This time, she’s the one who does the biting and the sucking, making sure he’s distracted enough and then just like with all the things she does in her life, she takes the matter into her own hands.

With all her strength, she scrambles up, pushes him off of her and knocks him onto his back flat on the bed. When she swings her legs to straddle him, his eyes pop.

“Holy shit, you are feisty.”

“Only cause I’m angry and horny,” she bites off. Angling herself above him and with one hand, guides his shaft back to her opening. “And you- you weren’t doing a proper job fucking me.”

He smirks. “I was trying to wind you up.”

“Fuck you.”

She lowers herself and sinks back onto his cock, relishing in his moans and growls.

“Baby, you’re doing it.” His hands curling around her waist, his head falls back onto the bed, exposing his throat and Claire is so hard-pressed not to bite him there.

Claire ignores his smartassness, naturally, and lifts herself, drops back down. Slamming her hips into his until she’s bouncing on him. Nails clawing at his chest. Finally be able to set a pace she desperately craves for, finally wiping that smirk off of his face.

Under her, Carrick is biting his lip in an effort to not to lose control. His hands are everywhere now; her stomach, her breasts, her neck, her cheeks. Leaving fire on its wake. She might still hate him after this is strange, little arrangement is over but at this juncture, he’s exactly the remedy she needs after everything.

Then Carrick wraps his arms around her and picks up the pace, thrusting into her hard and fast. Claire shakes. She can’t catch her breath, her forehead pressed on his shoulder, her teeth latching onto his skin. Breathing a string of 'fuckfuckfuck’ while he squeezes her ass and continues to fuck her with careless abandon.

"Tobias.” Her moans amplify. She’s close to climaxing again, her legs quivering. Eyes wide shut. “Please, please.” So much for not begging.

He pulls her to him so their foreheads meet. Their lips brush against each other, but they aren’t kissing, merely trading breaths. A hand touches her cheek and her lids flutter open, finding his eyes- those depthless, amber eyes that pretty much lead her to this point, are watching her, pulling her in.

“Say it again,” he encourages darkly, face twists in pleasure. “My name. Say it again.”

She does it again, it comes out as a groaned whisper, repeating it over and over again like a sacred mantra.

Her second orgasm sweeps through her, making her spine arches, it tears a winded moan from her throat and it’s more than enough to trigger Carrick’s own release; fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips, groaning gutturally.

Panting, sore but sated, Claire collapses on top of his chest, his arm still drapes around her. The rise and fall of his breath lull her to sleep. Before she knows it, he gently rolls her to his side, pulling the covers for them and kisses her on the shoulder, which comes out as… odd for her.

The bed moves and she feels him leaving.

He’s leaving.

She doesn’t know why it stings, but it does. But also Claire opts not to pay no mind to it and forces her mind to surrender to sleep that once again tries to take hold.

Claire wishes she doesn’t dream of him that night, but she does.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It’s way past midnight when she wakes up. The room is dark. The curtains are closed. She’s still naked and sore under the covers, mind reeling in from what has just transpired.

One might ask in which universe does Claire Castelnuovo agree to sleep with Tobias Carrick? Well, apparently they did it in this one and oddly still, she doesn’t regret it. Though she’s still low-key sad that he left her straight after sex, but hey, what can she do about it? This arrangement itself is nothing but a means to an end, anyway, a perverse alternative for him to pay back what he allegedly owes her, she shouldn’t be surprised if he left after the ‘debt’ is paid.

Feeling her mood somehow takes an unexpected dip, she gets us from the bed and gathers her clothes on the floor.

She’s in the middle of zipping up her skirt when the bedside lamp flickers and comes on.

Claire turns around. Carrick, rousing from sleep, looks at her, rubbing his eyes and stifles a yawn. His lips still tinged from her kisses and bites.

“Leaving so soon?” he asks, voice still raspy from sleep and Claire thinks her mouth is hanging open, standing rooted to the spot like a spider on an icicle; frozen in time.

For a moment, she does nothing but stares at him, being rendered speechless. For many times, Tobias Carrick never fails to surprise her. Just when she thinks she has him all figured out, he comes sneaking in through her windows like a thief in the night and it just strikes her, how he really is an uncharted territory for her. Despite her having him pinned under her, exploring the hard planes of his body under the touches just a few hours ago.

The man is like a fucking myth, at this point. She knows him only from stories and her limited time around him, but who is exactly Tobias Carrick? Is he the competitive doctor at Mass Kenmore, the Machiavellian asshole that severed his friendship/relationship with Ethan for the sake of his greed and ambition? Or is he, Tobias Carrick, the man who saves her life, makes her laugh and kisses her shoulder in the afterglow?

She’ll probably never know.

“Yeah, my roommates will probably deploy a search party if I don’t come home tonight,” she replies, distracted, finally finding her own voice back. He nods, feigning disappointment- or is he not? She clears her throat and continues putting on her clothes. “I thought you left.”

He chuckles at the absurdity of her deduction. “And without saying goodbye?” Carrick rolls off of the bed and rises to his feet. He’s already wearing his pants- thank fuck for that- and approaches her. “I may be an asshole, Castelnuovo, but just so you know, my mother raised me better than that.”

So they’re back to their usual last name basis perimeter. That’s good, right? After all of this, she thinks a little familiarity would be nice for her sanity.

“Good to know, then.”

Silence encompasses the room. It’s awkward and overwhelming and it throws her a little off-balance. At the bar, they seemed to know exactly what to say to each other- especially him; but now, even she can sense the hesitation in his gait, at the way he’s looking at her and a faint alarm is trilling her head. Because if he’s making this awkward, she can do a whole lot of worse.

"Oh, before you ask, that makes up for pretty much everything, yeah. I mean, it’s alright.” You fucking dumbass, she thinks to herself, averting his gaze while a smile blooms on his face.

“Good to know, then.” He parrots her words and she huffs a laugh, freely and sweetly, like she’s currently not knee-deep in her problems or she’s just fucked the most incorrigible man that ever exists. He does too, but his gaze lands on her mouth before going back to her eyes.

Another silence passes. It’s time to go.

“I have to go now.”

He nods mutely and moves away so Claire can step past him.

She wears her coat. In the mirror, she still looks thoroughly fucked; her hair’s dishevelled, she smells like him now, but she really needs to go. She promises herself that this will be a one time thing because, Jesus fuck, she’s supposed to be smarter than this. She’s not fifteen anymore, and this is not the summer where she can watch the sunset from the cornfields with her cousins even though his eyes possess the same color.

Yet she walks toward the door in a daze, like she’s forgetting something but can’t pinpoint what it is.

“Can I-”

“Hey, do you-”

She stops, mid-turning, and closes her mouth. She doesn’t realize she’s interrupting him.

“Oh, sorry,” Claire says, embarrassed. “You go first, it’s alright.”

“Can I have your number?” he asks, uncharacteristically hesitant.

She thinks he’s joking or maybe he’s just feigning interest, but one look at his eyes and she can tell that this isn’t smoke and mirrors.

The eyes, chico. They never lie. It’s dumb, but that line from Scarface is the first thing that comes to her mind. That’s why when she hands him her phone, her hand is shaking slightly. She has to bite her lip to stop herself from grinning like a maniac.

Claire takes a cursory glance at her phone once he returns it. He saved his number solely as t.c. with the water drop, the syringe, the ghost, the eggplant, the firework emoji and she chuckles endearingly, questioning the universe how he can easily get both a rise and a laugh out of her.

“I’ll text you?” Carrick asks again and she nods a little too enthusiastically at it, but what the hell?

“Sure.”

“Alright.” He takes one look at her, steps closer and for a moment, she thinks he might be going to kiss her.

“Goodnight, Claire,” Carrick says instead and she nods, admitting the fact that he’s not going to do it.

“Goodnight to you too, Tobias.” Then pauses at the doorway, feeling surprisingly bold. “I gotta give it to you, though, for someone who’s become the bane of my existence for months, you’re a damn good lay.”

He barks out a laugh, obviously, that Claire can hear all the way down the hall. And she thinks she can get used to the sound.

fin.

Tag list: @villain-fuckarooni @beckaroo @arfeiniel @this-person-is-busy @colossalpainintheass @drethanramslay @hatescapsicum @theeccentricbibliophile

#playchoices #open heart #tobias carrick #tobias carrick x mc #open heart mc #oh mc #pixelberry #choices stories you play

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hstyleshoney · 4 years

Text

flawed - h.s

AU she has a new roommate and he’s not the worst

Wordcount: 13K // slow-burn fluff with a small hint of angst and mutual-ish pining I suppose, strong language, alcohol use, sexual content

AN: This is my little College/Uni AU piece for @stylesharrys fallinharry10k celebration writing fest! And I got carried away. I’ve had the start of this in my drafts for like two years and this challenge kind of just got me motivated to finish it. I’m really happy with some parts of it and some I’m not so sure about...I hate endings... BUT I had really fun writing it and that is all that matters and hopefully someone will enjoy it. I’m just happy I managed to finish it after such a long time. I’d also really really appreciate some feedback on it so please share your thoughts! I don’t have too much experience writing like this so be nice pls haha. ENJOY! <3

“Harry, you left your dirty dishes by the sink... AGAIN! Dunno how many times I have to remind you to clean up after yourself Put it away. Thx. :)”

Y/N took a deep breath to calm herself down and re-read the pink post-it note infront of her. He was going to be the death of her. He really was. Harry was in every other way the perfect roommate, well perfect was perhaps a bit excessive but he wasn’t the worst, except for the fact that he never took care of his stupid dirty dishes. It drove her mad. It took all her willpower to not smash his stupid little kermit the frog teacup into tiny little pieces whenever she saw it.

And yes, maybe it was irrational of her to get so worked up over a few dirty cups when everything else was going so well. But Y/N liked it when things were in order.

In the past two months that she had lived with Harry she had lost count of how many times she had asked him to wash up his used pans, plates and cups. The first time it happened she didn’t really mind. The second time -- also fine. But the third? That was when she started to get a little bit bothered. Because not only was it his dirty dishes from the same day. No. The plate and cup from the day before were still there on the counter as well. That was the first time she asked him to clean up after himself.

It was still fine though.

Y/N just told herself it was because Harry had previously lived in a student accommodation with a bunch of unruly boys and wasn’t used to picking up after himself. It was fine. He’d soon get it.

Only, he didn’t seem to get it.

Because weeks later she still had to remind him to wash up after he was done in the kitchen. It was like what she said to him went in one ear and out the other. It took her another week before she started suspecting he was leaving it out on purpose to irritate her, which well, it worked. It only annoyed her further.

The amount of tea that boy drank was truly worrying. She had been told she drank a lot of tea, but she seemed to have met her match in Harry. At least judging by all the cups he left around the flat. They were everywhere. Literally. She had even found one under the bathroom sink just a couple days ago and she didn’t even bother asking him how it got there. She had simply just left him a post-it note asking him to put it away.

Because she was certainly not going to go around and pick up after him. He was a grown boy and therefore capable of cleaning up after himself. She wasn’t his mother.

It was basic housekeeping.

She ripped the little pink post-it note off the pad and stuck it up on Harry’s bedroom door so he couldn’t possibly miss it. She stared at it for another minute, pleased with herself, before getting her backpack and left to go to her lecture. It was her own way of telling him off; leaving post-it notes for him. A more passive-aggressive approach had always been her preferred strategy, it made her feel slightly less annoying, and anytime she had left him a note in the morning the dirty dishes had magically disappeared when she came home later.

So there was no reason for her to stop leaving them for him.

Apart from that Harry really was the best roommate she could’ve asked for. The best one in the short amount of time she had had to find a new one anyways. Lexi, her very good friend from home and roommate before Harry, had decided to drop out of uni a week before courses were due to start again after summer; leaving her alone with a flat she couldn’t afford on her own. Y/N couldn’t be mad at her though because she knew how unhappy Lexi was in Manchester. She wasn’t enjoying her course and she missed her family. Y/N couldn’t force Lexi to stay just because she didn’t want to find a new roommate. She wasn’t that selfish.

It just wasn’t ideal. Everyone she knew already had a place to live and she was feeling pretty defeated about the whole thing. She liked her flat and didn’t want to give it up. Her parents offered to help her pay rent until she could find someone to live with again but she didn’t want to take her parents money. It didn’t feel right. So when her friend Lucy mentioned that her boyfriend Nate had a friend who needed a place to live she offered the mysterious man Lexi’s old room without a second thought.

Then Harry showed up outside her door two days later with a large suitcase and a couple of moving boxes.

They didn’t really talk all that much their first week of living together. He mostly kept to himself, trying to get settled in and get used to being back at uni after a long summer. All she knew about him at that point was that he was the same age as her and that he was studying music. Something she probably would’ve figured out sooner or later on her own, because every evening she could hear him play his guitar from inside his bedroom. She couldn’t complain though. It was quite soothing actually, and she wanted to tell him that.

But she also didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable knowing she laid awake listening to him play and then stop because he didn’t want her to eavesdrop.

So Y/N never said anything.

Their second week of living together was when she picked up on his annoying habit of leaving the kitchen a mess. It was also that week he offered to make her a cup of tea for the first time and she would never admit it outloud but it was probably the best cup of tea she had ever had.

But since he left his own cups all around the flat she also refused to tell him that.

By the third week they started having dinner together and asked each other about their days. They were slowly getting to know one another and Y/N realised for the first time that she did in fact enjoy Harry’s company. That Sunday they spent the entire evening binge watching the first season of a scandinavian crime drama on netflix and shared a tub of ice cream.

Then they were suddenly in the same group of friends.

Because with Lexi gone Y/N started hanging out with Lucy more and Lucy was dating Nate and Harry was always hanging out with Nate. Which all just led to Tara, Declan and Connor always being around as well. Their flat had, since Harry moved in, turned into the hotspot for the gang to hang out at. She didn’t mind much, because she liked them and she had never really been a part of a group like them before. It was nice. Lexi moving had in a weird way been a blessing in disguise.

So there really wasn’t anything else to complain about when it came to Harry as a roommate.

Well, maybe one more thing.

And she usually met that reason every Sunday morning in their kitchen after a night out.

That Sunday however took a different turn than what she had gotten used to.

“You told me you didn’t have a girlfriend!”

“Harry,“ Y/N said slowly and narrowed her eyes at him. The girl next to them, whose hair was dyed a rich red color, was only clad in one of Harry’s old band t-shirts and stared at the two of them with frantic eyes.

“Y/N, babe, I’m so sorry,” Harry said and stared at Y/N pleadingly. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Can someone please tell me what’s going on!?” The red-haired girl demanded and crossed her arms over her chest and Y/N could’ve sworn she did a little stomp. “You told me last night that you were single!”

“Yes Harry, I’d love an explanation,” Y/N said and mimicked the redhead by crossing her arms over her chest. She probably would’ve laughed if the situation had been any different because the stranger in the kitchen was glaring at Harry with such a hatred in her eyes and Y/N had never seen a girl look at him that way before.

And it was still funny, but it would’ve been funnier if she wasn’t a part of it. Harry on the other hand only ignored the angry girl and kept the lie going, focusing on his roommate.

“Love, I’m so fucking sorry. It didn’t mean anything! I swear, I was drunk and-”

“Ugh, oh my god,” the redhead cried out, interrupting him. She was fuming and her face was as red as her hair. Before Y/N had the chance to say anything else, to resolve the situation, the redhead stepped forward and slapped Harry across the face. “You’re such a fucking asshole!”

Then she turned around and Y/N’s first instinct was to take a step back because that was how intimidating she looked with her red wild hair and red cheeks. But Y/N, very unexpectedly, found herself being embraced in a bone-crushing hug. “I’m so sorry! I swear I had no idea. He told me he didn’t have a girlfriend. You deserve so much better! Leave him.”

And just like that the girl was gone, marching back to Harry’s room to get changed into her own clothes again, and left the two of them alone in the kitchen. Y/N at loss for words and Harry rubbing the side of his face.

It didn’t take very long before the sound of the front door being slammed shut echoed through the flat and made the walls around them shake.

“You’re disgusting,” Y/N muttered then and walked past him to put the kettle on. She had a headache from all the wine she had consumed the previous night and whatever it was that had just happened hadn’t exactly helped her feel any better. She had only wanted a nice cup of tea, and maybe some toast. She had definitely not been prepared, nor expected, to be part of a terrible made-up triangle drama. Not this early.

“Aw, c’mon,” Harry laughed and finally let his face break out into a grin. “I’ve tried to get her to go home all morning but she wouldn’t take any hints. I had no choice.”

Y/N turned her head to glare at him and pointed a warning finger in his direction

“If you bring a girl back you get rid of her yourself. I want no part in your disgusting shenanigans,” she told him. “You deserved that slap.”

“I didn’t even say anything to her,” Harry said and hopped up to take a seat on the counter. “She just assumed.”

“Why would she even assume that?” Y/N asked and eyed him suspiciously “If I was your girlfriend I wouldn’t randomly appear in the kitchen the next morning in my pyjamas. You must’ve told her something.”

“I didn’t,” Harry denied and put his hands up, still grinning. She rolled her eyes. “I swear! She just assumed.”

“Yeah well, you shouldn’t have let her,” she told him and took out two slices of bread to put in the toaster. “Besides, do you have to bring a girl back every weekend?”

“Do you have to go on like five dates a week?”

“I don’t,” she glared at him again. Harry raised his eyebrows at her knowingly and she looked away from him as the next few words left her lips. “It was only three this week.”

“Oh right,” Harry laughed. “Excuse me.”

“Shut up.”

“At least I’m getting something good out of it,” he continued to laugh. “I still don’t understand why you have to go on so many dates all the time. What do you get out of it?”

“I wanna find love,” she shrugged. “Is that so bad?”

“No, not at all,” Harry told her. “But dating douchebags ain’t gonna bring you love.”

“Yeah because sleeping with someone new every weekend is so much better,” she replied sarcastically and watched as Harry slid down from the counter when the kettle made a small noise to let them know it was ready.

“Like I said,” he started with a smirk and took down two tea cups from the cupboard. “At least I get something good out of it. You should try.”

She rolled her eyes again but didn’t say anything else as her toast popped up from the toaster. Her dating life was a running joke among her friends and she had learned to ignore the comments they made. She wanted to find love, so she wasn’t going to sit around and wait for it. Some may say she was a bit desperate, and maybe she was, but it wasn’t her fault every guy she met was wrong for her. They were all either too clingy or too uncommitted.

Or maybe she was just a bit too picky.

Either way, she did go on a lot of dates when her schedule allowed her to. She wanted what everyone else around her seemed to have. Her parents acted more in love with each other every time she saw them, even after 30 years of marriage. One of her sisters had just gotten engaged to her long-term boyfriend and her oldest sister had been married for three years already and was expecting her second child. Her younger cousin got married that summer. Any time Y/N traveled back home all her relatives asked her when she was going to find herself a nice young man. It was exhausting. Y/N was stressed. Pressured. So she dated a lot. There was nothing wrong with that, yet people liked to mock her for it, especially Harry since he was the one who she came back home to after a bad date.

He’d usually burst into her room after a date, wanting all the details only so he could laugh about everything that had gone wrong. But then he also always made her a cup of tea and got her some biscuits.

He wasn’t the worst.

“Hey,” Harry said and held out the tea he had made for her. “You wanna watch an episode of The Bridge?”

Y/N stared at him for a second and for the first time ever her heart skipped a beat. It was no secret that Harry was unbelievably attractive, the kind of attractiveness that terrified you before you got to know him. If he hadn’t showed up outside her door she never would’ve had the guts to talk to him. After getting to know him though he was just Harry; her roommate.

But there was something about him right there and then, dressed casually in sweats and a plain t-shirt as he handed her a cup of tea in their kitchen, that just got to her. She quickly snapped herself out of her thoughts to stop her mind from wandering too far and took the tea from him. Must be the hangover.

“Sure, but only one episode,” she replied and picked up her plate of toast as well. “I have to read some shit for my seminar tomorrow and I can’t keep procrastinating.”

They ended up watching more than just one episode.

And Y/N never got around to reading the chapter she needed to read. She only skimmed through it on her way to her seminar, which is why she made a fool out of herself when the lecturer pointed straight at her and asked her to share her thoughts. She wanted to disappear.

And her day didn’t get any better when she stepped in dog shit on her way home.

And it certainly didn’t get any better when she accidentally knocked over her cup of tea and spilled it all over the rug. So instead of getting to lie on the couch and feel sorry for herself, like she had planned, she had to try and save the white rug from getting a stain. It wasn’t a great day.

It was also at that moment Harry came back home; when she was sitting on the floor, scrubbing the rug furiously and muttering profanities under her breath.

“You know,” Harry began to make his presence known. “There’s something about what you're doing right now that’s really turning me on.”

Y/N stopped her scrubbing and looked up at him, not impressed by his joke or by the stupid smirk on his face.

“Oh fuck off,” she swore and simply raised her hand and her middle finger at him. “Or make yourself useful and get some baking soda or something.”

“Bad day?” he asked while putting his guitar case down. She only glared at him.

“What do you think?”

“I’ll just get the baking soda.”

“Good choice.”

They cleaned the rug together and after a good half an hour of scrubbing and googling the best tricks to remove tea stains they managed to save it from getting ruined. Y/N slumped down on the couch again, exhausted and defeated, and took a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself down.

What a shit day.

Harry made her a new cup and put away everything they had used to get rid of the spilled one before joining her on the small couch.

“You wanna talk about it?” he asked and squeezed his brows together, uncertain how to approach her.

“I just had a shit day,” she sighed deeply. “Completely fucked up my seminar.”

“I’m sure you didn’t.”

“Ha!” Y/N scoffed. “No, I did. But it was my own fault though, so I can't really cry about it.”

“Well,” Harry scratched the back of his head. “Can I do anything to make you feel better? We could get some pizza and watch a movie or something?”

“I can’t,” she grumbled. “I have an assignment I have to finish by Wednesday and considering how shit I did today I have to focus. I can’t fuck this up too.”

“You have to eat something though.”

“Yeah, I will. I’ll just heat up some of that leftover pasta later or something,” she assured him and maybe if she hadn’t been so frustrated with herself she wouldn’t have confused the way her heart was racing inside her chest with stress; when in reality it was beating extra for the green eyed boy next to her.

Y/N stayed in her room for the rest of the afternoon into the evening, reading and typing away. She wouldn’t say it was going well, but she didn't want to throw her computer out the window and she always appreciated those rare moments.

She could also hear Harry roaming around in the rest of the flat and later on the low strum of his guitar. She smiled to herself when she heard it and didn’t even realise she was humming along to the melody he was playing until he stopped.

And it wasn’t until her stomach growled loudly that she remembered she hadn’t actually had any dinner yet. She made sure to save her work, hitting ‘save’ an extra time because you could never save a document too many times, before closing her laptop and standing up. Her muscles ached from how long she had been in the same position and she winced a little as she stretched them out.

Then her stomach rumbled and she was once again reminded of how hungry she was. It was nearing 11 pm and she hadn’t eaten anything since lunch, which was not good, and she kind of regretted not accepting Harry’s offer about getting pizza before.

But when she made it into the kitchen there was a pink post-it note on the fridge, only this time she wasn’t the one who put it there.

I got some pizza earlier, saved you a few slices in case you want some instead of that old pasta xx H :)

A warm feeling spread through her body as she read his little note, and she couldn’t help but notice that Harry had a surprisingly neat handwriting. It was cute. Both the handwriting and the message. It put a smile on her face.

While the pizza was being reheated she decided to go find Harry and thank him for the nice gesture. She was just about to knock on his door when she noticed that the TV was still on and she spotted him on the couch.

Asleep.

And it was probably cuter than both his handwriting and the message combined.

His whole body took up the small couch; his legs dangled over the armrest and he had his arms crossed over his chest to make himself smaller. There was a slight frown on his face, presumably from the dream he was having, but it was endearing in a way to still see him so relaxed. He had changed out of the blue jeans he had worn last time she saw him and had on his black shorts and the knitted jumper he always just wore around the flat. He looked comfortable. Homely.

A part of her wanted to run back to her room and get her phone so she could snap a picture of him before he woke up.

But an even bigger part of her stopped her from doing so because it felt inappropriate to take a picture of him sleeping. She wasn’t so sure Harry would appreciate her taking pictures of him without him knowing either. So she refrained.

Then, almost like he could feel her watching him sleep like a total creep, he slowly blinked his eyes open, and honestly... it was probably the cutest thing yet. She blushed as he caught her staring.

“Oh, hey,” he said, his voice low and rough, and rubbed his eyes to get the sleep out of them. “What time is it?”

“Mm it’s about 11.”

“Shit, didn’t realise I fell asleep,” he grumbled and sat up, running a hand through his hair. “Did you finish your assignment?”

“Almost,” she told him and smiled softly. “Thanks for the pizza.”

“No worries,” he said and matched her smile.

“Also, I’m sorry for being so cranky before. I was just a bit stressed.”

Harry shook his head.

“It’s okay,” he reassured her. “We’ve all been there.”

Y/N ended up joining him on the couch for a bit after the pizza was done. They didn’t talk much while she ate and Harry flicked through the channels on the TV, before he eventually decided on an old romcom.

When Harry had first shown up outside the flat she had been nervous about living with him. She had only ever lived with girls before, but it had been easier to get along with him than she had first expected. Not that she had heard anything bad about him; Lucy had nothing but nice things to say when she first told her about Nate’s friend who needed a place to live.

She had just assumed it was going to be harder to live with a boy compared to a girl. But Harry made it easy, aside from the dirty dishes and the unknown women in her kitchen Sunday mornings of course, and he was slowly becoming one of her closest friends. While it was terrifying it also felt like the most natural thing. Like he was meant to be in her life.

Which is why she felt so stupid for what happened next.

“They make love seem so easy in these romcoms,” Y/N complained with a huff. “Why don’t I have a gorgeous guy pining after me? I just want someone to have a secret crush on me and then make a big grand gesture. Is that too much to ask?”

“How do you know you don’t?” Harry questioned and she snorted.

“I highly doubt it. Who would that be?”

Harry shrugged.

“Who knows,” he said. “It’s kinda the point of having someone secretly crushing on you, innit?”

“Oh whatever,” she grumbled and Harry laughed. “You have no say in this. I see the way girls stare at you whenever we go out. You probably have a handful of secret admirers. ”

“Are you forgetting the fact that you go on more dates than the rest of us combined?” Harry pointed out and raised his brows at her. “You probably have more admirers than anyone else I know.”

“Not true.”

“So true,” Harry insisted. “You need to stop trying so hard and maybe just let love find you instead.”

“That’s probably the most cliche thing someone has ever told me,” she said and rolled her eyes. “What am I supposed to do then? Sit around and twiddle my thumbs and wait for someone to come knocking on our door and say they love me?”

“No, not at all,” Harry frowned. “I just think that maybe you need to open your eyes and take a step back. Lower your expectations and don’t be so picky. You’re not going to find Prince charming. No one is flawless.”

“You know what? It’s too late to be having this conversation,” she told him and stood up. There was something about what he just said that made her heart sink a little inside her chest. “I’m going to bed.”

“Hey, you okay?” Harry said and caught her wrist to stop her from leaving. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“It’s okay,” she said and swallowed thickly. “I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.” His hand was hot on her skin and she couldn’t take her eyes away from his long fingers and how he traced his thumb across her wrist in small circles.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise.”

He really didn’t. Y/N wasn’t sure why she had suddenly gotten so upset; why she took what he said to heart. It made her feel like a brat almost. She was used to people making fun of her dating life but she didn’t like this.

She didn’t want people to think she was shallow or impossible to please. Especially not Harry.

Because that wasn’t the case. There were plenty of good guys out there and she was far from perfect herself. She had a lot of flaws. Y/N had just never clicked with anyone in the way she wanted to and she wasn’t going to get into a relationship with someone she didn’t feel she connected with one hundred percent.

“Okay,” Harry said with a heavy sigh and let go of her wrist. “Goodnight then.”

“Night.”

Harry still had a frown on his face as he watched her take her plate back into the kitchen and Y/N could feel her pulse racing as she felt his eyes on her. It was awkward and she was embarrassed for how she had just handled everything. It wasn’t even a big deal. He hadn’t said anything she hadn’t thought of herself before. Harry was just giving her advice.

So why did she feel so upset?

It was the first time she had ever gotten even the tiniest bit self-conscious about the amount of dates she went on, and as she crawled into bed she couldn’t help but wonder if she felt like this because it was Harry.

It was also the first time she realised she cared a lot about what he thought of her.

She wanted Harry to like her.

Y/N got her period a day later and just like that everything she had felt on Monday made so much sense. Of course. Luckily everything was completely fine between her and Harry the morning after she left him on the couch and they even baked some brownies Tuesday evening because Y/N was craving chocolate, which also made sense when she woke up with stains in her underwear and cramps in her lower region on Wednesday.

Despite that though she had quite a good day. She managed to finish her assignment in time and she didn’t hate it; she was maybe even a little bit pleased with it. She bought herself a new pair of sneakers that were on sale and an eyeshadow palette she had been wanting for a while. Her and Harry got chinese food for dinner before meeting the rest of the gang down at the pub.

Wednesdays meant quiz night and Y/N teamed up with Tara and together they managed to win first prize which gave them £50 to spend at the bar.

Y/N blamed the alcohol for everything that happened after that.

She tripped on her way over to the toilets. She accidentally managed to somehow elbow Connor in the face. She also spilled half a pint of beer all over herself, leaving a huge wet stain on her trousers so it looked like she pissed herself.

But she was still in good spirits.

Until she spotted Harry at the bar with a tall gorgeous girl. Their faces were close and even from the booth she was sitting in she could see his dimples. It left a sour taste in her mouth watching the pair talk and it annoyed her how easily Harry once again had a girl swooning over him. Why was he even off flirting with some random girl when they were all supposed to be there together? And why was he so good at it? And why did he look so good doing it?

Y/N rolled her eyes when the girl giggled and reached out to touch his bicep. Disgusting.

“Hello?” Lucy snapped her fingers in front of Y/N’s face. “You still with us?”

“What?” She tore her eyes away from the scene that was taking place at the bar and turned her attention back to her two friends. “Yeah, of course.” She faked a laugh and took a long sip from her beer. Lucy and Tara shared a look, but they didn’t say anything else about it which she was thankful for.

Mostly because she had no idea how to explain any of it. She glanced over at Harry and the girl again and tried to understand why her chest suddenly felt so tight. It must be the alcohol.

And oh, right, of course, she had her period.

It was her hormones; the only logical explanation.

Satisfied with the answer to her own confusion she threw herself back into the conversation around the table, ignoring the fact that she could still see Harry and the girl in the corner of her eye.

Then Declan showed up at their table with a round of vodka shots for everyone because he knew the bartender and got them for free.

Who was she to say no to free shots?

But she really should’ve.

The strong liquid didn’t sit right with her and instead of giving her a bigger buzz her head felt heavy and her ears were ringing. She also felt a little bit sick; the chinese food she had had with Harry slowly rising in the back of her throat. Taking shots had never really ended well for her but drunk Y/N still always seemed to think it was a fantastic idea.

It was a good thing she didn’t have a lecture or anything the next day, because her hangover was not going to be pretty.

And Y/N didn’t bother saying goodbye to anyone before she unexpectedly jumped out of her seat, got her coat and stumbled outside. She needed fresh air and she couldn’t wait.

The second she stepped outside into the cold autumn night she instantly felt better. The nausea from the stuffy pub atmosphere disappeared and she sat down on the curb next to the road and took a few deep breaths.

“Hey there Quiz-Queen, you alright?”

Harry.

She glanced up at him and even though he had called her by the nickname she had jokingly given herself after winning first-prize he was looking down at her with concerned eyes. Her purse hung from his shoulder, she hadn’t even realised she had left it behind, and he had his own long and vibrant plaid coat wrapped around himself; protecting him from the cold.

��Yeah,” she said and took another deep breath. “I just needed some air.”

“Hm,” Harry hummed, relieved she was okay. “Maybe next time let the rest of us know where you’re going and don’t just get up and leave.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“Not at all,” Harry assured and shook his head. “Just want to make sure you’re safe. I don’t think that £50 bar tab was the best thing for a lightweight like you.”

“Oiii,” she pouted. “That’s mean. You’re just jealous you didn’t win. How many right answers did you guys get again? 6 out of 20?”

“It’s not about winning, it’s about having fun,” Harry said with a smug smile and a twinkle in his eyes that he only ever got when he thought he was being clever. “And I had fun.”

“Oh give it a rest,” she scoffed but there was still a smile on her face. “You love to win, don’t stand there and pretend to be a good loser when I know how competitive you can get.”

Harry laughed and she felt butterflies come alive inside her stomach as she watched his dimples appear. This time for her and not for some stupid girl at the bar.

“C’mon Silly-girl, let’s get you home,” he said, ignoring her comment about him being a sore loser, and offered his hand to help her up. His fingers were strong around hers and her skin was tingling as she watched her own hand disappear in his.

Once back up on her feet she had to hold onto Harry for a second to stop her head from spinning so much. She wasn’t sure if it was because of the alcohol anymore or her hormones... or if it was merely just because of Harry.

It was just easier to blame the alcohol or her period, so that’s what she did.

Harry had an arm around her to support her swaying body as they made their way over to the bus stop, holding her close to him. He smelled like beer and the shampoo she always secretly sniffed when she took a shower. It was something she would never admit out loud, or sober, but she loved the smell of it.

Sometimes she had considered using it on her own hair, it was just so fresh and relaxing, so Harry, but it was also one of those things she wasn’t so sure he would appreciate her doing.

“We should’ve stopped to get some food,” she muttered and slumped back against her seat on the bus. “I’m starving and I’m craving something salty.”

“I can make us something when we get home,” Harry offered.

“Really?” Y/N perked up. ”Could you?”

“Yeah, I’m a bit hungry as well.”

“Oh my gosh, have I ever told you you’re the best roommate?”

“Pretty sure you haven’t,” Harry laughed. "I do, however, have a lot of post-it notes that one could argue suggest the opposite."

“I saw you talking to a girl earlier. She was very pretty.” It slipped out before Y/N had the chance to think twice about it. “I’m sorry you’re stuck with me now and didn’t get to go home with her.”

Harry didn’t laugh at that but he still had the same twinkle in his eyes as before and a fond smile on his lips.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said and suddenly his hand was on her knee and he gave it a gentle squeeze; causing her hormones to act up again so her heart skipped a beat. “You’re not the worst person to be stuck with.”

As expected her hangover wasn’t pretty the next day.

She woke up with a raging headache and an upset stomach. After Harry had made them both some food she had been too tired to go wash her make-up off so the girl staring back at her in the bathroom mirror had black mascara smudges all around her eyes and golden glitter eyeshadow smeared across her bloated face. It was a tragedy. She was a tragedy.

However, the thing that made her hangover feel even worse was when she walked into the kitchen and saw the all dirty pans and plates from her and Harry’s late night meal. Pangs of guilt instantly swept through her. Harry was already gone by the time she woke up. He had an early seminar, which she knew he did because he had told her before they met up with the others at the pub, and she felt terrible that she had kept him up half the night only to make her food. He couldn’t have gotten more than two hours of sleep and it filled her up with guilt.

So much guilt she didn’t leave him a post-it note telling him the kitchen was a mess, because that would’ve just been super fucking rude since it was her fault he was even in the kitchen cocking at 3 am in the first place. Instead she washed up and decided to go out and get his favorite snacks as a thank you, and also because she was craving more chocolate and a fizzy drink.

Being hungover while having your period was really not the best combination.

Y/N hid her tousled hair under a beanie and put on a quick layer of foundation in an attempt to cover up her blotchy skin. It didn’t really help her feel much better about her appearance so she decided to put on a scarf as well to disguise herself as much as possible, just in case she’d run into someone she knew on her way to the store. She didn’t want to be recognised. Not today.

But of course Y/N wasn’t that lucky.

She ran into three people from her course, who all stopped her and chit-chatted to her about their seminars and latest assignment, all while she stood there with a basket full of various brands of crisps, drinks and candy feeling and looking like an absolute troll.

And that wasn’t even the worst.

No.

Because naturally it was also the day she bumped into someone, quite literally, in the stairs on her way back up to the flat.

Y/N yelped and accidentally dropped her bag of snacks as she tried to find her balance. A pair of hands caught her by the shoulders before she fell backwards and when she looked up to see who she had crashed into her whole face turned red.

“Shit, I’m so sorry!” she apologized with wide eyes, her heart beating fast inside her chest.

“No worries,” the man in front of her said and removed his hands from her shoulders, but she kind of wished he hadn’t because his voice was so deep and smoky her knees weakened as he spoke.

Not to mention he had the most stunning pair of eyes she had ever seen. They were a deep, earthy brown color with perfectly long eyelashes she could only ever dream of. He was utterly breathtaking with his long dark hair, scruffy stubble and nose piercing, that she usually didn’t really like on boys but the stranger in front of her made it work. Oh how he made it work.

And as he leaned down to pick up her bag for her she caught a whiff of his fragrance and her knees were seconds away from giving up all together.

“Thank you,” she managed to croak out as he handed her the bag full of snacks and prayed he hadn’t seen what was in it. She looked pathetic enough as it was and she racked her brain for something else to say but there was nothing. Y/N was left completely gobsmacked by the breathtaking man she had just crashed into. Her cheeks only getting hotter and hotter for every second she stood there like a total idiot just staring at him in awe. “I’m Y/N.”

Y/N wanted nothing more than to just sink through the floor in embarrassment. The stranger, thankfully, reached out and shook her extended hand with an amused smile on his lips.

“Luke.”

Luke let his eyes wander up and down her body, taking in her attire, and she had never felt so unattractive as she did in that moment. Why didn’t she at least take a shower before going out? Fuck.

“Right,” she nodded and reached up to adjust her beanie a little, as if it was going to make her look any better. “So eh... do you live here? I haven’t seen you around before.”

What was she doing?

“I do,” Luke confirmed. “I moved in a couple days ago.”

“Awesome.”

Awesome? Fucking idiot.

She was definitely losing her mind. While she did go on a lot of dates she had not been blessed with the ability to make small talk.

“I’m guessing you live here as well?” Luke asked and ran a hand through his hair to push back a couple of strands from his face. It was the hottest thing she had ever seen.

“Yeah,” Y/N confirmed, her mouth dry, and she licked her lips nervously. “I’m on the top floor... aaand I should really get going. My roommate is waiting for me.”

“Of course.”

“It was nice to meet you though. Welcome to the building.” Her heart was still racing. “Again, I’m sorry for crashing into you.”

“Like I said, don’t worry about it. It was good to meet you too,” Luke told her and gave her a small wink. “See you around.”

And Y/N didn’t know how it happened but a strange cackle escaped her lips as he winked at her and she ran off before she could witness his reaction to it.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she muttered to herself all the way up to her and Harry’s flat.

Once she got inside she fell back against the door and tried to catch her breath, from both practically running up five flights of stairs and the encounter she had just had with probably the hottest man alive.

She really was pathetic.

After she got herself together she shrugged off her coat and pulled off her stupid beanie, cursing herself yet again for not taking a shower before going to the store. She could at least have put on a cute outfit. But no. She went out looking like a slob.

And as she sauntered into the flat she realised that Harry was home again, and with him were Nate, Lucy and Connor as well.

“Well if it isn’t the Quiz-Queen herself,” Nate teased when he saw her and bowed his head mockingly from where he was sitting on the couch. “Glad to see that you’re still alive after last night.”

“We have a new neighbour,” Y/N informed them, ignoring Nate and his teasing comments, because the new neighbour was the only thing on her mind. “I crashed into him on my way up. Literally. I made a complete fool out of myself.”

“Nothing new then,” Connor joked.

“Ha-ha,” Y/N said dryly. “For real though, he was the hottest man I’ve ever seen. He was unreal.”

“Really?” It got Lucy’s attention and she perked up from where she was sitting on the couch with Nate. “What did he look like?”

“Like a damn model right off the runway,” Y/N groaned and collapsed in one of the armchairs. “I’m telling you, he was unreal. Eyelashes that went on forever. Tall. Cheekbones that could cut glass and his hair was soooooo shiny. He didn’t have a single flaw. He even made a nose piercing look good and you know how I feel about those.”

“Aw, I wanna see him too,” Lucy pouted. “Did you get his name?”

“Luke.”

“So our serial dater has another date then I’m assuming,” Connor sniggered.

“I wish,” Y/N replied with a sigh. “I could hardly get a word out. I just stood there and stared at him like a creep.”

“You could always go over and ask to borrow a cup of sugar,” Nate suggested and wiggled his eyebrows. “And then just suck him off to return the favor.”

“You’re an idiot,” Y/N said and raised her middle finger towards him. It also earned him a slap on the arm from Lucy as she scolded her boyfriend. Connor laughed and made a comment about how it would be the perfect porn scene.

And it was also in that moment Y/N realised Harry hadn’t said anything since she had joined them. She glanced over at him where he sat in the armchair across from her and frowned. He looked tired and it caused the guilt in her to rise up again. In addition to that it troubled her that he wasn’t saying anything about the new neighbour or joining in on the jokes. He just sat in his seat and kept his eyes glued to the TV and the random show that was airing. “Harry?”

“What?”

There was something about how he spoke and how he turned to look at her that made her feel even worse. His voice was taut and low. His eyes burned right through her. It was far from the Harry she was used to. She wanted to ask him what was wrong but she also didn’t want to do so in front of the others if they hadn’t noticed it themselves.

“Um, I got some snacks if you want some,” Y/N said instead. She wasn’t sure if the others had noticed at all but she didn’t like it. Maybe he was angry with her for making him stay up so late? What if it had made him late for his seminar?

“Thank you,” he replied half-heartedly and turned his attention back to the TV without another word. Confusion filled the room and she met Lucy’s baffled expression for a split second. Okay they had noticed. Fuck. Y/N looked at Harry again and there was so much she wanted to ask him but at the same time she was at a loss for words. It wasn’t like him to be so tense. Not one bit.

She didn’t like it.

On Saturday they were all, once again, out getting drunk. After her hangover on Thursday Y/N had told herself she wasn’t going to drink again that week, but Harry was still being acting weird around her so she was easily persuaded.

Because she needed a drink.

Harry hadn’t really done anything, which was also part of the problem. She hadn’t seen him all Friday or Saturday, not until he turned up for pre-drinks at Connor’s flat. And once he was there he didn’t even look at her or talk to her. It bothered her. A lot. She hadn’t had the chance to ask him what was wrong and nothing was making sense. She tried to remember if she had said something inappropriate to him on Wednesday, but no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t figure out why he was being off with her.

Which is why, after a couple of drinks, she took the first chance she got to confront him about it.

She spotted him alone at one of the tables inside the club they were at and marched right up, ignoring the people she accidentally bumped into on her way, and plopped herself down on the leather sofa next to him. The beer she was carrying spilled over in her hand as she did but she paid no attention to it and Harry looked at her with questioning eyes.

“What’s going on with you?” Y/N wasted no time. The music was loud around them and she had to lean into him to make sure he heard her, his curls tickled her upper lip from how close she was. Harry only shrugged.

“Nothing is going on.”

“Oh really? Could’ve fooled me,” she said, almost shouting because of the music, and rolled her eyes. “You’re acting strange.”

“Nothing is going on,” Harry repeated and pursed his lips, looking away from her. Y/N tilted her head forward, to force him to look at her again, and waved her hand in front of his face.

“Look at me then,” she cried out in frustration. “Stop ignoring me and tell me what’s going on!”

It wasn’t the best spot for them to be having a conversation. A couple of people from the tables around them looked over curiously and the dim lights and loud music of club made it harder than what she would’ve liked. She had originally planned to talk to him that morning but he had gone out before she even woke up and it was the last sign she needed to know that he was avoiding her. So talking to him at a busy club felt like the only option.

She flinched back as Harry unexpectedly turned to face her, almost knocking his head into hers.

”You know for wanting to find love so badly you’re really fucking blind.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Y/N frowned. Harry scoffed.

“You’re so oblivious,” he began. “If you just stopped being so desperate and so obsessed with finding the perfect guy for one damn second then maybe you’d-” Harry stopped himself and pressed his lips together in a thin line as he looked down at the beer in his hands.

“Then what Harry?” she demanded, and didn’t even bother to try calm the anger that was stirring inside her. Harry ignoring her made her feel worse than she ever could’ve imagined. Nothing could’ve prepared her for it. She hated it. “I wouldn’t be so unlovable?”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Don’t,” Harry warned. “You know I would never say that. Don’t be daft.”

“Do I?” she kept challenging him. The alcohol in her bloodstream gave her enough courage to not back down. Even if the loud music made it harder to hear what the other one was saying there was no way she was going to drop it. She needed to know what was going on. She couldn’t go another day with Harry ignoring her; she was too used to having him around for him to just cut her off.

“Yes, you do,” he spat.

“But you think I’m desperate?” she spat back and Y/N wasn’t sure why she was picking a fight with him in the middle of a full packed club, but she was.

Because at least he was talking to her.

“Yeah I do,” Harry admitted and licked his lips. She struggled to breathe a little after that. Her chest felt too tight. “Why are you so set on having the perfect relationship? No couple is perfect.”

“Lucy and Nate are,” she stated, not wanting her facade to falter in front of him. Her throat was dry but her eyes were burning with wet tears because she hated this. She hated it so much.

“No, they’re not,” Harry sneered loudly. “Both of them are far from fucking perfect. Nate is a menace and Lucy is a nutter.”

“Harry, don’t be a dick.”

“What? So just because they’re my friends I’m only allowed see the good in them? I still love both of them and they still love each other even if they’re not perfect,” he insisted. “You know they end up arguing like every night we go out, right? Over something stupid Nate said or some insane shit Lucy did. Do you know how many times Lucy has asked me for advice when it comes to Nate? They’re not perfect.”

“So I’m desperate because I want to find someone who is perfect for me?”

“What if you already have?”

“What?”

The music was still loud around them but suddenly the only thing she could hear was her own beating heart.

And suddenly she became aware of just how close the two of them actually were. Harry’s nose brushed against hers as his mouth carefully, barely, grazed her lips. His breath was hot on her face and oh wow, had his eyelashes always been that long?

Y/N wanted to reach out and touch him, but the way he was looking at her made her unable to move any part of her body. She was frozen; waiting for him to make the next move because she was far too overwhelmed by his presence to do anything herself. He was so close. Too close -- but at the same time not close enough. She wondered if he could hear her heart as well.

“Oi, oi!”

Out of the blue Declan flopped down next to her on the sofa and just like that she was brought back into reality and away from Harry’s green eyes. Declan had two pints of beer with him and grinned at the two of them; clueless to what he had just interrupted. He didn’t come alone though, soon the rest of the gang had gathered around the small table. All so clueless.

Y/N watched as Harry drank what was left of his beer and glared at Declan and the rest while she tried to stop her head from spinning so much. What had just happened?

They were all talking around her but their voices got lost in the loud music and her own thoughts.

‘What if you already have?’ what was that even supposed to mean?

She wanted to turn and look at Harry again but she was too scared of what he might do or say and too scared that everyone else was going to notice something was wrong and ask them about it. Instead she just kept her eyes down to where her thigh was pressing into Harry’s after Declan had squeezed himself down beside them.

Thankfully no one else seemed to pick up on tension between the two of them but Y/N still regretted absolutely everything about her decision to talk to Harry. It hadn’t helped make anything clearer and she was now stuck next to him in a busy club with their drunk friends. Great.

To make things worse she then, out of nowhere, heard someone call her name and she nearly dropped her drink as she noticed who it belonged to. Well fuck.

“Luke.”

His name fell from her lips as soon as she spotted him waving at her. He came up and stood behind Nate and Lucy, with his hands in his pockets and his hair slicked back perfectly. Lucy was quick to turn around to get a look at the guy Y/N had been raving about just a couple days ago. Then she looked at Y/N again with her jaw hanging open and gave her a look that confirmed Luke was indeed as flawless as he had been described.

The tension was thick and awkward as Luke stood before her and her friends, more specifically Harry, and Y/N could feel him tense up beside her as he stared Luke down. She had no idea what to say or do. “This is our new neighbour I was telling you about,” was the only thing she could think of. The smirk on Luke’s face as he heard that she had been talking about him didn’t go unnoticed.

“Y’alright then?” Luke asked and nodded towards Y/N. She couldn’t breathe. How was he there? After everything that had just happened with Harry... where did Luke even come from? She hadn’t processed her conversation with Harry yet, how was she supposed to have a conversation with Luke again, in front of everyone, when her head was so scrambled?

“Yeah, I’m great.” What a fucking lie.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“Oh.” What was happening? “Ummmm, I don’t - well I - ehm I-”

“Yes! She would love a drink!” Tara interrupted her with a big grin, and any other time she would’ve been grateful for her friend stepping in and helping, but now? “Wouldn’t you?” Y/N wasn’t even sure.

“I ehhh - well, I guess so?”

What?

Her whole body was screaming NO when she got up and felt Harry’s warmth leave her side. His eyes burned into her back and it was a miracle she even made it to the bar with Luke without vomiting right there and then.

Two days ago, when she first bumped into Luke, all she wanted was to go on a date with him. But something had changed. Something inside her had clicked, and it wasn’t her hormones or the alcohol this time. All she could think about as Luke talked to her and bought her a new drink was how he wasn’t Harry.

Luke didn’t know how she liked her tea. Luke didn’t know she couldn’t go straight to bed after watching a thriller or anything that resembled a scary movie; she needed to watch something more upbeat and cheerful before going to sleep. Luke didn’t know she liked to keep things in order. Luke didn’t know she ate her weight in chocolate when she got her period. Luke didn’t know she loved mint chocolate chip ice cream. Luke didn’t know she called her mum at least once a day. Luke didn’t know she was desperate to find love.

Harry did.

Harry knew all those things.

And as she stood at the bar with Luke she realised he wasn’t actually flawless. He was still gorgeous, only a little less breathtaking that time around because he knew he looked good and he wasn’t humble about it. He smelled like cigarettes and she hated the smell of smoke mixed with his strong cologne. It gave her a headache. He also couldn’t keep his eyes off her cleavage and didn’t bother asking her anything about herself.

His nose piercing didn’t even look that good.

Luke wasn’t flawless and she didn’t really like him.

Harry wasn’t flawless either... but she still liked him.

“And that’s when we-”

“You know what Luke,” she interrupted and put a finger up to stop him from talking. “I think I have to get back to my friends. But um... “ She glanced at the drink he had bought her before picking it up and downed it in one go, because he had paid for it and the least she could do was drink it. The alcohol burned a little in the back of her throat and she accidentally spilled a few drops down her shirt. She hardly noticed though because she was just aching to get back to her friends. Luke looked at her with wide eyes and a puzzled expression. “Thanks for the drink! I’ll see you around.”

With that she walked off with just one thing, or rather someone, on her mind.

But that someone wasn’t there when she found her friends again. She spotted Lucy and her bright dress sitting on Nate’s lap. She spotted Tara having a conversation with a girl from the table next to them. She spotted Declan and Connor laughing loudly over something on their phones.

She did not spot Harry.

Tara was the first one to notice her standing there just staring at the empty seat where Harry was sat a while ago. Tara excused herself from the conversation she was having and came up to Y/N, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“You okay?”

“Where is Harry?”

“He left,” Tara told her. “I think.”

“Hey, what’s going on?” Lucy came up to her as well, with a small frown on her face, worried something had happened. “Is everything alright?”

“I need to talk to Harry,” Y/N said and looked around the club; hoping to spot his curls somewhere in the crowd. Her eyes stung with tears when she couldn’t see him.

“He left after you walked off,” Lucy confirmed softly. “Is everything alright? Did something happen with Luke?”

“Yes- I mean no. I have to go,” was all she told them before she rushed off. “I need Harry.”

Y/N wasn’t aware of the three words that left her mouth but it didn’t make them any less true. It all made so much sense. It had clicked. ‘What if you already have?’

Yes.

How could she have been so blind?

When she finally made it home she was out of breath from running all the way from the bus stop to their flat. She prayed Harry had actually gone home and not continued his night at some other club. She wasn’t sure what she’d do if he had.

But as soon as she stepped inside she heard the familiar sound of his guitar coming from his bedroom and she didn’t even bother catching her breath before walking across the flat in a couple of strides. She hadn't really thought anything through. Her whole body was just screaming at her that she needed Harry and it couldn't wait.

Harry left his dirty dishes out. He sometimes forgot to put the toilet seat down. He was disorganized. He did not only leave his dirty dishes out but he could also leave his dirty socks lying around the flat. He didn't like the same music as her. He could be petty and immature. He had ignored her for two days.

But Harry also made her tea when she was having a bad day. He made her laugh. He made her food in middle of the night. He always asked about her day. He helped her home when she got too drunk. He sometimes surprised her with breakfast. He understood her. He made her feel at ease and she could always be herself around him.

All of the good thing outweighed the bad, and the bad was only part of who he was; Harry, her roommate, her friend, the boy who she hadn't realised gave her butterflies until now.

And perhaps she should’ve knocked or at least made her presence known in any other way because as she slung his bedroom door open Harry was visibly startled and a sour note came from his guitar. He looked at her with wide eyes.

“Y/N? What the fuck?”

“Do I have any flaws?” she asked him breathlessly.

“What?” he asked. “What do you mean?”

“What about me annoys you?”

“Shouldn’t you be off getting a drink with Mr. Flawess himself.”

“Well I changed my mind. Now just answer the question,” she urged, wanting to cut straight to the chase. Harry frowned and she wasn’t really sure if he was angry with her or just confused. Maybe both? It didn’t matter though, she just needed answers before she passed out from the anxiety running through her. “Do I have any flaws?”

“I - yeah. You do,” he said. Y/N nodded and stepped further into his room, wanting to be closer to him. “Why?”

“Just - wait,” she told him and ignored his question by asking her own. “What are they?”

Harry didn’t reply at first. He just sat in silence and stared at her with his brows still pressed together in a frown. God, what if she had gotten it all wrong? She’d have to give up the flat to Harry and move out, leave Manchester, maybe even leave the UK. She’d be absolutely mortified; she’d never recover from it.

Just as she lost all hope and considered running off to hide in her own bedroom for the rest of the night, possibly for the rest of the term, Harry slowly put his guitar to the side. He rubbed his hand over his chin and pinched the bottom of his lip between his index finger and his thumb, contemplating his next few words cautiously.

“You’re incredibly stubborn,” he told her and despite the fact that he had just basically insulted her a wave relief washed over her as he finally said something.

“Okay, what else?”

“You ask way too many questions during a movie.”

“Okay.”

“You overthink absolutely everything.”

“More.”

“You leave notes around the flat over the most meaningless things.”

“Well maybe you shouldn’t leave the kitchen a mess then.”

“You have too much milk in your tea.”

“You don’t have enough.”

Harry cracked a smile but it faltered almost just as quickly.

“You want love but don’t see the person right in front of you who has fallen head over heels for you.”

Y/N had never seen or heard him as vulnerable as he was right there and then. For a moment she wondered if maybe she had misheard him but judging by his nervous fidgeting and how he for the first time ever struggled to look her in the eyes she quickly realised she hadn’t.

“I do now,” she admitted quietly, almost too quiet, and shifted her weight from one foot to the other awkwardly. “I see you.”

Harry still heard her and looked right into her eyes as he took a sharp breath. Her body ached to feel his touch as she stood in the middle of his room, terrified of what she was about to ask next, but there was no going back. It was, after all, the reason she had followed him home. “And you still like me despite all my flaws?”

“Well,” Harry started and fought back a smile. “I suppose I wouldn’t have saved all your notes if I didn't.”

It was really all it took for her to close the space between them and throw herself over him. Harry was quick to catch her and his arms wrapped around her body tightly, holding her close, as she pressed her lips to his.

It was strange kissing him and she didn’t quite know where to put her own hands at first, but it felt right that much she knew. Her whole body was on fire from just a simple little kiss. Y/N never wanted it to stop. Harry grinned against her lips before deepening the kiss and sneaked his hands in under her blazer, pushing it off her shoulders before running his hands over her body.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and it was almost ridiculous how giddy she felt. Harry made her feel drunk, more so than the alcohol in her body. Nothing had ever tasted as good as him. She was completely lost in him and his warmth.

It wasn’t until she felt him pull at her trousers that she was reminded of reality again and she pulled away from his lips. “You okay?” Harry asked immediately.

“Yeah,” she panted and leaned her forehead against his, twirling the hair in the back of his neck around her finger carefully. “I just... I still got my period.”

“Okay,” Harry nodded and tightened his grip on her, still holding her close, and she was sure she could feel his heartbeat against hers. “S’that all? Because frankly I don’t really care about a little blood right now.”

“Oh.”

“Do you?”

“I... no.”

“You sure?” Harry wondered and placed his fingers under her chin and angled her face so he could look into her eyes. He saw right through her and her mind was hazy as her body melted right into his. Harry made her feel safe and comfortable and it was all she needed to know she was sure.

She needed him.

“Give me a second,” she said and gave him a quick peck before getting off him. It pained her to do so but even as she made her way over to the bathroom to remove her tampon, perhaps one of the most unattractive things you could do, Harry’s eyes on her as she walked away made her feel sexier than she ever had before.

She didn’t waste a single second inside the bathroom and quickly did what she had to before she just about ran back to Harry’s bedroom. She caught a quick glimpse of herself in the mirror and couldn’t help but laugh. She looked dazed. But in the best possible way. Her cheeks were rosy. Her hair was messy. Lips swollen. It was the first time she had ever seen herself look so radiant. Glowing almost.

Happy.

She also decided to not put her trousers back on after she was done in the bathroom, because why waste time when she was planning to take them off soon anyway?

And Harry seemed to have had the same idea because when she came back he had already removed his floral shirt and his beige trousers as well. His lips were the same colour as her lipstick and he didn’t even try to hide the fact that he was staring at her bare legs and underwear. It made her whole body tingle and she didn’t mind him gawking, because she couldn’t take her own eyes away from his naked chest and the bulge between his legs.

“Come here,” Harry murmured and held out his hand for her to take. He gently pulled at her arm until she was sitting on top of him on the bed, straddling his hips. The lack of clothing on both of them made her blush as he embraced her and she felt all of him under her.

Harry cupped one of his hands under her jaw and leaned in to kiss her again. It started out slow but as soon as his lips touched her a soft moan came from her. His lips were slightly chapped and yet they were the best lips she had ever kissed. It didn't matter that they weren’t perfectly soft. Not one bit. Y/N never wanted to kiss anyone else ever again.

The kiss quickly deepend and she had her hands in his hair, tugging at his soft curls and getting lost in the taste of his lips. She was throbbing against him and knew he could also feel just how desperately she wanted him through the thin lace of her panties. His lips were eager against hers and she was too lost in him to notice he had blindly reached out to the bedside table and sought out a condom.

It wasn’t until she felt his hand and the small foil packet brush against her leg that she realised. She pulled back and met his green eyes, breathing hard as she tried to find her words to speak. He looked back at her with questioning eyes, silently asking her if she was alright with what was happening between them, and she just nodded.

She sat back to give him some room and watched as he pulled himself out of his boxers and then helped him get them off before he rolled the condom over his length. The sight alone made her light-headed and, if he hadn’t already, she was sure he could hear how hard her heart was beating. He also caught her staring but she didn’t really care and he only pulled her back into him.

He kissed her along her collarbone, sucking lightly at the skin as he made his way up to her neck. Y/N closed her eyes and hummed with pleasure as she tilted her head to the side to give him better access. Harry ran his hands up and down her back and then slipped his hands in under the tank top she was wearing before he pulled it off her swiftly.

Harry took a few seconds to stare at her naked chest when he discovered she wasn’t wearing a bra before he kissed each of her breasts lightly, making her nipples hard. Y/N just cupped his face and pulled his head up so she could kiss him again, impatient and desperate to feel him inside her and he giggled against her lips.

Harry only pushed the crotch of her underwear to the side when he lined himself up under her. She gasped as she slowly sank down onto him and had to break their kiss. Harry had one hand around her thigh and the other on the back of her head, her hair twisted between his fingers, as they breathed the same air.

When she eventually started to move her hips after getting used to the stretch of him he groaned softly, low in his throat, and tightened the grip he had on her. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

Her blood rushed inside her and her whole chest and face flushed from hearing his words and how hoarse his voice was. She put her hands on his stomach, her fingers digging into his skin around his tattoo, before lifting her hips and taking all of him again; craving the friction created between the two of them.

Harry moaned and let his head fall backwards, breathing heavily, and she couldn’t take her eyes away from his strong jawline. She also couldn’t stop herself from kissing him right there and Harry moaned again as he felt her lips on his skin.

It made her smile; knowing she was having the same affect on him that he had on her.

Y/N did her best to find a steady rhythm riding him but her thighs were trembling around him and it had been awhile since she had been on top of anyone. She had almost forgotten how to do it. Harry bucked his hips up into her and she barely had time to react before he impatiently flipped them over and yanked her underwear off.

A loud moan left her lips as he pushed right back into her and instantly built up a new quicker pace, giving her all of him and hitting the spot in her that made her toes curl. He leaned down and connected their mouths again. His chest was slick with sweat as his body pressed against hers and her hands were all over him because she just couldn’t decide where to put them. She wanted all of him.

And when Harry hoisted himself up and hooked one of her legs over his shoulder to get deeper she didn’t care if any of their neighbours heard her.

“Oh my god.”

Then his fingers were stroking her between her legs and it quite literally took her breath away. Her whole body was trembling as she felt every hot and thick inch of him. Her release was close, she could feel it in the pit of her stomach and he could see it on her as he continued to move above her.

And not once did Harry lose his pace or falter when her nails scratched his back and she clenched tightly around him as her orgasm swept through her body. He kept thrusting into her while she moaned and shivered beneath him.

Just as she came down from her high he got his own release and came with a loud sigh of relief. He continued to move his hips against hers until his muscles gave up from exhaustion and he collapsed on top of her.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, both spent, and she tried to catch her breath.

Which was hard seeing as he was still on top of her and she could still feel him inside her.

When he raised his head to look down at her, grinning from ear to ear, her whole stomach fluttered. And this time she knew it was because of Harry. It wasn’t because of alcohol. Not because she had a hangover. Not because she was stressed. Maybe because of a few hormones.

But there were just no excuses.

Eventually Harry got up. He removed the used condom and retrieved a small towel to clean himself up quickly before handing it over and climbing back into bed with her.

Y/N curled up against his chest and let him run his fingers through her hair, gently scratching the top of her head, and she was seconds away from falling asleep when he spoke up.

“I’m sorry for calling you desperate.”

Y/N tilted her head up to look at him.

“S’okay, I have been a little.”

“Still,” he mumbled. “Wasn’t really fair of me.”

“You know you could’ve just told me.”

“I was going to,” Harry admitted with a low chuckle. “But you always came back home announcing you were going on another date so it never really felt like the right time.”

“Hmm, well you didn’t really help yourself by bringing a girl back like every weekend,” she pointed out and laughed lightly. “It was hard to not be blind.”

“Had to try to forget about you somehow,” Harry admitted and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, letting his lips linger for a few seconds before continuing. “But you and your stupid post-it notes made it hard.”

“Did you really save all of them?” she asked and pushed herself up so she was leaning on her elbows. She couldn’t stop herself from grinning proudly. Harry laughed and tipped his head back, covering his face with his hands as his cheeks turned pink.

“God, I’m gonna regret telling you that aren’t I?”

“Maybe,” she laughed again before giving his chest a quick kiss, just because she could. “I do kind of enjoy writing them for you though.”

“Of course you do,” Harry said and peaked out from behind his hands with a cheeky smile. “And I enjoy leaving the kitchen a mess because I know you’ll leave me a new one,” he confessed and tapped her nose.

“I fuckin’ knew it!” she exclaimed with a gasp and shoved him away from her playfully. “You absolute knobhead!”

Harry only laughed and pulled her back into his warm body.

On her way back home from the club Y/N had been a little bit worried that she was wrong or that it was going to be weird to go from roommates to more with Harry -- but it felt like the most natural thing. It felt just as natural as everything else they already did together, and maybe that was why she had been so picky recently. Maybe it was why she looked for flaws in every guy she dated so she had an excuse to not see them again. She had already found what she wanted; she just hadn’t realised. How stupid.

“Hey Harry?”

“Hm?”

“Would you like to go on a date with me?”

please let me know your thoughts here ! And please share it if you liked it, it would mean a lot to me! 💛

#Harry Styles fanfiction #Harry Styles fanfic #Harry Styles writing #Harry Styles oneshot #Harry Styles one shot #Harry Styles fluff #Harry Styles smut #Harry Styles #Fallinharry10k

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off-in-the-moors · 3 years

Text

Joseph Kavinsky analysis, part 1

aka how did I get here and why is he the reason

Warnings: spoilers for the whole Raven Cycle, mentions of: drug-use, abuse, death, murder, homophobic slurs, xenophobia

Part 1 // Part 2

After finishing The Raven Cycle and analyzing every chapter, character and the overarching plot with my friend, we were left feeling empty. It's been few months, I kept looking-up more TRC related things, other people's opinions, look through fandom content and even read some post from the author's, now deleted, tumblr account, trying to find answers to why I'm feeling like this. Why the books seem to decline for me in quality as I kept reading? Why I can't see Ronan in the same light as the rest of the fandom? Why I couldn't like the author? And the answer was looking me in the eyes the whole time.

"Depending on where you began the story, it was about Joseph Kavinsky."

I loved his character from the moment we met him in The Dream Thieves and still think about him to this day. But why? In a way, Kavinsky is too familiar to me, from his attitude, through appearance to his voice. It’s like I knew him, and this isn’t surprising. I met/saw Kavinskys on the streets, I know Kavinskys, and I was a Kavinsky once in my life. Although I'm the opposed to him, I still sympathies with him and understand how it feels to be in dark places in your life. And I'm not the only one, many people adore him and don't deny his actions to be terrible. But on the other side, the majority of fans hates him and titles him "the worst/most evil antagonist of the series". But why? What about K makes him so polarizing? The simple answer is: the way he was presented and the function he played in the plot. Even then, K's whole arc in TDT was handled horribly and damaged the way readers will view, not only people like K but also themselves. This and also future posts, I’ll be analyzing everything relied to K, including his treatment after book's release by the author and what some deleted scenes and unused ending can shine on.

This is part 1 of a series of posts to come.

This part is about the narrative and characters views of Kavinsky.

Narrative and characters

Narrative is a powerful tool of telling a story, well crafted and coupled with character's internal-voice makes the reader view the story under different light. In a PoV of one character, one thing might bring-up different emotions and ideas, than the others. Exploring relationships and events differ, because everybody experience it differently. But problem begins when the narrative forces a reader to a opinion, without backing it up with reasons or giving a opposing one. In case of Joseph Kavinsky, before we properly meet him, we are told by the characters to hate him and the narrative backs them up in reasons to hate him. All the reasons given to us at that time, boil down to "I heard a rumor."

Gansey hates him, because "There was nothing about Kavinsky that wasn’t despicable" and "he thinks life is a music video". He doesn't want Ronan to associated with him, which is connected with him covering and getting Ronan's ass for the mess he made, having him project his anger and frustration he has with Ronan on to K, who part-takes in the same activities and probably with Ronan, is understandable. But I didn't expect much from a guy who: payed the school officials so they won't kick Ronan out; insulted Adam and throw Adam’s abuse at his face, just to instant of apologizing to him, make a pity party for himself (also having Adam apologies to Gansey for his rightful outburst isn't okay), is fine with having a romantic relationship with Blue while she's still with Adam, hurting him even further but makes it all about himself, etc. Him hating K, just because of his lifestyle, made sense. But were the line was crossed, was when he started to decide on other people's worth. Lines like "we matter" (on which I'll extend later in the post) or "Ronan is fixable and has a soul [Kavinsky doesn't]", were used not only to show what Gansey himself thinks of K (he isn't a human being to him), but also demonize K and make the reader not consider him an equal to the Gangsey (a teenage).

Blue hates him, because he's yet another Raven Boy. Her hatred comes mostly from her distance for them, rich boys with privilege to which Gansey gang is an exception (although two out of four are exactly the kind she hates, and she told Noah directly she wouldn't be friends with him if he was alive) (There can be made a whole post about Blue's hypocrites regarding Raven Boys, but this isn't it). She also talks about how she doesn't feel comfortable around K and "if she couldn’t forgive Kavinsky for always managing to make her feel so insignificant", which makes sense. But while describing him, she calls him "a import from somewhere else", not only lessening him as a person but also making a xenophobic comment, noting his long nose as one of the factors (you could say, she meant him being from New Jersey, but you don't "import" stuff from inside a country, you only "import" from abroad and K is Bulgarian, doesn't matter if he's an immigrant or just has Bulgarian roots). Later, while discussing what to do with K draining the ley lines, Greyman offers to talk to him, to which Blue asks him "can you make him feel worthless while you do?”. Yes, she asked a hit-man, who killed not only Niall Lynch but also multiple people (including three on pages, which was described in the case of the ones breaking into Montmouth) for money. (Yes, fans say it's fine he murdered Niall, because he was a dick and horrible father, but what we forget is that it wasn't a fast death. It was slow and brutal, having him bludgeoned to send a message to Declan. No "he was a weapon in Greenmatle's hand" can excuse it.). Plus, he beat-up and threatened Declan with a gun if he doesn't give him the Greywaren. "Making him feel worthless" can only mean the worst. Kavinsky was a asshole, but he didn't deserved that. Also Blue gives the idea to give Kavisnky to the Greyman instant of Ronan, which was shot down, but not because it's horrible, inhuman and they can't decide on someone else's life, but because they think Greenmantle's people will come back also for Ronan. They were ok, with K being basically a scapegoat so Ronan will live.

Adam just "hates that prick" and "looked at the table with a studied disinterest" when K approached their table at Nino's, those are his only interaction in anything Kavinsky related (In a part regarding the "original" ending, we'll see it wasn't always the case.).

Noah barely exists in the series after The Raven Boys and never comes in contact with K or gives any opinion on him, outside of "ducked his head down into his shoulders, but couldn't take his eyes off the newcomer".

Ronan's relation with K could be its own post all together and there already are some good post about it, but for this one, I'll only mention few things. He gives us a very "I hate him but I'm into this lifestyle" attitude. He races against K but doesn't want to have anything to do with him or he's "dogs". (Yes, Dream Packs canon name is "Kavinsky's pack of dogs" as Ronan calls them. Ironically, Ronan gets angry then Declan and K called him "Gansey's dog" but is fine when Gansey calls him "his dog".) He never thanked or acknowledged K saved his life from the Night Horror. He accepted K's help in dreaming-up the new Pig but afterwords ditches him without even a slit gratefulness (his motivation being remembering Gansey's words), and mocks that K thought there could be anything between them (friendship or relationship, it dependents how you interpret it), turning this into just using K to get what he wanted. And yes, what K did while Ronan slept (tracing Ronan's back tattoo with his finger) was unacceptable, if it really happened and wasn't just phantom-touch while falling asleep (if it was real, it can be interpreted as K acting out of his internalized homophobia, letting himself a moment of “curiosity”, but it still wouldn't make it fine).

Ronan and K insult one-another multiple times through-out the story but the difference is quite showing. K's insults are mostly homophobic, calling Ronan a "fag" or implying Ronan and Gansey are together. This is a typical teenage insults, but are also showing of K's internalized homophobia if viewed through "Don’t say Dick Gansey, man. Do not say it. He is never going to be with you. And don’t me tell you don’t swing that way, man. I’m in your head." and "It's a bomb. Just like you." scenes.

But Ronan, excepting the typical insults like "ball-sack", goes after who K is. "Bulgarian mobster Jersey trash piece of shit" or "Russian" (to the latter, K responded "Hey now, let's not make this ugly") are personal, referring not only to from where K's from, implying he's a mobster like his father and just calling him "a waste". Unfortunately, K's whole character is already one big stereotype of Slavs as viewed not only by Americans. But insulting someone for being "Bulgarian", something they had no control over, is xenophobic. (And for "Russian", as a Slav myself, let me tell you. Calling a non-Russian Slav "Russian" is a quick way to get on their bad side.) And if you're like "Ronan isn't xenophobic, because he's Irish" or "Maggie isn't xenophobic, because Ronan...", you have no idea how things work in Europe. This is the same argument as "He can't be racist, because he's black". TRC fandom is always ready to bring-up all K's sins and even enlarge them, but when in comes to Ronan, all his sins are either forgotten or excused.

One more thing I want to touch on is one of K's parties. After Monmouth got broken into by people looking for Greywaren (which Greyman broke into first), Gansey thinks it must be Kavinsky's doing, because of the fake ID left in front of the door. Him and Ronan go to K's party, he tells them, it's a substance party and asks where are theirs. As an answer, Ronan hits him in the face and throws through a car, just to show him his blooded knuckles with "This is your substance.". The rest is Gansey and Ronan not believing K, that he didn't trash their place, and a "different Gansey" throwing a Molotov cocktail at K's car. After that, they leave. But one thing isn't sitting right with me. The "This is your substance" is a beloved, may I say iconic, scene that is glorified by fans and cited as this "Ronan is so cool and K soo deserved it" thing.

Here's the thing. K is in full right. It's his party, on his rules. Gansey and Ronan just came from nowhere, probably for the first time, so the rule is stated for them. And Ronan's response? Physically assault K. Even if he's angry about the apartment, still he shouldn't just assault him. And Gansey does nothing. And one more thing: K never hits Ronan back. Not in next chapters, not at the end. Never.

Before the chapter ends, we get probably my most hated line from this book:

"Closing his eyes, Gansey leaned his head back on his seat, chin tilted up, throat green in the dash lights. There was still an unsafe sort of smile about his mouth — what a torment the possibility in that smile was — and he said, “There was never a time when that could’ve been you and me. You know the difference between us and Kavinsky? We matter."

We matter. And he doesn't. I could talk about this line and how damaging it is to people who see themselves in Kavinsky, but instant I'll say, why I hate it.

I have anxiety mixed with being introverted and back-in-the-day I felt isolated from my classmates, desperate for friends but only had toxic ones who dropped me so the popular girls would talk with them, just to be friends with me again after some time, bullied to the point of breaking multiple times, and hating myself for not fitting in, unable to connected with my peers in anyway. The line "we matter" echos my worst fear and thoughts from that time. "Everyone matter, you don't". I was too young to even have those thoughts, but they were always there. In the back of my head, like a recurring nightmare.

Just the idea, someone can say with confidence that someone, anyone, doesn't matter, makes me sick. No one has the inside to what's going on in someones life, to what thought are plaguing their head. Everyone's life matter and to say something like this in a book targeted to 12-18 year olds, who are at there most vulnerable stage, is not only irresponsible but enraging. Gansey is saying this about a guy his age, who is drug-addicted and self-destructive, because he doesn't like him and wants Ronan to stay away from. No one calls him out on it. Not Ronan, not the narrative. Nothing.

Until the kidnapping of Matthew and the paradox/question "did the tattoo tracing scene happened?", Kavinsky did nothing to earn hatred from the reader. He was living his life, being a stupid, reckless teenage boy with a power to get everything he wanted. Ask yourself a question: "If you had the power to pulled anything* from your dreams, wouldn't you go crazy with it? Maybe in a very selfish way?"

* Throughout TRC and CDtH, we see no limit to what a dreamer can pull-out. From a pen or working car, living creatures (animals, copies of real people or purely made-up) to abstract things, like a word with power to animate the dead or an apocalypses.

Yes, K's dreaming drained the ley lines, causing Cabeswater to disappear. But did K knew about it? He knew that he needed to wait for it to recharge before dreaming more things and he did just that. The over-draining was cause by preparations for this Fourth of July party (dreaming many copies of his Mitsubishi) but same did Ronan’s dreaming (but Cabeswater acts as weird gatekeeper, so Ronan seems to be forgiven). But did he knew about Cabeswater? Or furthermore, Glendower? We can't confirm or deny it, but considering K isn't from Henrietta and probably is there only for school, he's there for about 2 years. Would he be interested in some random forest or some Welsh King, which just idea of him being in America is so far fetched to believe in?

No. All he was interested it, was parting and wasting himself away.

We don't get any other or opposing opinions on Kavinsky, only the ones given by Gangsey. They are the outsiders looking in, not having any inside, just rumors and their shallow observations/interactions. But we don't even get any "inside", not from other Raven Boys or even the Dream Pack (who are barely characters). After K's death, the only thing we get is Gangsey's not caring or being glad K's gone. Aglionby is silent and Henrietta, doesn't even acknowledge Fourth of July's Party even happened (but to be honest, the town feels like a theater stage than a living place). The only mentions about K that gives some idea someone noticed anything, was his name alongside Whelk’s and Dittley's in the newspaper at the end of BLLB (but this plot point is never mentioned again).

#joseph kavinsky #anti maggie stiefvater #anti raven cycle #anti trc

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imagineaworlds · 3 years

Text

I Love You (Part Forty-Seven) -- Aaron Hotchner

Written By: @desperately-bisexual

Request: None.

Warnings: Cursing. Mentions of PTSD, Dom/sub relationship, death, etc-- everything Criminal Minds.. I think that’s it???

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Greenaway!Reader

Word Count: 12575

Timeline: Season 7 Episode 01. Three months after part forty-six.

For the past three months, the team had worked dozens of different cases across the country, but none of them mattered except for the one that Morgan, Garcia, and I had been working on privately. Since I came back to work and was deemed the temporary unit chief, I decided to reopen the Ian Doyle case. At first, it was just me. When I wasn’t at work, I was at home, hiding in the upstairs office, working on trying to piece all of the evidence together to figure out where the hell Doyle could have possibly gone. But then it was just too hard to keep doing it on my own, and all of my resources were wasted. There was only one person who had access to more information than I did. Garcia. So, I asked if she would be willing to help me, but it was impossible for her to keep a secret, so we invited Morgan to help us. From there, we managed to find Declan, but we didn’t tell anyone about it outside of our small group of three.

Finding Declan was an interesting process. I had hit a wall with it, hence why I acquired Garcia’s help, but she managed to find him almost immediately after she told Derek what was going on and he helped profile Emily in order to profile Declan. He figured that she had been the one to move him considering how she died protecting his identity and location. Before joining the team, apparently she lived in Reston, Virginia, something I didn’t know about her, but he managed to know. From there, we decided that it was probably to be close to Declan. So, we started narrowing it down. We knew that she liked cul-de-sacs, so as Garcia was going through the school system to find kids that looked like Declan, she compared if their guardian looked like Louise, his nanny, and if they lived in a cul-de-sac. Then, bam. We found them.

Morgan had been the one to offer up the idea of looking for Declan before Ian because if we found Declan, then so would his father eventually, which made our job easier. After that, it was just a waiting game. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much we could do beyond searching all of the footage to see if Ian ever showed up, which he never did. When Morgan and I were away on cases, Penelope kept an eye on him; and when we were in town but not working on anything, Morgan was driving baby Emily out there and taking her on walks around Declan’s neighborhood to scout the place. I think it was also just an excuse for him to have Emily more.

On our way to work one morning, Morgan and I stopped to get sandwiches for lunch, as well as some donuts from Leonard’s for the office since we were feeling generous, I suppose. At work, we split off so that he could sit in the bullpen while I dragged my feet up to my office. I didn’t understand how Hotch did it. Being away from the team all day, every day was so… isolating and exhausting. There was no joking with Morgan, teasing Reid, or… well, when Emily was around, there was no more chatting with her and gossiping about Hotch. I missed the way she used to slide in veiled threats into the conversation about how she would hurt him if he ever hurt me. So, then again, maybe it was a good thing that I wasn’t down in the bullpen anymore. Sitting at my old desk would have just given me a reason to sit there and stare at her desk all day, reflecting on what it was like to have her around, wishing that I could bring her back.

By lunch time, Morgan rescued our sandwiches from the fridge and brought them up to my office. He closed the door behind him and sat down across from me. I caught my sandwich as he threw it at me, then tossed him a water bottle from Hotch’s secret stash in his bookshelf behind the desk. I hadn’t really changed anything. For the most part, the office was still exactly how he left it. From the artwork to the family photos, to the stacks of case files that he practically left for me on his desk to work through, to his computer wallpaper of us, it was all still Hotch. The only difference was that I was finding all of his secrets now, like the water bottles, and totally taking advantage of them.

Morgan kicked his feet up on the desk, something Hotch would’ve never let him do in a thousand years, and dug into his lunch. I picked at mine for a moment while thinking. I was doing too much of that nowadays. Without my “other half” (or some cliché shit like that) around, I didn’t really know who to talk to 24/7 about what I was thinking and feeling. Sure, I could’ve talked to Morgan, but it was different. When I talked to Morgan, it was like we were brainstorming for a solution; but with Hotch, it was just like he was there to listen, and I could go on and on for hours, and he would hear me out, and he would only offer up a solution if he felt it were necessary. Sometimes I just liked ranting my thoughts to him. I liked watching how he would slowly get lost in the details of my face as I would be talking, and how he it looked like he was falling in love with me over and over again with every minute that passed. Skype and calling on the phone every day didn’t do that look justice anymore.

“Oh, my god—Oh, my god—Oh, my god!” Garcia came running into the office with a laptop balancing on one of her arms. Morgan and I turned to face her. “It’s him! It’s him!” She quickly set her laptop down on my desk and pressed play on a video. Morgan and I both leaned forward in our seats to watch the security footage from Declan’s house. “It’s Doyle—” She paused and pointed to a driver in a car passing by. It was kind of hard to see, but when she zoomed the image in and enhanced it, it was undeniably Ian Doyle.

“When was this?” I asked, jumping into action by standing from my seat and started collecting everything we had on this case thus far.

“Two hours ago.”

“He could have Declan by now. Fuck.” I looked at the two of them to say, “Okay, I think it’s time. I’m going to call Hotch to let him know, meanwhile, I need you guys to get the team together and start explaining everything. I want Reid and Rossi to go retrieve Declan and Louise after they’re briefed.” I grabbed my phone from my desk. “Go.” Just as they were leaving, I dialed Hotch’s satellite phone out in the Middle East.

Hotch and I had still been calling each other every day and Skyping as often as we could. The longer he was there, however, the busier he and I got with our two different jobs, which made it increasingly complicated to keep up with each other. But we made the effort. We knew that if at least one day passed where we wouldn’t talk, one day would inevitably turn into two, then three, and so on. I didn’t want to stop talking to him. As boring as the conversations could get at times, at least I got to see him. He was growing out a beard that I happened to love, but Jack hated. He claimed that it made his dad look old. When we could talk in private a little bit later, I told Hotch that I thought it was hot, and that I couldn’t wait to pull at it while he towered over me. He disliked when I teased him like that, though.

When I called, he picked up almost immediately.

“You’re calling awfully early,” Hotch said over the phone, “are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Do you have a minute?”

“For you? I have all the time in the world.”

I blushed to myself and looked down to watch the toes of my shoe dig into the ground over and over again. “There’s something you need to know, baby, and you have to promise to not get mad.” He didn’t say anything. “Morgan, Garcia, and I have been looking for Doyle while you’ve been gone.” Still, nothing. “We found Declan.”

“What?!”

“Hotch—”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this, Y/N? Do you know how stupid that was? Your whole career could—”

“I don’t care about that, Hotch. I really don’t. I knew that finding Declan was the best way of finding Ian, so I asked Garcia to help; and you know her, she couldn’t keep it to herself, so she told Morgan, and he insisted that he help us. He’s basically the one who found Declan. Without the two of them, I wouldn’t have any leads.”

Hotch sighed quietly. “Is Declan safe?”

“Yes.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Morgan’s still surveilling him—But, Hotch, listen, we were right. By watching Declan all this time, we got eyes on Ian.”

He hesitated for a moment. “You’re sure?” He sounded more scared than angry now. I hummed a “yes” in response. “Baby, listen to me right now.”

I bit my lip. “I’m listening, Sir.”

He chuckled slightly. “If you get eyes on Doyle, you need to take the shot. Got it? Don’t let him get away again.” He sounded out of breath now like he was running around. “I’m coming back to help.”

I felt my heart skip a beat and the air leave my lungs with one shocked gasp. He was coming back. After three months, I was finally going to get to hold him in my arms again, and I was going to get to kiss his lips again. Holy shit. He was coming home. My husband was coming back to me. I almost wanted to dance and cheer, scream from the top of my lungs how happy I was and that I couldn’t wait to see him; but I had to show a modicum of respect still, so I buried that feeling until I would get to see him again.

“You can do that?” I questioned cautiously. As happy as I was, could he really just abandon his post to come back like that? It sounded almost too good to be true.

“I put in the request to transfer back to Quantico about two weeks ago.” And he didn’t tell me? “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to get your hopes up on anything; but they don’t need me here anymore, so it’s not a big deal if they find a replacement.” I hopped slightly with joy and giggled. Hotch chuckled at me. “I can’t wait to see you, baby.”

Even considering the circumstances, I couldn’t wait to see him either. “Call me when you’re landing.”

“I will. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

----

By the time Garcia followed traffic camera footage across the state just to see where Doyle was hiding out, we had a SWAT team with snipers on call, and the team was ready to head out there. Just as I had ordered, Rossi and Reid headed to get Declan, but the drive was pretty far, so I didn’t expect to hear from them for a while, especially while we were in the early stages of staking out Doyle’s place. Morgan, JJ, and I were trapped in a van across the street from his apartment while SWAT was just down the road, and they had two snipers up on separate roofs. All of it was my call, though. The second we had reasonable cause to believe that it was actually Ian Doyle up there, I would be the one to dictate if the snipers or Morgan would be taking the shot, like Hotch said.

“That’s all Hotch said? ‘Take the shot’?” JJ questioned warily. I nodded and shrugged. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. Why?”

She shook her head. “Nothing…”

I eyed her suspiciously for a moment, taking into account how her gaze wasn’t resting on one thing, but instead a thousand different things, like she was too anxious to focus. It was odd, but I shrugged it off with the excuse that finding Doyle was a big deal. Since he killed Prentiss, we had all been itching to find him and avenge her. Out of everyone, I knew that JJ would want to know that Doyle was dead because of us. She wanted that justice. I couldn’t exactly tell why, but she had always been like that, especially since getting promoted to being a profiler.

And then my phone started ringing with a call from Spencer who had just arrived at Declan’s house. I figured it was just an update. I mean, him and Rossi were there to simply pick up Declan and Louise, that was it. But then something worrying happened when I picked up the call: Reid sounded concerned.

“Reid?”

“Declan’s missing,” he answered quickly.

“What?”

“We just searched the house, and he’s gone, so we called the school to see if he even made it home, and they told us that his mom picked him up early.”

“Louise?” I speculated.

“I doubt it.” He sounded annoyed now. “She’s dead.”

“Fuck,” I cursed under my breath, then looked up at Morgan and JJ to tell them what was going on. They also cursed, and he hit the side of the car. “Okay. Reid, you and Rossi should meet us here in case we end up seeing—” The sound of a police car’s siren flew past our van, catching our attention. It was just a squad car. No, no, no, no. Fuck. That was going to scare Doyle off. Fuck.

“He’s inside!” Morgan exclaimed. We all turned to face the window to see the drape in Doyle’s apartment window shaking like it had just been disturbed. “I saw him!” Morgan was already fiddling with the door handle and pushing his way out of the car.

“Shit…” This wasn’t at all how I imagined this going down. We were supposed to just monitor the situation, get legitimate confirmation that Doyle was in there, not just Morgan claiming he saw him— But what choice did we have now? “Go, go, go,” I made the call, following Morgan out of the van and hanging up the call with Reid.

JJ, Morgan, and I raced inside first, the SWAT van pulling up behind us and the team moving in, too. When we reached the apartment number, JJ and I stood our ground in the hallway with our weapons raised, and I gave Morgan the signal to kick the door down, which he did without hesitating, and then he dashed inside. The three of us took turned towards different sides of the apartment in order to clear it. Morgan went straight into the living room/bedroom, JJ went into the bathroom on the left, and I stepped into the tiny kitchen on the right. He wasn’t there. Neither was Declan. Reid said that they couldn’t find Declan, so I only assumed that Doyle got to him first. Fuck! How the fuck did he—

“I’ve got something!” Morgan called out. I hurried into the living room/bedroom to see him peeking up at the ceiling inside of the closet. I cocked a brow and carefully approached. “He’s climbing to the roof.” There was a hole in the ceiling for some kind of secret tunnel that led upwards.

“Follow him,” I ordered. “I’ll take the steps. JJ, watch the door downstairs to make sure he doesn’t get out, and coordinate with SWAT to make sure that the block is locked down just in case. Get a crime scene team here to see if Declan was ever here.”

Morgan holstered his weapon then quickly pulled himself up into the tunnel to follow Doyle, meanwhile I hurried out into the hallway to start sprinting up the rest of the stairs, and JJ ran down them. How the fuck did this happen? How did we lose Declan like this, and how was Doyle actually planning on getting out of this?

And then I burst out onto the roof to see Morgan chasing after Doyle who was running for the fire escape on the side of the building. Morgan aimed his weapon, but didn’t shoot. Instead, he tried commanding Doyle to stop. Like that would help.

“I’ve got the shot,” one of the snipers said over the comms.

“Don’t shoot!” I exclaimed. “Don’t!” I knew what Hotch said about taking the shot if given the chance, but things were different now that we couldn’t find Declan in the apartment. Our only way of getting him back now was by keeping his father alive. Asshole. “Hold your fire!” When nothing came, Morgan tackled Doyle and spun him onto his stomach so that he could be handcuffed. “You got it?” I asked him. He nodded while slapping the cuffs on Doyle. “I’ll have JJ take him back to the office while we start going through everything downstairs.”

Morgan groaned as he yanked Doyle up onto his feet. “You’re not gonna let me take a crack at him?”

“Not yet.”

Doyle chuckled. I squinted at him while searching his eyes for a reason that he could have possibly found this funny. He noticed my curiosity. “Lauren was right about you.”

Morgan tugged on Doyle’s restraints to make them hurt. “Shut up.”

Doyle kept laughing as Morgan pushed him towards the stairwell so that JJ could take him to the office like I had ordered. My only question, however, was, what the hell did he mean by that? Lauren was right about me? Right about what? The question lingered in my head as I sighed and moved to walk downstairs, too.

Afterwards, hours passed while we were combing through Doyle’s apartment, trying to find clues about where he must have taken Declan, as well as compiling evidence connecting him to Valhalla and Prentiss’s death. For someone in hiding, there was a lot he had with him. Usually, people in his situation would stay minimalist and wouldn’t have all of their condemning evidence in one spot, but Doyle was so cocky that he wouldn’t get caught that he didn’t bother to keep any of his current business elsewhere. There were so many guns in that one apartment that we could have started another small army. I couldn’t understand how on Earth someone would need all of that. Then again, Doyle already had a small army, and the reason they needed to smuggle all of those weapons out of the state was so that he could maintain power in Europe while he was underground. Well, looked like all of that was worthless now.

I sighed as I stepped outside of that tiny, dirty, smelly, cramped apartment for the first time in over ten hours. It really took that long. Doyle had been sitting at the office the entire time, brewing in his own thoughts, which was our strategy to break him. If he was left in darkness and silence long enough, he would open up. Hopefully. At least, Morgan and I would give it a shot when we would head back to the office. For now, we were down tearing the entire apartment to shreds. The bastard even had papers hiding behind the wallpaper.

When my phone started buzzing in my pocket, I sighed again and dug it out. “Hotchner,” I answered.

“Mmm… I could get used to that,” Hotch’s voice echoed over the phone, making me melt.

I perked up within an instant while looking down at my watch, spotting the time and how long it had been since he last called me, and how he promised he would call when he was close to landing in Virginia. Finally, I thought. “How close are you?”

“Ten, fifteen minutes.”

It was almost morning already. He was probably going to be landing just as the sun would start to peek over the tall buildings of Quantico. “I’m coming to pick you up.”

“Y/N, you should stay—”

“Nope,” I interrupted adamantly.

Hotch chuckled. “You’re really going to be a brat about this right now?”

“Mhm. You can scold me for it when you see me.”

“God, I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Hey, sunshine,” Morgan said, sneaking up behind me, “you ready to go?”

“I’ll see you in a few minutes, baby,” I told Hotch. Before he could say anything in return, though, I hung up on him. I hid my grin as I buried my phone in my back pocket, then turned to face Morgan. “Can you handle the interrogation for a bit while I head to the airport?”

“He’s back already?”

“Yeah.”

Morgan nodded. “Go get him.” We smiled at each other. “No detours, though, sunshine. There and back.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I responded half-heartedly while already walking away from him. “Just remember, when this is over with, you and Clooney are going home!”

----

To say I was nervous would have been a drastic understatement. I had gone four months without seeing him. Four months without his touch, his kiss, his hold, his love. A lot could change in four months. People could grow apart in four months. I was absolutely terrified that even though we called each other every day, we might not have been the same Hotchners who said goodbye to each other at the airport a few months ago. I knew that I still loved him endlessly— maybe even more now that I had been starved of him for so long. But I didn’t know what happened to him out there. I didn’t know what new experiences he had that could have possibly changed him. For all I knew, he could walk off that plane in a few minutes and walk right past me without a care. I just prayed that he was still Aaron. That the man I fell in love with would walk off that plane and know exactly how to hold me again. It was like I could already feel his touch, even though the plane’s engines hadn’t died out yet. He was so far, but he was so damn close. This was the closest we had been in four fucking months, and I was just so ready to see him already.

The plane came to a slow and steady stop on the runway. With every second that passed, I felt a growing need to throw up everywhere. He was probably sitting in there, watching me through the window, grinning ear to ear because I looked so nervous and sick. He could likely see me, yet I couldn’t see anything but the sun in my eyes. He was always an asshole, but he even had to beat me to the first look. Asshole x2.

The door of the jet popped open, and it started slowly falling down towards the concrete, the stairs on the inside making a slow appearance. I thought about what was going to happen. How was I going to react? How was he going to react? Was it better to stay where I was or was it better to meet him at the bottom of the steps? I felt like even if I wanted to move towards the plane, I wouldn’t have been able to. I was frozen in place as my mind raced with questions and endless possibilities. But there was one thing that was consistent: I was going to hold my husband in my arms, and I was going to tell him that I loved him over and over again until I passed out.

The second I saw a foot step out of the jet, I started sprinting as fast as I could without stopping to think. The rest of him emerged, and Hotch looked around for me. After spotting me from the top of the stairs, Hotch jumped down the steps, dropped his bag on the runway, and started running towards me, too. He held his arms out, an invitation for me to jump and hold him tight, so that was exactly what I did. Our bodies clashed, but he still managed to catch me, even though the force sent him stumbling back a few unwanted steps. My arms flew around his shoulders, my legs wrapped around his hips, my face buried in the crook of his neck. It didn’t matter that he smelled like sweat, sand, and cheap deodorant, because he was finally home with me and that was all that mattered. Hell, I even enjoyed the smell since it just meant that I had him in my arms again.

I squeezed him tight with my arms and legs after he nuzzled his face— beard, sunglasses, and all— into the crook of my neck. The aching in my chest, my broken heart that had been falling apart during every second that he was away from me, slowly started to mend with every breath we took together. I couldn’t tell if I wanted to cry, scream, cheer, laugh, or all of the above. Every single emotion imaginable was flooding my body and the only way I could cope with it was by nearly squeezing the life out of him while repeating: “I love you, I love you, I love you” over and over in his ear. I never wanted to stop saying it. I prayed that he would never let me go again and that we could say those three words until there was no more breath in our lungs.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” we kept whispering like we were records stuck on repeat. Fuck, I missed the way he said it to me. I missed the way he said my name and the way he called me “baby”. Nothing felt more right than how he spoke to me and how he kissed my neck in between words.

When his beard started tickling my neck, I finally paused to let out a giggle. I leaned back, his arms still around my torso to hold me for support, and I got a good look at him for the first time in months. There was no screen between us, no shitty computer cameras, no god awful Skype buffer, no speakers that cut out every other word. He looked so different than how I remembered him. His face was slimmed behind the scratchy beard he had grown, and his eyes were more sunken with exhaustion— if that were even possible. Aaron Hotchner always had dark circles under his eyes, that was no secret. Between work, the kids, and wrangling me, Hotch never had time to sleep; but Pakistan kicked his ass, and I could see it in every little detail about him.

He watched me with the brightest smile I had ever seen on his face as I brought my left hand up to his face and scratched my nails gently down his beard. “This is even hotter in person,” I smirked.

“It has to go the second I get an electric shaver,” he laughed.

My smirk fell and I pouted, “Are you sure?” He nodded. “But I have literally never wanted to fuck you harder in my entire life.”

He paused and gulped. “Okay, so maybe it can stay for a few days.”

I perked up again at my little victory and scratched it again. “Please don’t ever leave me again. Please.”

“I’d rather die than go away again.”

“Don’t be hyperbolic, Agent Hotchner.” I hit his shoulder playfully. He grinned before tightening his arms around me again to make me lean in for a kiss. I grabbed his face, the hairs on his cheeks tickling my palms as I did so, and I moaned into his mouth. “I love you so much.”

His eyes screwed shut as he slid his tongue into the kiss and claimed dominance. I missed that feeling so much. I missed how he tasted, how he smelled, how he felt, how he had to dominate me every second of every day. I missed getting lost in his eyes and staring at his lips all day until I could finally kiss them until our lips were chapped. If there weren’t a million and one things going on outside of that airport, I would have begged him to take me inside and fuck me in the bathroom. It should have been impossible to need him that much considering everything that was going on with Ian Doyle, yet there I was, only thinking about showing Aaron Hotchner how much I loved him.

Hotch pulled away from my lips, but he kept his nose pressed to mine. “Emily?”

“At home with Jessica.”

“Jack?”

“At school.”

“You?”

“The most relieved I have ever been in my life.” I leaned in and kissed him again. I thought to myself: “Please, never let this end. Let us stay trapped in each other’s arms forever. Never let us get tired of kissing each other, of holding each other, of saying ‘I love you’. Never let the desperation for passion die. Never let me miss him ever again. Keep him by my side until we die of old age. Please.”

And just like he could read my mind, Hotch loosened his hold on me ever so slightly, making me drop down to my feet, and he said, “We should get back to the office.”

I shook my head. “Just… One more minute… Please.”

“One more minute will turn into an hour at least, you know that.”

“Is that so bad?”

“No, it isn’t.” Hotch cupped my cheeks and kissed me as hard as he could. After a short minute of him kissing me like he had been starved of it for years, Hotch pushed me away. Our hands fell to our sides and I bit my lip while I tried to focus on not jumping on him again. “We have to go.”

I tried to catch my breath, my chest rising and falling at a dramatic pace. It took every ounce of strength and self-restraint I had stored away to not jump back on him and kiss him again. I felt like I was going to cry because he wasn’t in my arms again. I felt like screaming and kicking— throwing a tantrum like Jack would. I felt like at any moment, the two of us would break, and I would tackle him to the ground before showering him in kisses and pinning him down so that he couldn’t leave me again.

Hotch stumbled away from me to grab his go-bag from where he dropped it because he had the same look I had, and I knew that he was sharing the same thoughts. When he came back, he took my hand, and we walked towards the car. I started catching him up on everything we knew about the case thus far. Ian and Declan, all of Ian’s business papers that he had in his apartment. I realized then just how little we actually knew. Hopefully by the time we got back to the office, Morgan would have something out of Doyle that would help.

I drove the whole way to Quantico because he was too tired from the flight and the time zones. He had one of my hands trapped in his instead of on the steering wheel, and he kept kissing my knuckles again and again. He wasn’t listening to me. Not that I blamed him. If he wanted to just talk shop and I was sitting there, not distracted by driving, I would’ve been antsy to shower him in love, too. But Morgan said no detours. As much as it pained me, he was right that there really wasn’t any time to drive home, or even pull to the side of the road to fuck Hotch. I really, really wanted to, though; so, I figured the longer I distracted myself with work, the better off we would be. After this, though… Once this was all resolved… I wasn’t letting him go.

At the office, Hotch and I headed up to the sixth floor, somehow managing to go that entire time without touching each other. I wanted to kiss him again. I wanted to hold him again. While we were standing in the elevator, I stared at him and thought about pushing him against the wall, but it wasn’t worth it right now. I hated this inner battle I was having to fight between wanting him all to myself in that very moment and just focusing wholeheartedly on the case. The worst thought hit me suddenly… Maybe it would have been better if he didn’t come back so soon… I mean, he was just so distracting, I felt like I couldn’t celebrate this win as much as I should’ve been.

And then we stepped onto the floor.

“Hey.” Hotch grabbed my hand, tugging me back a few steps towards him. “You trust me, right?”

I furrowed my brows as I turned to face him. Of course I trusted him. Why wouldn’t I? He was my husband, and we made a promise to each other a long time ago to not keep any secrets from one another. I had no reason to doubt him. I wouldn’t have met him at the airport like that if I didn’t trust and love him wholeheartedly.

“You know that I do everything for a reason?”

What was he on about? Was there something I missed between meeting him at the airport and walking into the building with him? Why was he suddenly acting so weird?

I put my hands on his biceps. “Listen. I know that you told me you were in an all guys unit. If there’s something you want to say about it, I’m all ears. And I’m going to support you no matter what.” I bit back a smile.

Hotch cracked a smile. “No,” he shook his head, “that’s not what I mean.”

“Phew.” I rolled my eyes playfully. “I thought I was going to have to give you the birds and the bees talk, and how love is love—”

“Shut up.” He laughed before kissing me.

I pushed him back gently. “I’m just saying, if you’re going to cheat on me, it should at least be with a guy so that you get to experiment a bit.” I patted his chest.

He was still laughing quietly. “What am I going to do with you, Agent Hotchner?”

“I don’t know, Agent Hotchner,” I responded as I let him pull me back in for another kiss. “I’m sure you’ll think of something before we get home after this case, though.” I pecked his lips again, then escaped into the board room.

Everyone was standing behind the round table, huddled together as they discussed something about the case. It seemed as though Morgan had just finished his first attempt at getting information out of Doyle, to no avail. They were discussing how he was going to approach the second try, but no one’s ideas seemed to stick since Morgan had an excuse for why none of it would work. It was like we had hit a dead end, even though Doyle was the end, technically. He was the one who took Declan, and he was the one who took our sister from us. Prentiss was dead because of him, and we weren’t going to let him get away this time.

When Hotch walked into the room, everyone fell silent and turned to get a look at him. Hotch really didn’t seem to care about our no PDA at work rule now, because as everyone’s eyes lingered on him and his beard, Hotch came over to me, took my hand in his, and kissed my cheek. A lot changed for him in the Middle East, I guess. He missed me and he didn’t care what rules we had. He wanted to just have me around all the time, and I couldn’t blame him. But, technically, I was still the unit chief until Hotch could officially come back, and I couldn’t let us break the rules. Now I understood why Hotch was always so adamant about me behaving while at work. It was excruciatingly painful to not touch and kiss him just because I was the boss and had to set an example.

I moved away from Hotch, taking my seat at the round table. Everyone followed my lead warily, their eyes still trained on Hotch. Him and JJ didn’t sit, though. They were the only ones who stayed on their feet at the front of the room. Hotch had his arms crossed, a frown hiding under his facial hair, his eyes wandering around the room as he thought nervously about something. This had to do with him asking about my trust, but I didn’t understand how. Him worrying about something and not telling me almost immediately was only making me worry, too. He needed to spit it out fast or I would go insane.

“Everything alright, Hotch?” Morgan asked, also taking notice of Hotch’s clear unease.

Hotch didn’t nod or give any kind of reassurance that everything was alright. Instead, he shifted his weight on the balls of his feet— a silent tell that something was definitely wrong. He kept his head down now, only glancing up through his lashes occasionally to look at me. A thought struck me that maybe my joke wasn’t really a joke in the hallway. Four months was a long time to go without me, and it probably didn’t help that all he got was shitty phone sex. Maybe he really did change out there in the desert. Maybe he was showering me in love because he was going to drop a huge ass bomb that said: “I’m leaving you” or “I’m quitting the BAU and running away forever” or “I’m taking the kids and you’ll never see them again.” Every shit scenario possible was racing through my head. Like I said, if he wasn’t going to spit it out soon, I was going to start screaming for answers.

“Nine months ago,” Hotch began, “I made a decision that affected this team. As you all know, Prentiss lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle. We told you that she succumbed to her wounds…” He hesitated a beat. “That’s not really the case.”

Shock filled the room as it dawned on each of us what Hotch was really saying. I didn’t want to jump to any conclusions because I really, really didn’t want to get my hopes up… but it sounded like he was telling us that Prentiss was alive. That over the past seven months, we have been led to believe that she died in that hospital.

“The truth is, the doctors were able to stabilize her, and she was airlifted to Bethesda under a covert exfiltration.”

My shoulders fell. So, it was true. Emily Prentiss was alive. The woman we mourned the loss of for seven months was… still around all along? That was why Hotch asked if I trusted him. That was why he was being so handsy. He knew that I hated it when he kept things from me. He knew that I hated it when he would betray my trust like this. I yelled at him for weeks the last time he did it— which was our suspension over two years ago. He was asking about trust and touching me as often as he could because he didn’t know if this admission of the truth was going to break us apart. This wasn’t like him lying and going to ask for a transfer out of the BAU. This wasn’t like him lying to me about his health. This was Emily Prentiss. This was our sister we lost in the field. We buried her. Why did Hotch… What… I— My thoughts were too scrambled to form another cohesive thought other than: “How could he do this to us?”

“After she got better, she was reassigned to Paris, where she was given multiple fake identities so that she could be safe,” Hotch continued.

“She’s alive?” Spencer finally asked the clarifying question we were all dying to know the answer to.

Hotch nodded shortly, keeping his eyes lowered. He wasn’t even looking at me now because of the shame and guilt he likely felt.

“But we buried her,” Spencer croaked.

Hotch nodded again. “If anyone has any issues with the executive decision that I made, then they can take it up with me.”

“Issues?” Morgan asked angrily. “Issues, Hotch? Yeah, I’ve got a few issues, but why don’t you start with the fact that you let your own wife believe that Emily was dead and let them name your daughter after her because of it, hmm? Don’t you think that you owe Y/N an explanation?”

“Morgan,” I hissed quietly. It was neither the time nor the place to discuss my daughter. I had a few choice words for Hotch running through my head, but I fully intended on keeping them to myself until Hotch and I could speak privately.

“Emily’s alive, Y/N. How are you going to explain that to your daughter as she grows up?”

“Stop it,” I demanded more harshly.

There wasn’t anything Morgan could say to me that I didn’t already know. Hotch had betrayed everything we believed in and promised each other. He had told me countless times since meeting me that he would never lie to me, and every time he ended up breaking that promise, he would tell me that it wouldn’t happen again. But there we were. Another promise broken. Even worse, though, was the fact that he made a vow to me on our wedding day that he would always be honest with me. Always. And yet he kept this a secret from me. Did he not trust that I could have kept it a secret? Morgan was right, I was owed an explanation. Hotch kept this from me, his wife for nine months. What else was he hiding? How was I ever supposed to trust him again?

I stood from my seat and turned for the door. No one said anything as I took a step but came to a sudden halt when I discovered that my path was blocked by someone in my way. I felt like I was going to pass out. There was she was: Emily Prentiss… standing right in front of me. Back from the dead.

She let out a sigh of regret, but also relief, when our eyes met. She looked sorry about how all of this happened. And she should have been. Morgan sat on our couch for months, crying because he missed her so much. I named my daughter after her because I missed her so much and I wanted her memory to be remembered. What was it all for, though, now that was standing there? What was the point now? Morgan was right to be vocally angry because he knew that I couldn’t. But as mad as I was at Hotch, I felt an overwhelming need to hug her. I crashed into her. I didn’t hesitate. Nine months without her. Nine fucking months.

Emily caught me as I embraced her as tightly as I could. She rubbed small circles on my back as she held me close. “I am so sorry, Y/N.”

I sniffled into her shoulder while I hugged her tighter. She was there. Like, really there. I wasn’t dreaming or hoping anymore. It was her. Our family was back. And I was just so relieved. I couldn’t even be mad at her. But I could tell as I pulled away from Emily and turned to look at the room with her that Morgan was pissed beyond compare. Everyone was crying because they were so grateful for the fact that she was still alive. However, Morgan wasn’t. He was standing there, pouting with disbelief, his hands curled into shaky fists that were holding in all of his anger.

She carefully let go of me and approached Morgan. “Derek, you have to believe me when I tell you that not a day went by where I didn’t think about you guys and how sorry I am that things turned out this way. You didn’t deserve that.”

“I didn’t deserve to know that you were alive?” he questioned through gritted teeth.

“You didn’t deserve to hold a dying friend in your arms.” Prentiss extended her arms for another hug, a silent offer for him, which he took slowly, as if he were afraid that he would fall right through her like she was some kind of ghost. When they embraced, however, I saw Morgan’s anger wash away. Now, he was just broken. “I’m so sorry.” He squeezed her waist as tight as he could for as long as he could before she tapped out and parted from him. She turned to face me again. “I want to meet baby Emily, if you’ll let me, once this is all over.”

I nodded, still too hesitant to say anything.

She smiled. “Okay… For now, I just want to focus on finding Declan and bringing him home safe. What do you guys know so far?”

Reid immediately jumped to his feet like this was his moment to shine, and he started asking her questions about Declan, Ian, and Louise, but I couldn’t hear anything. Everything seemed so washed out and distant. The only thing that was clear to me was the shame on my husband’s face as I stood there, staring at him, silently letting him know just how badly he had fucked up this time around. He could hardly look me in the eyes.

“Can I see you in my office?” he asked.

Everyone watched us silently, wondering if I would correct him on the fact that it was my office now. Or maybe they were waiting with anticipation to see if I was going to blow him off considering I had been glaring at him the entire time since I found out that Prentiss was alive this whole time—and he knew! But that was exactly why I indulged him. I didn’t correct him, I didn’t argue with him, I didn’t embarrass him. I simply followed him to his office.

I sat in my chair at my desk, which all used to be his before he left. He sat down across from me in one of the seats I would sit in whenever I was called to meet with him in his office. He seemed so out of his element in that chair, and, honestly, I was glad. I wanted him to be uncomfortable. I wanted him to be physically and emotionally uneasy because that was how I felt every day while he was away, and that was how I felt since finding out that our daughter’s namesake was actually alive and well.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” I inquired, reclining back. He shook his head. “You were going to just let me think that she was dead in order to, what, make me feel better about naming our daughter after her? Why didn’t you try to stop me—”

“I did try. I asked you if there were really no other names you could think of, but you were so adamant about it and I couldn’t tell you the truth; so, I just had to let it happen.”

“Is that why you left?”

Hotch froze for a moment while searching my eyes, and before he even began nodding, I knew the answer. He sighed. “It was hard to keep lying to everyone, but it felt impossible to keep lying to you specifically, especially since you took Emily’s death so hard… So, I just… I ran.”

“So, you would have stayed if I knew the truth?”

“Yes.”

I scoffed and let out an exasperated chuckle.

“Baby, I am so sorry, you have to believe me. I wish things hadn’t happened the way they did.”

“Yeah, well, you had a choice in that, didn’t you?”

“Y/N, that’s not fair. I was just trying to protect her—"

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door, proceeded by Garcia cautiously stepping into the office. “Sorry, ma’am, but I found something.”

I nodded her over, holding my hand out for the file of information she put together. Hotch eyed me. Usually, it was him sitting in my current seat, ignoring me in his seat as he accepted another file from Garcia who had addressed him in the first place. Everything felt so backwards. But, then again, maybe that was what he deserved now that I knew that he had been lying to me this entire time.

“I was narrowing down a list of Doyle’s top ten enemies from what we know and what Morgan’s getting out of him. The only one who’s been in the states recently is Mr. Richard Gerace. He’s been here for the past two weeks with a work visa.”

“Is there any way to connect him to this?” I asked while flipping through the file.

“The guy who cut off the camera feed at Declan’s house had a scar on his neck...” She turned the next page for me and pointed to a mugshot of Gerace. He had the same exact scar on his neck, meaning it was definitely him who took Declan.

“Get me everything you can on him, please, Penelope,” I said while closing the file and setting it down on my desk. She hesitated. “What is it?”

“That’s everything I have.”

I sighed. “Can you call Prentiss in, please?”

“Sure…”

“Thank you.”

When she left, I sighed and looked at Hotch again. Neither of us said anything as we stared at each other uncomfortably, a barrier of trust broken between us now. I didn’t like it when he lied to me. Every time I told him not to lie to me, he promised he wouldn’t, and then he would, and I would be mad for a few days before forgiving him and moving on. How much longer was I supposed to put up with it? I couldn’t even count how many times he lied to me on my fingers anymore. Meanwhile, I could count the number of times I lied to him on one hand. At some point, enough was going to be enough, and if he wasn’t careful, it was going to be soon. As much as I loved him, I couldn’t keep living with the lies. What was more important to him? Me or protecting his secrets? If the answer wasn’t immediately me, then there was an entirely different conversation we needed to have at some point that included what our future was going to look like.

“We’re going to talk later,” I finally told him.

As we were coming back to the office together, Hotch stopped to ask if I trusted him, and at the time, of course I did… But now? I wasn’t so sure. Then again, I’d said that a dozen times before when he pulled this shit. The worst part was, that I knew that I was going to end up crawling back to him, and it was going to be an excuse for him to lie to me all over again.

Hotch nodded. “Yeah…”

There was another knock at the door, this time from Prentiss, who seemed too shy to invite herself in, even though I had requested her presence. I waved her in.

“Gerace,” I said, holding the file out for her. She slowly walked over and accepted it. “Garcia thinks that he’s the one who took Declan.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” she insisted before even looking at the file. I waited for her to explain why she thought that. “Gerace gave up on Doyle a long time ago, and he’s too much of a coward to pull something like this off. Not to mention how meticulous the abduction was. Gerace doesn’t have that level of patience and organization.”

I scoffed and wiped my palms over my face. “He was our only suspect and lead.”

“I mean…” She flipped through the file. “That’s definitely Gerace’s scar… So, I suppose he had something to do with it, but I wouldn’t say he’s solely responsible. If he’s working with a partner, he’s definitely the submissive.” She flipped another page. “Hold on—” I looked up at her. “Look at this.” She turned the file to show me one of the shots from the security footage of Gerace turning the cameras off. “Look in the background.” There was a woman standing there, watching Gerace while cocking a gun at her side. Prentiss’s jaw dropped as a realization dawned on her. “This might have something to do with Declan’s birth mother, considering the overkill towards Louise, who was Declan’s mother figure throughout his entire life.”

“Do you know who she is?”

She shook her head. “No. Doyle never told me.”

“Would you be willing to go in and get the information out of him now?”

She looked between me and Hotch, almost as if she were waiting for permission from him, but then she recalled that I was calling the shots right now until Hotch could be reinstated into the unit by Strauss and Cody. She finally gave in. “I don’t mind giving it a shot.”

Since Prentiss was still just a visitor, she couldn’t technically be allowed to wander the floor on her own. Even though she knew exactly where the interrogation room was and how to get there the fastest, I still had to usher her there. So, without saying anything to Hotch, I started walking out. Prentiss watched him silently for a moment before deciding to follow me.

“You know,” she said while catching up to me on the ramp outside of my office, “unit chief suits you.”

“It won’t last long. It’s just until Hotch can come back.”

We continued on towards the interrogation room in silence. When we stepped into the mirror room, I saw that Morgan and JJ were there, watching Doyle who was sitting on his own, staring at the wall while he silently thought and worried about his missing son. With others around to “officially” watch Prentiss, I took my leave almost immediately, heading back to my office so that I could sit down, catch my breath, and have a moment to think.

When I got there, Hotch was already gone. I glanced across the bullpen to see that he was in the boardroom with Rossi, Reid, and Garcia, all of them working on finding who Declan’s mother was in case that was the next fresh lead we would get from Doyle. They were fine on their own. For just a few minutes, I could disappear, and no one would notice. So, I closed the door, spun the dial of the blinds until they were shut tight, and I immediately broke down. I didn’t even make it to my chair or the couch. I just fell right then and there.

I started crying with my face hiding in my hands. Getting Hotch back should have been the best thing in the world, and yet it felt so shitty. I hated that he lied to me again. I hated that things went down like that. I hated that our daughter was mixed up in the drama of it all now just because of her name. I hated that I was mad at the love of my life after just getting him back, because instead of wanting to hold him close until our last breath, I wanted to kick his ankles until my anger was gone—If my anger would ever go away.

And then there was a knock at the door.

I tried catching my breath and calming down enough to wipe my tears away, but the door opened before I could collect myself entirely. I hid my face in the shadows. It didn’t matter who it was because I was just hoping that they would leave me alone now that they saw me collapsed on the floor and hiding my face while sniffling.

“Sunshine?”

I let out a choked sob when I realized that it was Morgan who had followed me from the mirror room to my office. “What?”

He knelt beside me and put a hand on my shoulder. “Come here…” He turned me slightly until I was facing him, and we immediately pulled each other in for a tight hug. I hid my face in his shirt, letting my tears soak the fabric without care. “It’s okay. I promise. Just breathe.” He rubbed circles on my back to help me calm down slowly.

I started to catch my breath by sucking in deep breaths and letting out short ones. “You shouldn’t have brought up Emily earlier,” I whispered.

He had been completely out of line when he brought up my daughter in the context of Prentiss still being alive. That was a conversation for me and my husband to have at a later time when we could talk privately. It didn’t give him permission to put our predicament on blast. I was sure that everyone had been thinking it, too. I mean, they were all probably wondering the same thing I was, which was what the hell were Hotch and I going to do now that Prentiss, our daughter’s namesake was back? But, honestly, it was none of their business. Yes, Morgan was her godfather, but he wasn’t her father, therefore, he had no say. He would be the first to know when a decision would be made, of course, but not before then.

I slid out of his arms and fell back against the wall carefully to just sit there and stare into the darkness. “It wasn’t fair,” I continued.

“I’m sorry, cupcake…” He slid down the wall to sit beside me, then took one of my cold hands in his. “My emotions have just been all over the place, and I snapped when I didn’t mean to. I know that’s not an excuse, but…” He sighed.

“I get it.” I rested my head on his shoulder. Of all people, I understood the most how Morgan felt.

“Did you talk to him?”

“Kind of…”

“Are you going to forgive him?”

“Unfortunately.”

Morgan swung his arm around me so that he could hug me close to his side. “Do you ever just miss the old days when things were so simple? Gideon and Elle were still on the team. Pretty boy was still dorky and quiet all the time. Hotch actually talked to us and trusted us.”

“You mean talked to you and trusted you.” I chuckled. “He didn’t talk to me when I first joined the team.”

“Yeah, because he had a schoolgirl crush on you. That doesn’t mean he didn’t trust you. But wasn’t it so much easier back then when you two weren’t together, and everything was just about putting the back guys away, and nothing was ever personal…” He sighed. “I think we just haven’t been the same ever since the Fisher King.”

He was right. That was the first case where we were all effected personally, and an Unsub got under our skin, and tore our family apart. I mean, I assumed that it was because of Randall Garner that my sister left the BAU. If we had never gotten mixed up in that case, maybe she and Gideon would still be around. But then again, if that were the case, then we wouldn’t’ve had Rossi or Emily on the team, and I was genuinely happy that I knew them and that they were apart of our family now. Rossi was Hotch’s best friend who liked to help me pick on him from time to time. Emily was one of my closest friends… At least before she left. I didn’t know where we stood now. That was what Morgan meant by things being easier back in the day, though, I supposed. Things weren’t so messy.

“I think you’re right,” I agreed quietly.

----

Not even an hour later, Prentiss had already convinced Doyle to tell us who the mother of his child was and how to find her. With Garcia’s help, we managed to track her down. Her name was Chloe Donaghy, and she was a notorious crime lord who ran a human trafficking and prostitution ring. She and Ian had met about eight years before Prentiss met him. When she found out that she was pregnant with Declan, she tried to kill herself to make sure that his son would never be born, but Doyle stopped her before she could even swallow a single pill, and from that point on during the pregnancy, she was his prisoner. He kept her locked away. She was chained to a bed in a locked room in his heavily guarded home for seven months straight. She was given a healthy diet for herself and the baby, and Doyle had a doctor go to check on her every other week or so to make sure that they were still okay. Once she had the baby, however, she left. She wanted nothing to do with Declan, and everyone knew it, so Doyle practically paid her to stay away and to never tell a soul about their son.

However, once she found out that Ian was a wanted man and was in hiding, she decided that she wanted a piece of him in the name of revenge. So, she got the same idea as us. Knowing that Ian would try to find Declan, she waited until someone found him first—which happened to be us—and once she knew where her son was, she jumped at the opportunity to take him when everyone was too distracted to notice. We managed to track her down to Baltimore. It looked like she and Gerace took Declan down there, and they were planning on selling him to another one of Doyle’s enemies, a man by the name of Lachlan. That wasn’t good. If Declan left U.S. soil, there was nothing we could do. It would be left up to the CIA or another agency similar to them, but they wouldn’t care. So, I made a call.

I decided that the best way to ensure that little boy would never die at the hands of a revenge driven monster like Lachlan was to have our team pursue this. I knew the risks involved with the choice. I knew that my career was on the line, and that I would inevitably be demoted as unit chief—if I were lucky. Worst case scenario, actually, was that I would be fired. But I didn’t care in the moment, because all I could think about was the fact that there was a little boy out there, wondering why his own mother was doing this, and why he was facing danger again. And then I thought about Jack. Declan was around Jack’s age. I couldn’t bear to think that it could have been Jack in Declan’s shoes, and that if that were the case, I would want someone to fight for him until he was safe at home.

So, I made the call to use Doyle as a pawn in our game. We loaded Doyle into an SUV with myself, Hotch, and Morgan, and we drove down to the airstrip where Garcia found out that Chloe and Lachlan were catching a flight at together. Emily was against the idea. She was concerned that Doyle was going to get away, or that Chloe was going to get Declan and Ian, and all of this was for nothing. I wasn’t going to let that happen. We were going to get Declan back, and we weren’t going to let Doyle get away. After everything that happened over the past few months, I was going to die before fucking this up.

“You wanna do it, or should I?” Hotch asked as we pulled up to the jet on the runway. I gestured that he could go for it, but I didn’t look at him or say anything in response. I still wasn’t ready to do that much. “Okay.” Morgan handed him the megaphone, and Hotch stepped out of the car to announce, “Lachlan McDermott and Cloe Donaghy, this is the FBI. We know that you have Declan Doyle. To ensure his safety, we would like to make a trade. Declan for Ian Doyle.”

That was our cue to show off Doyle to the world, so Morgan and I pulled him out of the car, making sure that our grip on him was strong enough that he couldn’t wiggle out. And then we heard a gunshot, and I saw a muzzle flash from within the jet. No. No, no, no. There was no way they just killed Declan. I refused to believe it, but just in case it was true, we kept Doyle close to the car so that we could stuff him back in and drive off if we had to.

Suddenly, the door of the jet started falling open, revealing the steps that Lachlan started storming down with Declan in front of him. I let out a quiet sigh of relief at the same time as Ian. It didn’t last long, however, since Lachlan immediately put a gun to Declan’s head.

“Bring him here!” Lachlan demanded, referencing Doyle.

Hotch looked over at me. “You’re still the unit chief. It’s your call.”

I sighed quietly while trying to quickly weigh the pros and cons. It certainly wasn’t ideal to put Doyle in Lachlan’s line of fire, but if it was the only way to get Declan…

“Now!” Lachlan yelled.

Within an instant, I was pushing forward, Morgan following lead by helping me move Doyle towards Lachlan. When we were close enough, we pushed him onto his knees and waited for something to happen. Lachlan smiled wickedly. He said something to Doyle, but I wasn’t listening while my attention was trained on Declan and trying to figure out how I was going to grab him on time while Morgan made sure he still had a grip on Doyle. I just had to trust the process, I supposed.

When I heard movement from the jet again, I looked up to see Chloe limping out, holding her stomach from the shot she took from Lachlan. They must have argued about taking our deal. Before I could tell her to stay back, though, I saw how she was raising her arm and aiming at me, Ian, and Morgan.

“Gun!” Morgan shouted, tackling me out of the way just as the sound of a gunshot rang through the air. I groaned as the wind was knocked out of me. Morgan rolled off me to check to see if I was okay. “Are you hit?” I shook my head. “Doyle—” He spun around on his knees to see Ian falling to the ground while holding his bleeding neck. “Shit.”

Another gunshot fired, this time from Chloe aiming directly at Lachlan, instantly killing him. In retaliation, Hotch, Reid, Prentiss, and JJ all shot down Chloe as fast as they could. Hotch ran over to me, putting his hands on my cheeks while scanning my body with my eyes to make sure that I was alright, the same way Morgan had. I inhaled sharply as I caught my breath. I got that Morgan was just trying to protect me, but did he have to go all high school footballer on me? Fucking hell. We were on concrete. The tackle was worse than getting shot, in my opinion.

“Next time, I make the call. And it won’t be this one,” Hotch whispered to me, brushing my hair out of my face.

“Ha. Ha,” I responded sarcastically. “Help me up.” We clasped our hands together, and he pulled me to my feet, letting me stumble into his chest somewhat before I caught my balance. “Thanks.” I patted his chest. “This is why you’re the unit chief.”

He kissed my forehead. “You thought you were doing the right thing, and that’s all we can ever do.”

I glanced over to Doyle who was reaching out for his son, knowing that it would be the last time. A part of me broke somewhat. As much as I despised Doyle, I had nothing against his son, and seeing a bond between a father and his son, even though they hardly knew each other at all, made me think about Hotch and Jack. It could have been Hotch instead of Haley who died in our house two years ago. We were beyond lucky that he was still with us. That I had a husband who loved me, that our daughter had a father who wanted nothing more than to raise her away from all of this chaos, that our son still had a father who would protect him no matter the cost. We were, by some definition, “lucky” that it wasn’t Hotch and Jack there instead of Ian and Declan.

----

By the time we cleaned up the mess at the airstrip, I had called Jessica and asked if she could bring Emily to the office to surprise Hotch, but also because Prentiss asked if she could meet her, and I felt like after the long day we had, we all deserved that. I mean, she was our little sunshine. If anyone could change the mood entirely, it was her.

So, when we all returned to Quantico, I told security to keep an out for Jessica and the baby—to which they all cheered about how excited they were to see her. The team went up to the boardroom to start tearing down all of the photos and evidence on the walls. Another chapter of our lives closed. Over months, we had been working on a case where we only had a fraction of the pieces. The only person who knew every part of it and could end this once and for all had left, but when she came back, it ended, and now we could just breathe again. We had our family back. That had to count for something.

When I saw Jessica arrive in the elevator, I met her there so that I could still surprise Hotch and Prentiss. “Thank you for bringing her,” I said while crouching down in front of the stroller to see my lil’ bug. She was half awake, but just lucid enough to play with my finger as I wiggled it in her face. “I owe you.”

“It’s no big deal, I swear. I was on my way to pick up Jack from a playdate, and this was on the way, anyhow.”

I glanced up at Jessica. “We can pick him up later. You don’t have to race around for us like this.”

Jessica smiled lightly. “What else am I going to do?”

I stopped to think about that for a moment, considering how we were her only family around now that Haley was gone, and Roy was… Well, Roy didn’t like having Jessica around because she was a very hands-on and task-oriented person when it came to family, and he didn’t like how overbearing and protective she was of him. So, we were the only ones that were around and in need of help. I just felt bad sometimes because it felt like she was our nanny or something. Then again, every time this conversation came up where I would tell her that all of this was unnecessary and that I felt bad, she would always argue that she loved doing it and that it was no big deal. If it really were a problem, she would have ditched us months ago.

“Okay,” I gave in. “We’ll see you at home, then.” I stood to hug her.

“See you at home.”

When we parted, she leaned over to say goodbye to baby Emily quickly, then waved to me as she walked towards the elevator. I waved back shortly before pushing the stroller up the ramp towards the boardroom. Inside, I could see and hear everyone chatting and catching up with one another. Rossi was hogging Aaron. He was so happy to have his buddy back after all this time, but he was still trying to convince him to shave the beard. Over my dead body. I loved that beard, and after everything that man put me through today, I was going to get the chance to scratch my fingers through it as he fucked me. Come hell or high water, I was going to make that happen.

I pushed the stroller into the room, and everyone fell silent. This was the first time Hotch had seen her in… months, and this was the first time Prentiss was going to meet her. Everyone wanted to be witness to it, and no one wanted to disrupt the moment. So, when I spun the stroller around, everyone held their breaths. I tried to ignore them as I pulled the top of stroller back to reveal Emily.

“May I hold her?” Prentiss asked, looking up at me with the brightest smile I had ever seen from her before. I nodded. Prentiss reached into the stroller, buried her hands under Emily, and lifted her up. “Hi, there, baby girl…” Prentiss cooed. Emily kicked and fussed in Prentiss’s arms.

As I watched Prentiss rock Emily side to side in her arms, I felt someone’s arms snake around my waist and pull me backwards into a hug. I smiled and rested my head on Hotch’s shoulder. His beard scratched my cheek slightly as he pressed a gentle kiss against it. I giggled and nuzzled into his touch as much as I could while thinking about how I missed this feeling so bad every single second he was away from me. All those rules we had for so long before he left didn't matter anymore. Not when he had been away and all we wanted was to hold each other and love each other.

“She has your eyes, Hotch,” Prentiss said while Emily giggled. “Yes, you do,” Prentiss teased with the same kind of baby-talk voice everyone used around kids. “You are just too darn cute.”

“I missed you so much,” he whispered in my ear before kissing me.

“I’m still mad at you, Aaron,” I whispered only for him to hear. He loosened his grip on me somewhat. “And I don’t know when I’ll stop being mad.” He hid his face in the crook of my neck to hide his disappointment from everyone else. “But I know that I love you, and that, with time, I’ll learn to forgive and forget about this. Until then, I just need you to bear with me while I navigate rebuilding what trust I had given you, and asking you to give me answers, or asking that you give me some space—whatever it is, I just need you to understand. Can you do that?”

He nodded against me.

“We’re going to be okay,” I sighed, almost like I was trying to convince myself, too. “We’re going to be okay…”

-----

criminal minds family: @peggy1999 @gorgeousdarkangel @alex--awesome--22 @oceaneblu @brithedemonspawn @absolutemarveltrash @bshelley322 @rousethemouse @sunshinepower17 @weexinling @pettttyyyc @Braty-angel

#Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfic #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #aaron hotchner #Aaron Hotch Hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner imagine

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crimeronan · 4 years

Text

no supernatural au concept i haven’t been able to stop thinking about since considering ronan and opal were once the same age

the lynch family has a reputation. partly it’s because they’re fucking weird, but let’s be real -- every rural town has its share of characters. weird farmers are par for the course. if the lynch family just kept to themselves at the barns, no one would know they existed. however niall lynch is a swaggering larger-than-life storybook hero who loves attention and scandal, so: the lynch family has a reputation

by and large, the household is made up of known entities. niall, the irishman who never shuts the fuck up. aurora, the quiet beautiful wife with the bizarrely gorgeous beadwork at craft fairs. declan, the eldest son who’s got one foot in DC and won’t ever look back when he gets there. matthew, the youngest boy with the enthusiasm and adoration and intellectual prowess of a golden retriever puppy

however. the lynch twins are largely folkloric

it’s not just that they never seem to appear in public. it’s that there are a dozen decade-old stories told by knitting folks on their porches that cannot POSSIBLY all be true, including:

the lynch twins set fire to the post office

the lynch twins stole four pallets of soda from the back of a truck unloading at the henrietta general store and drank all the evidence

the lynch twins lured a man into the woods and stabbed him in the leg

the lynch twins helped the local vet’s office coordinate 30 TNR procedures because they’ve befriended a colony of feral cats

the lynch twins trained a rotating cast of corvids to shit on the mayor when he leaves his office every evening

the lynch twins were banned from three local churches after incidents involving a statue of mary, stained glass worth several thousand dollars, and the preacher’s microphone respectively

adam doesn’t give much of a shit about local gossip but has gleaned quite a bit of it when being deferential and polite to middle-aged women at the dollar store. it takes him a month of attending aglionby to put together that ronan and declan are siblings (they look unbelievably alike, but their body language and speech are SO different) and another week after that to realize ronan’s one-half of the unidentified lynch family variables

“isn’t there another one of him?” adam blurts

declan looks up and blinks, nonplussed rather than smooth for once in his life. “excuse me?”

adam’s eating lunch and has ended up at a table with declan not because of friendliness, but because declan’s taking a break from his roving cast of intransient social interactions to work on college apps and adam’s getting a head start on homework. neither is here to make friends. adam nods across the room at ronan, who appears to be constructing a fully landscaped mountain sculpture out of french fries

declan says “god, i wish” as ronan upends a bottle of ketchup over the fries and causes a volcanic eruption that obliterates everything in the lunch table’s path

that tells adam absolutely nothing but also he doesn’t really care. later, when he and gansey are friends, and he’s no closer to understanding ronan but much more actively annoyed by him, he asks gansey the same thing

“oh, his sister!” gansey says, and beams. this at least explains why she doesn’t go to aglionby. “she’s great. she’s taught me a lot about what plants want to kill you”

adam can’t decide what to make of this. once upon a time he’d think that the affection of someone like gansey predisposed the mysterious lynch sister toward being like declan, but it turns out gansey reserves that ebullient expression for losers like him and ronan and noah alone, so. more data necessary

it’s important to note that this isn’t like, occupying a huge part of adam’s mind. it’s just idle querying because he likes knowing things. to that end, he asks ronan once if he’d ever met ronan’s sister when adam attended the public junior high. they’d be in the same grade, right??

ronan gets weird and evasive with some response about how she homeschools with his mom, and adam’s like okay, some religious cult thing with the women running the farm. whatever. not my issue

adam and ronan get slowly closer over time, etcetc, you know how it goes. eventually adam's invited to the barns. his first few visits are normal. suspiciously normal. aurora is loving and gentle in a way that makes adam skittish - probably more due to his own issues than any Actual malevolence, but who knows - and there is zero mention or sign of a girl living there

it doesn’t Really bother adam, but it kind of bothers him. less because he’s dying to meet her and more because equations that don’t add up make him nervous. his running list of theories include 1) she doesn’t exist 2) she’s dead 3) she’s at some elite boarding school for girls in connecticut 4) she’s an emancipated minor 5) she’s not an emancipated minor but has run away anyway 6) she’s a fugitive from justice 7) she’s in prison 8) she’s dead but, like, worse this time

adam carefully and subtly raises his concerns to ronan by asking, “so is your sister being tortured in your attic or what?”

ronan, reasonably, is like, “the fuck?”

adam’s like, “look, all i’m saying is that when a twin goes missing in a story and no one seems to care, something sinister’s afoot. that’s all i’m saying here.”

ronan’s like, “say the word ‘afoot’ again. you sound like gansey. come on”

he takes adam out for a walk in the woods, which seems like a pretty murdery way to respond. adam, uncomfortably aware of that rumor about luring people to the woods and stabbing them in the leg, is like okay i’m about to die here. i’ve uncovered a lifetime movie plot and now i’m gonna be buried in unmarked barrel #457. what a way to go

this is pretty much confirmed when he gets attacked

he hits the ground before he’s really registered anything beyond a surprise impact. it drives the breath out of his lungs. he flips onto his back right away. ronan’s got half a foot of height on him and stupidly long legs so a sprinting escape doesn’t seem viable. he’s gonna have to rely on the old-fashioned power of fingernails and kicking

he has time to see a pair of blown-pupil eyes WAY too close to his face before the weight disappears from him. the culprit is a girl, late teens, with hair that’s probably blonder when the matted dirt is washed out of it. “for fuck’s fucking sake,” ronan is saying, hauling her to her feet and blessedly away from adam’s vulnerable internal organs, “why. WHY.”

“holy shit.” adam sits up, clutching his chest. he can feel every bone in his body. “god. god. god”

the girl is almost as tall as ronan. she’s dressed in some kind of baggy coverall-ish getup that might once have been an army parachute. she is not wearing any shoes. there’s some blood on her face from a recently-opened scab, and also a black speck on one cheek that adam thinks is a smashed fly

“you didn’t jump gansey!” ronan is saying, extremely exasperated. “why!”

“i didn’t have my hammock yet when gansey first came,” she says. she does not sound remotely sorry

adam looks up and discovers that there is in fact a hammock stretched between the trees. it’s one of those heavy-duty camping numbers with thick canvas and a full insect net. it’s also thirty feet in the air. there are branches on the way down, but they are very precariously spaced. adam does not want to know how she parkoured to leap onto his shoulders

“when you snap someone’s neck,” ronan says, “i’m not helping you hide the body”

“who says i haven’t already?”

“the fuck? and you didn’t ask me to help hide the body?”

she darts a few feet away and pulls herself into a tree. adam watches with slight fascination as she shimmies out along a long branch until it dips under her weight. as he gets to his feet, trying to piece together his wilted dignity, she rides her makeshift nature elevator down until she’s staring into his eyes again. hugging the branch like a snake. absolutely no consideration for how normal human beings behave. it’s almost marvelous

“sufficiently free of my attic, parrish?” ronan asks

“uh, yeah. yep”

“so this is opal,” ronan says

opal flips over so she’s hanging from the branch like a sloth. then hooks her legs around it and reaches down until her palms are flat on the ground. cartwheels out of the tree like a particularly feral acrobat. adam jerks back to avoid being smacked by a faceful of twigs at the whipcrack slingshot of the branch bouncing back

opal pulls a pocketknife from one of the folds in the DIY parachute sewing machine tick protection onepiece from hell. adam eyes her warily

“opal, this is parrish. or adam. whichever. don’t stab him”

“god,” adam says again

opal beams. she opens the pocketknife, but all she does is start cleaning bits of plaque from between her teeth with the tip, which is somehow so much worse than stabbing. adam looks at ronan and finds him pinching the bridge of his nose. it occurs to adam that this is the only time he’s EVER seen ronan express any sense of embarrassment in any social situation. ronan has no sense of propriety. adam didn’t know he was capable of feeling embarrassed

he immediately likes opal just for that.

“yes,” opal says, unconcerned, answering a question no one’s actually asked. “ronan is the normal one”

#i spent nearly. 2 hours writing this stupid thing. this concept is so excellent #trc #pynch #opal lynch #my writing #this was SUPPOSED to be short enough i wouldn't have to readmore it but. shrug emoji #adam parrish #ronan lynch

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chillax-kass-w · 4 years

Text

After All | M18

[Reiner Braun/Reader]

Happiness seems impossible for Reiner, but he may get there after all.

Read on AO3

[As a note, the format of this story is as follows: chapters actually titled “Chapter _” are current to the Marley Arc, chapters titled “M_” are Reiner’s memories in succession, and chapters titled “RM_” are the Reader’s memories in succession]

Light as they were, his footsteps still reverberated off the walls. The hallway was empty as ever. In a way, it was unnerving, what with the unfamiliarity of the architecture and the waning evening light. Dismissing the feeling and continuing on, Reiner couldn’t help but let his mind wander. The whole situation was odd. They’d returned from the 57th Expedition, albeit battered and ranks heavily reduced, but no orders followed. The Female Titan had failed to be captured, and Erwin was summoned to the Interior for Eren to be dealt with. For some reason, the majority of the higher ranked members of the Surveys Corps as well as Mikasa, Armin, and Jean accompanied him. If that wasn’t odd enough, the newer recruits weren’t allowed to train, nor were they allowed to be in uniform or be armed. Every waking moment was spent in plain clothes in the mess hall of the random building they were being housed in, and most, if not all, of those moments had Reiner questioning the situation.

To make matters worse, (f/n) had yet to show her face since they’d arrived. It’d already been a day, going on two, and his worry was becoming unbearable. She had to be traumatized. When she’d appeared on the horizon with Declan limp in her arms, he’d almost broken. He’d known she was assigned to the right flank of the formation, but he’d been too hopeful in assuming she’d made it into the trees without him noticing. Then, there she had been, bloody and bruised with the other remaining member of the right wing scouting squad approaching Death’s door. As soon as she’d made it to safety, it was as if she’d shut down. It’d taken everything in Reiner to leave her alone in the medical cart to return to his post, and he hadn’t seen her since.

An almost nervous breath escaped him as he reached his destination, and he opened the door. As soon as he saw her, he stopped in his tracks. She was seated at Declan’s bedside, her arms crossed on the edge of the mattress and her head facing away from the door. The injured man appeared to still be asleep; from what Reiner had heard, he hadn’t woken, even as they stitched the wound across his forehead.

A wave of envy flooded him as he took in the sight. It reminded him of his mother glued to his bedside when he was younger. His weakness always seemed to land him bedridden, and his mother would always be the one to nurse him back to health. He knew more than anyone the care the gesture held, so why was (f/n) so adamant in remaining at Declan’s side?

What was he to her?

And why was he jealous?

He knew more than anyone that he wasn’t entitled to the girl. He was aware of her worth, aware of the wealth within her soul.

He couldn’t afford her.

Even so, he wished she was perched at his bedside, her voice the lullaby he had come to desire in the face of his nightmares. It was only a wish, but it burned in his mind.

If only he had the power to douse the flames.

If only...

“Hey…” He reached for her shoulder, his fingertips light against the fabric of her shirt. He hadn’t expected her to wake with a start, her hand grabbing his with terror. He never would’ve imagined the fear in her eyes, directed at him. That fear was the embodiment of his worst nightmare, and he hoped to never experience it again. The day she feared him would be the day he died. “It’s okay. It’s only me.” The tension in her shoulders subsided then, and she fell back into her chair.

“Sorry. Scared me.”

“It’s okay. I just came to check on you, see if you wanna go for a walk.”

She looked to the window. “It’s getting late, and we’re not allowed to go outside without an escort…”

Grin on his face, he shrugged his shoulders. “Who said we’d go outside?” A piece of his soul returned when her lips curled into a scarce smile, but envy took it back at her glance at Declan. She was hesitating for him. She was going to choose him over Reiner.

Why did it bother him so much? The man was injured.

But, her eyes found his again.

“Okay.” With that, she rose and headed for the door, one last look over her shoulder despite Declan remaining still. Reiner followed behind and closed the door. “So, if we’re not going outside, where are we headed?”

“You’ll see.”

They walked in silence, her just a step or two behind him. He’d never known her to be so quiet, and that worried him. He needed to hear her voice; he needed her to be alright. In that moment, everything hinged on it. As they ascended the stairs, he wondered if she’d been speaking to Declan, no matter the state he was in. Had she chosen a comatose man to vent to rather than him? Childish envy bloomed in his heart yet again, and it took everything in him not to frown.

“How is he?”

“Broken ribs and blood loss. They said he’ll be alright, but he hasn’t woken up yet.”

Reiner opened the door of their destination, a room with a large window on the top floor. It’d been assigned to him, but he hadn’t spent much time within its walls, despite his exhaustion. Sleep wasn’t easy with worry on the mind.

“He’s lucky.”

She didn’t look at him as she crossed the threshold. “Lucky… I guess so.” Reiner could hear the disbelief in her tone. Nothing about that pessimistic statement spoke of the (f/n) he’d come to know. Invisible wounds riddled her; she needed time to heal. If comfort quickened that time, he was more than willing. With a vague gesture, he sat upon the bed, and the girl followed. Her eyes instantly went to the stars peeking through the window to their left, just as he expected, and he smiled. There was a reason he brought her there. Choosing to remain silent, he watched her. The fragile skin beneath her eyes was darker than ever; her hair was untamed, but not in its usual fashion. Her silence continued for what felt like eternity and some change; he wished for some change. As comfortable as he was at her side, he absolutely couldn’t take the emptiness of the air in that moment. He knew she had burdens, yet she spoke not.

He followed her eyes. The stars were as he remembered, gorgeous and innumerable. Before he’d met her, he hadn’t bothered with them. They were unchanging; they were always there. But, upon knowing (f/n), he’d understood he was desensitized to the beauty of the world. Now, mundanity was everything he yearned for. If he could, he’d voice that change.

Her voice remained behind locked doors, even after his long contemplation.

Did she not trust him?

When he turned his head again, he froze. Tears had filled her eyes, waiting impatiently to fall down her cheeks. He wasn’t well versed in these types of situations. He’d never been the comforter. Even so, he vowed to try.

“You don’t have to talk to me, (f/n), but I want you to know I’m here for you.”

Curved lips whispered appreciation, but she still sat wordless. Her eyes caught his, and he saw it there, the beauty of the mundane. He’d never noticed, partly because he’d never wanted to stare, but the warmth there had him begging to never look away. It was moments such as this that made him forget the stress of military life. One day, he vowed, he’d see these moments without pause.

With one glance downward he could see the tension in her hands. “You’re blaming yourself again.”

“I shouldn’t have frozen like I did. If I wouldn’t have—”

“Stop that.” He reached for her hands, so cold. “You can’t blame yourself here. If I’d been the last to survive, you wouldn’t let me blame myself. It’s no different for you.” Hesitation filled her movements as she caressed his hands, her thumbs nervously pacing back and forth on his skin. He’d noticed that her hands grew restless when stressed after the Battle of Trost, as if she had to keep them busy to stop her mind’s marathoning tendencies. “It’s normal to feel this way, I promise, but I also promise that no one blames you.” A bitter laugh escaped him as he gripped her hands harder. “If living is a sin, I guess we’re all guilty.”

“Really?”

Her tears begged to be wiped away, but he couldn’t bear to let go of her hands.

“I’d never lie to you.”

She was silent for a time, rubbing circles into his calloused palms. Then, as if she’d decided to take him up on his words, she asked, “What do you think our purpose is? I always thought the purpose of life was family and friendship and love, but now I don’t know…How could that be the purpose of life if it keeps getting taken away?”

He’d wondered the same thing, many times over, too many times. He was sure the idea plagued every soldier, every person who faced the death of a loved one. But, contrary to everything Death asserted, people still created bonds.

He still created a bond.

“I think you’re right.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think the purpose of life is friendship and family and love, and it becomes more important in the face of Death.” His fingers looped through hers, and he found himself ever closer to her. He’d seen Death; he knew it well. (Marcel knew it better.) “They give us something to fight for.”

She nodded, as if reassuring herself that his truth belonged to her as well. Then, she said something he’d never forget. “I fight for you.” With still wet eyes, she looked away, as if to the world. “And I fight for all of our friends, and I fight for their families too.” Somewhere, there was a promise in those words.

“I fight for you too.”

The smile he found directed at him couldn’t be any more beautiful, and, when he looked into her eyes, he saw a future he wished would stay true.

If only...

#reiner braun #reiner braun x reader #reiner braun/reader #aot #snk #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin

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seekthemist · 5 years

Note

I have not been able to stop thinking about Adam meeting the Lynches when Niall was still alive and being THIRSTY A F for Ronan's dad, it has been on my mind ALL DAY and I don't have the time to do a fic but one isn't magically appearing for me to read. How dare you. (💖)

Referring to this post over here.

LISTEN, THE LYNCHES ARE UNFAIRLY HOT AND ADAM AND HIS BI THIRST HAVE ALL OF OUR UNDERSTANDING.

And I mean, I was procrastinating wildly so excuse me while I just...

The thing is, in a universe where Niall never died and the Lynch family was never broken into pieces, Monmouth Manufactory keeps being the headquarter of the gang’s missions--when they don’t reconvene at Nino’s--and Ronan keeps them studiously away from the Barns.

Adam thinks he has a good grip on the Lynch family. He met Matthew, and Declan more than once, because the three brothers are messy but intertwined. He even occasionally witnessed Mrs Aurora Lynch molding Ronan into an approachable and affectionate human shape under the weight of some liberally applied motherly love--the type that left Adam quietly miserable on the inside and standoffish on the outside for the rest of the day.

Ronan’s father travels a lot and Ronan always has heat in his voice when he can be persuaded to talk about him, mostly by Gansey who apparently met Mr Lynch enough times to feel entitled to courtesy enquiries. That, too, is unrelatable for Adam, so he purposefully does not even try to dig deeper into it.

How much difference can it make, to be missing the head of the family? Adam has to deal with enough quiet yearning for the dynamic of the four-fifths he knows personally--and with Ronan’s heated stares, hidden in plain sight, leaving Adam to wonder what can this well-loved boy want from him, what can Adam possibly have to give him.

The only known fact is this: every time Ronan’s father deigns Virginia with his presence, Ronan bails on them as if it’s the Second Coming his catholic heart had been waiting for. Even worth texting Gansey over it.

But this time the boot of Ronan’s BMW holds a little pile of obscure books that Gansey recovered in an even more obscure town library at the border with Washington D.C., and apparently they have to have them.

Blue refuses to come all the way to the Barns in Gansey’s Camaro--which, to be fair, is notoriously unreliable and will make her late for work if stranded as its usual at the roadside. Adam steps out alone from the passenger's seat, and Gansey doesn’t even bother locking the car before leading their way to the main house.

The Barns are generally an organic mess, from what Adam has seen in the rare times he was brought over--alone like a cherished secret, for afternoons in which anything Ronan wanted to share with him hasn’t included his family or their friends.

Today, it’s more like a funfair striking through a war zone, or vice versa.

There is a shiny SUV at the drive away closer to the porch, all the doors and windows are open and for some surreal reason even the animals have gathered around--not only the barn cats or the chickens, but also the cows, and the rabbits, and Adam is pretty sure that thing moving among the closest trees are actually deer.

Adam feels his forehead tense with the disbelieving raise of his eyebrows, but Gansey is already advancing through the open front door so Adam can’t ask--he can only follow.

“Hello, good afternoon, this is Dick, may I be excused for the intrusion?” Gansey asks to the empty hallway, with a polite knock over the door frame to announce himself further.

The fact that he introduces himself as Dick induces another wave of thick envy--the type that is too close to longing--coling in Adam’s stomach. Apparently the Ganseys’ refinement is not enough, and Gansey can smoothly fit himself in another family as well, for good measure.

He drags his feet on the porch, unwilling to tag along like a third wheel--maybe not unwelcomed but not belonging. There is plenty to entertain himself with, after all, surrounded as he is of basket and boxes and fabric bags. It would be a perfect scene from a messy moving, be it not for the fact that the Lynch family has been firmly planted in Singer Falls for the last twenty years.

There is something shimmering through the tape fixtures of one of the boxes, overfull enough that the cardboard of the covering mismatches at the sides. Adam gravitates closer to it as leaves rustle in the wind and birds sing obliviously over the branches.

Even though he crouches beside it, head tilted sideways as if a different angle might give him different insights, Adam would never touch Ronan’s family properties.

He wouldn’t, so he doesn’t know why he feels so guilty when he finally notices the shadow looming over him--over him, and the box, and Adam doesn’t even know how long it has been there.

He jumps to his feet, turning around, and the person behind him doesn’t even move of half a step, forcing Adam to just face him.

The first impression of Niall Lynch is like a little note travelling unexpectedly through a time portal. This is how Ronan is going to look in fifteen years or so, a treacherous voice whispers in Adam’s mind. The blue of his eyes is exactly the same colour, the cut of his face is sharper with age and only made more marked by the not-so-casually perfect stubble. In the light of the afternoon, there are shadows on his face, bent and mutable, cast by the dark curls that frame his face--wilder than Declan’s primness, less innocent than Matthew’s cherubic look.

It’s so difficult, to look away, even if just to take in the effortless mixture of closes that bring casual into business-causal into actually I’m not so sure I care.

Adam’s mouth runs dry, and then drier, as Ronan’s father let him stew in silence and something that is not quite discomfort.

“So, was it interesting?” Niall Lynch says, with exactly the same accent as Ronan, but a bit more marked, his voice lower and whispering as if this is a private mischief between the two of them. “The box, I mean.”

“I didn’t touch anything!” Adam has the embarrassing suspicion that his cheeks are burning, guilty over something that has very little to do with trinkets spread over the porch. “I wouldn’t, Mr Lynch, sir.”

“Wouldn’t you…” Mr Lynch trails off, disbelief teasing in his tone. He raises his voice with distracted self-assurance. “Ronan, you misplaced one of your friends.”

Hearing him call for Ronan makes another wave of incongruent guilt rush through Adam, effectively silencing any attempt on witty reply. It is ridiculous in the first place, to yearn for a witty reply, and yet faced with Niall Lynch’s presence--staged as if they were all playing in his theatre production--Adam cannot not help but feeling the pull.

“Do you want to know what’s inside that?” Niall asks.

It’s a trick question, obviously, and Adam still stumbles over the trap and tries for argumentative with very questionable results. “I looked like it was shimmering, I wouldn’t touch it...but I thought it was interesting.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s plenty interesting,” Niall smiles, and for a moment it’s as suggestive as it feels dangerous, perfect white teeth flashing through.

And then, just as smoothly as he arrives, Ronan’s father walks away and cuts every bargain Adam really feels like making about the content of that box. It’s an infuriating power move, and Adam’s eyes stares him a bit too much on his way towards the inside of the house--all confidence, in all forms.

Adam squirms on two feet, swallowing thickly by himself, just to counter how much he feels like gaping over this first impression.

He should move but he doesn’t, especially because facing Ronan right now would be stupidly complex.

Someone should have told him that Niall Lynch was like this, and at the same time Adam wishes he never knew so first-hand.

#the raven cycle #adam parrish #Niall Lynch #My Writing #headcanon #EXCUSE ME WHILE I JUST CASUALLY WHIP OUT FICLETS!!!

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commander-rahrah · 5 years

Text

RESIDENCY (AN OPEN HEART FIC): PART ELEVEN

Pairing: MC (Jordynne Holland) X Ethan Ramsey X Bryce Lahela; MC X Bryce; MC X Ethan

Masterlist: Click Here

Chapter Rating: M (Swearing, Kissing, I don’t know Ethan wants to do her but is stupid, Angst) (I’m terrible at this.)

Word Count: 6800+

Description: Ethan invites Jordynne to join him at the National Medical Symposium in Miami for two days. Two days — him and Jordynne; no hospital, no secret cases, no patients…

Disclaimer: Characters, storyline, and parts of the dialogue are taken from Pixelberry’s Choices. They fully own the characters, dialogue, backgrounds, etc. MC Jordynne’s background is my own creation, based loosely off of MC in-game’s personality and provided with more details.

Author’s Note: I finally made it. MIAMI. The kissing scene. OK, so I love PB but I hate when they just cut to a black screen after some scenes. Like Ethan stalks out of the room after a mega hot make-out session and they just cut to MC being back in the hospital the next day? Nah nah nah. So I have also written in some scenes to build up to the kiss more and then what happens post-kiss Ethan ripping out MC’s/my heart (: (: (: (: (:

As always, all likes, reblogs, comments, reviews, messages are very very appreciated!! If you would like to be tagged in future updates please reply on here or DM.

Also, the “Ward Ring” is something I do in real life, and it just killed my boyfriend when we started dating. He thought it was super funny and cute. I mean it’s terrible that people feel they need to do that sort of thing to not get hit on but yeah. Anyways, it’s defs something that my MC Jordynne has learned to do.

ALSO, if you would like to fangirl and be super extra about Open Heart, Ethan, Bryce, Choices -- literally anything. I’m here.

Taglist: @drakewalkerfantasy @owleyes374 @professorortegasstudent @mindlessdreaminxo @mayar-mahdy @paisleylovergirl @nicquix @emilymay100 @octobereighth @jenp02cutie-blog @llamasgrl @timmagicktoad @lilyofchoices @msjpuddleduck @mfackenthal

Previous Updates: Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten

PART ELEVEN

The past few weeks had flown by — filled with late-night research sessions, multiple trips to get Jordynne espresso romano’s from the nearby cafe, shared sandwiches during lunch hours in Naveen’s room. He had never gone through as many bags of coffee beans in his office than he had in those past weeks. Ethan hadn’t even slept on the couch in his office, he was going home to Jenner almost every night. Things were different, things were good for once.

They didn’t spend all their time together — it’s not like every waking moment was spent with her. But that was about to change for the next 48 hours.

Ethan was sitting next to her in first class on their flight headed to the National Medical Symposium in Miami for two days. Two days — him and Jordynne; no hospital, no secret cases, no patients…

“Compliments of the crew, Dr. and Mrs. Ramsey.” A polite flight attendant spoke, placing down two cups of steaming hot coffee with a smile.

Jordynne stirred in her leather seat next to him, looking over to her, “Oh thank you, but I’m not his—“

At the same time, Ethan spoke, “She’s a doctor too, actually.”

“Oh! My apologies, Doctor.” She smiled at Jordynne, “Well if you need anything else let us know.” The flight attendant moved down the aisle, leaving the pair alone again.

“You know she called me your wife right?” Jordynne asked, grabbing onto the cup that he was holding out for her.

“I, uh—“ Ethan stammered, feeling the tops of his ears go red, “She did?”

She gave him a coy smile before taking a sip of the coffee. It wasn’t the best coffee they had ever had — but it was better than the hospital cafeterias. The pair exchanged a look of mild acceptance as they took their sips.

Jordynne returned to her iPad — finishing an article Ethan had recommended to her. The seats in first class were wide enough for her to cross her legs, her elbow on her knee as she hunched forward reading. Her leg was warm-up against his, her long hair brushing up against his arm giving him goosebumps.

He could just watch her reading. The way she chewed her lip as she thought, the way the light from the window made her blonde hair almost look white. He needed a distraction — already, he was only a couple hours into this trip with her. Finding his leather bag on the floor next to him, he dug through it, finding his glasses and his novel The Lives of a Cell. Thumbing through the pages, he tried to find where he last left off and blinked as his eyes adjusted to his glasses. He noticed Jordynne shift beside him, looking up at him.

A sheepish smile spread across her face as he caught her staring. He furrowed his thick brows, “Yes, Rookie?”

“Nothing,” She said, shaking her head, the smile remaining.

His blue eyes squinted at her, putting his book down. He didn’t believe her.

“I just like your glasses,” She shrugged, her cheeks turning pink.

Ethan hit her with his knee, rolling his eyes. “Read your article, Jordynne.” Bringing his book back up to his face, he used it to hide the small smile spreading across his face.

_______________________________________________________________________

Letting the water run over him, Ethan turned it up a little hotter once more. It was turning his skin red now, from the heat and his incessant scrubbing. He was mad at himself. This was getting complicated now — too complicated.

Declan had figured out his plan too quickly, and now he needed to figure out another approach. And the hotel had booked their room wrong. How he was going to handle sharing a room with Jordynne, he had no idea.

Snapping his eyes open, he heard Jordynne call out to him from the bedroom through the crack he had left in the door so they could still talk.

“Why didn’t you tell me there was a reception?!”

He turned off the water, standing there dripping in the shower for a moment. “Because it was the furthest possible thing from my mind at the time.” He said truthfully. He had been focused on how to play Declan to get the treatment, and not thinking about her.

He heard her let out an exasperated sigh, “But it’s a casino theme! I have to look nice!”

Ethan stepped out of the shower, grabbing onto the white fluffy towel hanging off of the wall and wrapped it around his lower torso. Water still glistening off of him, he stepped towards the mirror — rummaging through his toiletry bag.

Movement caught his eye in the mirror, and he looked up to catch Jordynne’s eyes — staring at him through the reflection and crack in the door. Her eyes raked his naked torso before her face reddened and she turned back around to dig through her suitcase.

Ethan gulped, stepping back out of her line of sight. “Just throw on whatever you brought with you.” Grabbing onto the towel he angrily dried himself off, turning his skin red again. Not until he had stepped back into his briefs and trousers, did he go back towards the mirror where she could see.

She still had her back turned to him, but she was changing now. She was stepping into a dress — shimmying it past her hips. He stared at her naked back — admiring the curve of her waist, how soft her tan skin looked, her blonde hair draped over her shoulder out of the way.

Feeling his stomach tightening in want, he averted his eyes looking down at the marble countertops in the bathroom. Fumbling with the products nervously, Ethan put on some lotion and cologne before tousling his wet hair with a towel. Feeling much more presentable in his trousers now, he stepped back into the room still toying with his hair when he stopped in his tracks.

“Oh,” He sputtered, his blue eyes trailing over Jordynne’s body. She was wearing a silky navy dress, that hugged her curves perfectly. It had a deep V that showed just enough cleavage to make his imagination start running wild, and a simple pendant rested on her collarbone. Her usual wild wavy hair was sleek straight, hanging over one shoulder like a curtain. “You, uh, you found something.”

She put a hand on her hip, popping it out and smirked, “I always come prepared.”

“Lucky for me.” Realizing what he said, he cleared his throat, embarrassed. “I mean, lucky for you. You look… very…appropriate.” He tried to fight the blush creeping on his cheeks.

Letting out a laugh, she turned back to her suitcase, “Appropriate? What did I say about compliments, Ethan?”

He rolled his eyes at her, before padding over to the wardrobe. “Give me a moment to get dressed.” They stood on opposite sides of the room for a moment, both of them finishing getting ready. Ethan was grateful to have some distance between them — even if it was just a bed.

Grabbing onto his suit jacket, he turned around to face her. “There.”

Jordynne’s pink lips spread into a smile as she took him in. They stood for a moment, in front of the large mirror on the wall, standing shoulder to shoulder. Ethan’s breath hitched for a moment — taking in the image of them side by side, dressed to the nines. They looked like a real couple. In another lifetime, in another universe maybe they could be.

He cleared his throat, “I would say we look ready, wouldn’t you?”

“Absolutely.” She grinned, moving her hand to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear.

A glimmer caught his eye, and he felt his stomach twist. “What the hell is that, Rookie?” He pointed at the sparkly ring sitting on her left hand.

“Oh!” She let out a laugh, “My ward. It helps keep unwanted attention away at these kinds of things.”

Ethan furrowed his thick brows, “You’re not looking for any attention here? That’s the reason half of these people are here.”

Jordynne shrugged, a blush creeping onto her cheeks. “I have my eyes on someone else anyway.” Grabbing onto the keycard on the entry table, she tucked it into Ethan’s breast pocket and gave it a pat before turning on her heel and heading into the hall.

He watched her leave for a moment, his mind wheeling at who she was keeping an eye on. Gulping, he followed her out into the hall and shut the door.

______________________________________________________________________

Ethan could still feel where the slimy bastard Declan had grabbed onto his shoulder, rubbing in his victory. Vitamin C, hydrocortisone, and thiamine. He repeated it to himself over and over — drilling into his mind.

He was standing alone near the edge of the pool, nursing a glass of scotch. The lights in the pool causing the water to turn bright blue. He stared down into it, watching the ripples.

It was risky what he did. Too risky. Everything was on the line, and he put it all down to how he had read Declan. He had been wrong before, and he wasn’t as observant as he used to be, not as confident either.

He straightened up at the sound of steps approaching him. A waiter came towards him, a polite smile on his face. “Sir, here is the wine that you wanted to try.” He had two glasses in his hand, and he held one out for Ethan to try.

“Oh, thank you,” He grabbed onto the glass, swirling around the red wine before taking a sip. He nodded appreciatively, giving the waiter a nod. “I like it. Good recommendation.”

“Thank you, sir. Should I send up a bottle to your room for you and your wife?”

It was an innocent question, but Ethan felt his stomach twist again. It kept coming up — it was the logical deduction. But it was like a punch to the gut each time. Just another reminder. Ethan found Jordynne — standing on the opposite side of the pool, in a conversation with a couple of guys. His eyebrows furrowed at the sight — her ward wasn’t working as well as she wanted it too.

“Sure, thank you,” Ethan said politely, taking the other glass from the waiter. Maneuvering through the crowd and the edge of the pool, he found his way over to her.

Her eyes lit up as he approached, and she let out a sigh of relief. “Dr. Ramsey, hi!”

“This is for you,” He handed her the wine, which she took gratefully. “Boys,” He nodded sternly at the two guys standing in front of Jordynne.

“Oh, uh Dr. Ramsey! Nice to meet you.” They stammered, looking confused as Ethan wrapped his arm protectively around Jordynne’s shoulders.

“If you’ll excuse us,” He grimaced, pulling her away with him.

“Thank you,” She mouthed to him, before taking a big swig of wine. “I thought they would never leave me alone.”

When they reached a quiet corner alone, he realized he still had his arm wrapped around her and he quickly let go. “Like I said, conference from hell.” He looked around them — more and more of the doctors were starting to get tipsy now — shouting and dancing everywhere. “Want to go somewhere else?”

“Yes, please.” She said through another sip of her wine. The pair walked shoulder to shoulder through the party, leaving through a pool gate and out onto a pathway leading to the beach. The walked in silence, before heading off of the stone path and into the sand.

As their shoes started sinking in the sand, the two let out a laugh. “Maybe not the best idea.” Ethan bent down, balancing his wine glass as he scooped up his shoes that he kicked off.

He let out a chuckle as Jordynne struggled with her shoes, not able to fully bend down in her dress. “This dress isn’t as practical as my scrubs.” She joked.

Putting down his shoes, he bent over and moved the long fabric of her dress aside, revealing her tan legs. His fingers grabbed onto each of her ankles gently as he unbuckled the skinny straps of her heels. He tried to hide his gulp as his fingers brushed her soft skin. Standing up, he grabbed their shoes and tucked them away safely before returning to where Jordynne was waiting for him.

“Thank you,” She said quietly, chewing her lip.

The pair walked in silence for a moment, enjoying the feeling of the soft sand on their feet and the sound of the waves. The sounds of the party was a little more distant now. They paused in front of the water, both of them looking out pensively as the tops of their feet got slightly wet.

Taking a step back, Ethan shrugged off his jacket and placed it on the sand for them to sit on. It wasn’t a very big space, and Jordynne ended up closer than their usual shoulder to shoulder. He took a shaky sip of his wine, as she rested her head on his strong shoulder. This was fine. It was just a long day. Two colleagues, resting. On a beach. With wine.

They sat like that for who knows how long, sitting and listening to the waves. Jordynne’s voice broke the silence.

“Ethan, can I ask you something?” Her voice was soft. She didn’t stir from his shoulder, still resting her head on it — staring out at the water.

“Mhmm,” He agreed, having another sip of his wine.

“Why are you letting me help with Naveen?”

His dark eyebrows furrowed, “What do you mean?”

“I know, I poked my nose into it and stumbled onto it. But that doesn’t mean you wanted me to help. But bringing me to this conference, and with Dolores… I don’t know. There are lots of smart interns.”

“I’ve already told you that you aren’t like the other interns.” He didn’t miss a beat.

“But why? Why do you say that?” She twisted around to face him, “I just… I find it incredibly hard to imagine what you think about me.”

“You want to know what I think of you?” He raised his eyebrow, unsure of how he could answer that question. “You — you are,” He looked at her wide green eyes, gazing at him, waiting. “Very intelligent. And trustworthy. Stubborn as hell.” She let out a laugh at that. “You’re very… patient.”

She scrunched her nose up at him, “Really? You think I’m patient?”

Ethan couldn’t help the warm chuckle that escaped him, “You stick it out with a grumpy old man like me every day. You’d have to be.”

“Hey, you’re not old.” She punched his arm lightly. “Grumpy? Yes.” Taking another sip of her wine, she continued, “I just wonder how I got here, you know? When I thought about my residency… I could have never imagined this.”

“Getting paid to sit on a beach?” He smirked.

“That. And…,” Her eyes glanced down, betraying her for a moment. She looked up at Ethan, chewing her lip nervously, “I just couldn’t have planned any of this happening.”

Ethan’s blue eyes raked her face, trying to read it. He couldn’t get a read on what she was feeling, why she was asking these questions. Before he could say anything else, she went to take another sip of her wine and realized it was empty.

“There’s more in the room.” He offered, gesturing to her empty glass. “They sent up a bottle for us. Anything for Dr. and Mrs. Ramsey apparently.” He said, shaking his head.

A sly smile spread across Jordynne’s face, “It’s Doctor, actually.”

_______________________________________________________________________

The pair sat on the hotel room’s balcony, chairs pulled side by side. The aforementioned bottle of wine sat in between them — half empty by now. Jordynne was still in her dress, but her shoes remained off from their stop at the beach. Her hair was starting to wave from the wind and humidity. Ethan’s jacket was hanging inside, dirty with sand. His bowtie was hanging loose around his neck.

They could hear the crash of waves from the ocean, the moonlight reflecting off of the water’s surface. They were sitting in comfortable silence, admiring the view when Ethan finally spoke up again.

“Naveen always hoped we’d find a way to make the diagnostics team publicly funded… So that no one would need to pay, no matter their insurance or income.”

Jordynne played with her hair nervously, “What will he think of getting Panacea Labs involved?”

He let out a humorless laugh, “He’ll give me the worst chewing out of my life. And I’ll deserve it. I’ve compromised his vision, my ethics…,” Ethan shook his head, “But if he survives this… it’ll all have been worth it.”

Her big green eyes met his, “Do you really believe that?”

“I don’t know. Ten years ago, I was right where you are. A wide-eyed intern, dreaming of what I’d do when I was an attending. I certainly wasn’t dreaming this. But things change. People change.” Ethan stared out to the ocean, watching the waves roll into the sand. “What about you? What kind of doctor do you see yourself being in ten years?”

She chewed on her nail for a moment, “The kind of doctor who could make a difference in patient care.”

He let out a laugh, “More than you do now?”

She shrugged her bare shoulders at him, her voice quiet, “I’m only an intern… I do barely anything now.”

He shook his head in disagreement, “Not true. I’ve seen how hard you work for your patients. Even if they don’t always value it, you do make a difference.”

“But not enough. I helped one uninsured patient receive care, but I can’t find loopholes for everyone.” He watched her chew the inside of her lip, thinking, “The entire system needs to be changed. And I want to be part of it.”

“And I have no doubt you’ll find a way.” He didn’t miss a beat.

She let out a sigh, “It just seems like… the higher I aspire, the more I stand to lose.”

“I — certainly understand that.” Standing up, Ethan moved to the railing, leaning his elbows on it. He clutched his wine glass in both hands, moving his eyes back to the water. “What you saw tonight, that’s not me. I don’t gamble… on anything. I don’t take chances.” Breathing in deep, he continued, “Medicine is an assembly of facts leading to a conclusion. Once you know the rules and understand the diseases you’re working with, the risk should be minimal. Your decisions are informed, and you choose the safest path. But that card game… I’ve never done anything like that before.”

Jordynne got out of her seat, joining him at the railing. She leaned her hip against, facing his side. “I don’t know. It seemed like a pretty well-informed decision to me.”

“Risking Naveen’s treatment on a game? Having to hope I’d judged Declan’s character well enough to risk losing instead of using a winning hand?” He shook his head, his eyebrows furrowing. “There were too many variables. I could have lost everything!”

She grabbed onto his wrist, comforting him, “But you were right. Your risk paid off.”

His blue eyes lingered on her fingers wrapped around his wrist, “It did… and I’m beginning to realize,” He hesitated for a moment, thinking about the chocolate bars she had gifted him, still in the wrappers buried in his desk. You know, it’s okay to treat yourself sometimes. He turned his neck to look up at her. She was radiant in the moonlight — her blonde hair glowing, her skin a little flushed from the wine, her dress cutting into a perfect V. “There are some things that are worth any risk.”

They locked eyes for a moment — their pupils flickered back and forth, studying each other’s faces for a moment. Jordynne reached out tentatively, her soft fingers touching his stubbled cheek.

He blinked at her touch, not really believing it was happening, “Jordynne, I…”

She licked her pink lips shiny, “I know.”

Ethan leaned into her touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. It felt good. No, it felt amazing. Just a simple touch, her cool fingers on his hot cheek. It would be so easy, just to reach out and do the same. He felt his heart starting to climb his throat. The pounding was filling his ears, and his face felt hot. For once, don’t be afraid. Just do it.

His blue eyes snapped open, and he looped a strong arm around her waist, pulling her into him. Without thinking anymore, Ethan crashed his lips onto hers. He heard her take a sharp breath in as he kissed her. She tasted like the wine, and spearmint and honey somehow. Her pink lips were softer than he had imagined.

Ethan didn’t have to wait very long for her to kiss him back. Her lips met his immediately, her hands finding purchase on the lapels of his jacket as she somehow pulled him even closer to her. This was happening. It wasn’t in his head. It was intoxicating — the smell of her perfume, her fingers bunched on his clothes, the feeling of her tongue sliding across his teeth.

She broke away for a moment, a ragged breath escaping her, “Dr. Ramsey, you’re —“

“Ethan.” He corrected her, putting his forehead on hers — He couldn’t not be touching her now, not after that.

“Ethan…,” She said breathlessly, “I’ve been wanting this. For a lot longer than I should admit.”

His eyes lit up in the darkness outside, not believing what he had heard. He moved his head back for a moment — meeting her gaze. “So have I.”

Grabbing onto the tip of her chin, Ethan pulled her back in for another kiss — this time tenderly, gently pulling her lips into his. She parted her lips for him, deepening the kiss. His hands traveled down her waist onto her hips, as her fingers twirled in through his thick hair and down the nape of his neck.

Goosebumps traveled down his skin as her fingers skimmed down the skin of his neck, moving down his chest to the buttons of his shirt. She undid them perfect precision, not breaking their kiss as she worked through them.

“Mmm…” She moaned into his mouth as she moved her hand down his bare chest. He felt his heart stutter as she touched him. Ethan matched her movements, his fingertips brushing over her collarbone, over her breasts and down her ribs and waist.

Ethan broke their kiss for a moment, as his hands lingered on the zipper of her dress — his thoughts getting the better of him for a moment. “What if someone sees us?”

“I don’t care.” She breathed, before pinning him against the railing. “Let them see.” She moved his mouth on hers again, and he eagerly wrapped her back into his arms, holding her tightly — not wanting to let her go.

He finished unzipping her dress, feeling her naked back that he had been looking at in the mirror just a few hours before. He relished the way her skin felt on his — she was so soft and warm.

Grabbing onto the fabric of her dress, he slid it up over her hips — grabbing onto her mostly bare backside. He let out the softest moan, looking down at her long legs and the small lacey panties she was wearing. “Jordynne…”

The kisses turned desperate as they looked down at their naked skin — her bare legs and his bare chest. He wanted this for so long, to know what she would feel like, taste like.

Pulling away, he took a shaky breath — catching his breath. He stared down into her big green eyes, his hands still holding her into him.

His mouth hung open in awe and desire — nothing should be this beautiful. But his eyebrows furrowed as his fingers dug into her more — he wanted her, he needed her — but his thoughts were starting to get the best of him. “What are you doing to me?” He growled, swallowing.

“Hopefully something good.” She moved her bare leg in between his, brushing her thigh up against his crotch, making him gulp again.

“Jordynne, I’ve never done anything like this. Ever. This is—“ He stopped talking as she placed a tan hand on his chest again. She traced it over his muscles before stopping over top of his heart. He wondered if she could feel its hammering beat. As if sensing his thoughts, her other hand grabbed onto his fingers — pulling it up to grab her own chest. She placed it underneath her dress, his fingers resting on the plump flesh of her breast. He could feel her heart thundering just like his. Her mouth spread into a smile as he realized how she felt too.

He swallowed, looking up into her eyes again, “You… feel amazing.”

“Wait ‘till you feel the rest of me,” She smirked, moving his hand so that he was cupping her entire breast.

“Christ,” He groaned, cupping her in his hand. He moved his lips to her neck, kissing the tender skin softly and enlisting a moan from Jordynne. It only made him want to do it more. He continued kissing and sucking at her skin, moving down to her collarbone and the top of her chest.

As his teeth grazed her skin, he felt her shiver. His fingers trailed up her arms, and he noticed the goosebumps that had appeared. He hadn’t realized in their passion that the winds of the ocean had picked up.

“Let’s get you inside.” Ethan rubbed her shoulders for warmth, guiding her but Jordynne took his hand and intertwined his fingers with hers instead drawing him back into the hotel room.

The warm lights in the room caused Ethan‘s eyes to adjust, and he found himself blinking back to reality. Jordynne had pulled away from him, swaying her hips until she sat down on the edge of the bed. Her dress was still pushed up a little — revealing her long tan legs. The shoulder straps were coming down now too — her cleavage threatening to pop out of the thin fabric. She looked up at him from the bed, her green eyes inviting him over to her.

He froze — staring at her. She was mesmerizing. She was everything and more than what he has imagined in his dark bedroom in his lonely apartment.

He couldn’t do this.

It wasn’t his risk to take. It was hers. It would be career suicide for her — if someone found out.

“Ethan?” Her soft voice snapped him back. She was still sitting on the bed, her green eyes batting up at him.

“We… can’t.” He forced the words out of his mouth, “We can’t go further. We’ve already crossed a line.”

She sat up a little straighter on the bed, her eyebrows furrowing, “Did… Did I do something wrong?”

He closed his eyes — hating himself. “Of course not, not in the slightest. You…,” His eyes raked over her confused face, “No, I did. I shouldn’t have let this happen. And it can’t happen again.”

Her pink lips frowned, “What? Why not?” She was covering herself with her arms now, hiding her cleavage with one arm while the other pulled her dress back down.

He started rattling off the reasons he had come up with in his head already, “I’m an attending, and you’re an intern. You’re in the running to join my team. I’d be your boss—“

“So?”

He thought to the surprised look on Harper’s face, that gradually turned suspicious when he announced he was bringing Jordynne with him on this trip. She would know, and she was the Chief of Medicine. What would happen — fire the rookie intern who slept with her boss or the world-renowned diagnostician? He knew the answer. He knew Harper.

He ran his fingers through his thick hair, “It’s unethical. And it’s complicated.”

“Ethan…,” She moved off of the bed, starting to move towards him, “No one would have to know.”

“We would know, Jordynne. We would know,” He gulped, “I need to be able to push you to your limits. To help you become the doctor you want to be. The one I know you can be. I can’t do that if I…”

“If you what?” She had closed the distance between them again, her hand reaching out and trying to grab his wrist, but he moved as she reached out.

Ethan shook his head, angry at himself. “I’m sorry. I should have stopped myself before… We should call it a night. You can take the bed, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Ethan…” Her voice killed him — he could hear the hurt in her voice. “Please don’t do this.”

“I can’t.” He didn’t even turn to look at her before he walked into the other room. Closing the door softly behind him, he pressed his forehead to it. His eyes closed his face wrinkling in pain. Why did he do that? Why did he have to make it so much harder for himself?

And her. He envisioned the look on her face — how confused and hurt she look, her green eyes wide and pink mouth open as she tried to understand.

His body filled with rage and hatred at himself. Whirling around, he looked around the unfamiliar hotel living room. Grabbing onto a couch cushion, he nailed it with his fist.

His stomach twisted, waiting to see if she would try to follow him. But he couldn’t hear anything — just his heart hammering in his ears.

Glancing around the room, he let out a sigh of relief at the bar cart parked near the couch. Grabbing a tumbler, he poured himself a large scotch and downed it. Anything to drown out his thoughts — just to stop thinking.

_______________________________________________________________________

She wasn’t there when he woke up.

The bed was made perfectly — like no one had slept in it. Her suitcase was tucked neatly at the door, waiting for them to check out.

Ethan could smell her in the bathroom — hints of her showering and getting ready still lingering in the room. Orange blossom shampoo, vanilla perfume. It made him miserable.

Letting out a heavy sigh, he showered and got ready before heading downstairs to find coffee. It was the day of lectures and presentations — the worst part of the conference for him. The last thing he wanted to do was to feign interest in other people’s research.

Heading down to the restaurant serving continental breakfast, he poured himself a cup of coffee and took a hearty swig. It was awful. Grimacing, he swallowed the bitter coffee.

Turning around, his heart crept up in his throat as his eyes landed on Jordynne for the first time that morning.

She looked incredible. She was wearing a professional-looking white dress, that hugged her hips and waist. Her blonde hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, simple jewelry on her neck. He noticed she still had her “ward ring” on — it was shining brightly off of her left hand.

A polite smile was forced on her face, as she stood in her heels listening to an older gentleman. She was hugging her cup of coffee to her chest. Ethan knee she probably hated the beverage as much as he did.

“Dr. Ramsey! Well, I’ll be!” The old man croaked, putting out his hand.

“Dr. Lynn,” He shook the doctor’s hand. “Dr. Holland,” he tried his best to keep his face neutral, nodding to her as a greeting.

Her smile faltered before she put the mask back on and returned the nod.

“So, tell me how is Dr. Banerji? Someone told me he retired.”

Ethan froze — his jaw clenched. He hadn’t planned on that — people asking him about Naveen. Nodding his head, he moved his mug in front of his face to hide the lie, “Retired and loving it.”

“I won’t be far behind.” The old man chuckled, before turning his attention back to Jordynne. “But, I was just telling young Dr. Holland here that Edenbrook better hold onto her. I don’t meet many interns like her at conventions like this!”

“I agree, Dr. Lynn.” Ethan swallowed, “She’s an incredible doctor.”

Jordynne’s green eyes flickered to Ethan’s, her lips pursing together.

“Well, if you ever want a change of scenery you should come see us in New York.” Dr. Lynn handed her his card, before shaking her hand.

“Thank you,” she said politely, tucking the card into the notebook under her arm.

The man said goodbye to the pair of them, leaving them alone near the coffee station.

Despite having already downed a cup of coffee, Ethan’s mouth suddenly felt dry. Jordynne was avoiding his eyes now, standing awkwardly.

“I’m—“ he opened his mouth, but she spoke faster.

“I’m going to go find a seat, in the conference hall.” She put down her coffee cup, clutching her notebook to her chest. “See you in there.”

He watched her walk away, strutting easily in her heels, her hips swaying a bit. His dark brows furrowed as he watched one of the doctors hitting on her from the previous night fall into pace with her.

Grinding his molars together, he stood there for a moment, before falling in behind them. He had made it clear — to her and himself. It couldn’t happen again. But his head was still swirling, his stomach tightening with the familiar feeling of want.

He was her silent shadow for the day — letting her take the lead in the majority of conversations when doctors or big pharma executives approached. She was great during the presentations — taking detailed notes, asking insightful questions. She was a natural — much better at all of this than he was.

She even dug into Naveen’s case a little — asking vague questions to other Doctors, seeing how they would investigate. She was also presented with several other business cards — other hospitals who were interested in speaking with her if she ever wanted a ‘change of scenery'.

Ethan knew it was the correct thing to do, to stop it where he had — right? He couldn’t take back kissing her, but at least he didn’t let it go any farther. It was the right thing to do, but it wasn’t easy. Every time he looked at her now his mind didn’t wander — wondering how soft her skin was, or what her lips would feel like. He knew now. God, did he know. And it was killing him. There wasn’t enough scotch in the world to make him forget what it had felt like — holding her to him, his lips on hers, her fingers twined in his hair.

Stop. It.

He thought to himself, curling his fingers into a fist so tight half-moons printed on his skin from his nails.

This is how it had to be. To protect her, and her career. Ethan has perfected misery before — he was certain he could learn to live with it again.

_______________________________________________________________________

Jordynne approached the flight attendant standing at the desk for their gate. Her voice was low for a moment, so he couldn’t hear her at first. Ethan strained his ear, trying to make out what she was saying.

“It doesn’t have to be a first class seat. Any seat really, if I could just —“

“I’m really sorry ma’am. But the flight is sold out, and I can’t change seats anymore.”

A flash of hurt crossed Ethan’s face. Now she didn’t even want to sit next to him?

Standing up, he met her at the desk and grabbed onto her elbow. Politely smiling at the attendant, he pulled Jordynne away with him, standing near the windows that looked out into the tarmac.

She wouldn’t meet his eye.

“Do not make me sit on this plane by myself, Rookie.” Realizing he was still holding onto her elbow, he quickly let go. “Please.” He added, his voice barely a whisper.

She drew her pink lip into her mouth, chewing it, “Okay.” She said quietly.

And she did. Her legs were pulled to her chest this time, leaving no chance of them accidentally touching. She had her neck strained, staring out the oval window at the fluffy white clouds.

He got what she wanted — at least she was sitting next to him. They hadn’t said anything, sitting in silence for the majority of the flight. Ines and Zaid were on the same flight with them this time — sitting a few rows ahead of them, nursing drinks.

Ethan wished it could go back to before. When there was just stolen glances to each other, the little sparks when they would brush hands that electrified his day. He hoped that they could work past it — for her sake, and Naveen’s. He needed to keep mentoring her — this conference proved how good she could be. And he would be helpless without her on Naveen’s case.

He just needed to go back to how he was before — before the shared scotches and wine bottles, before falling asleep on the same couch in the NICU, before stealing her away for “experiments”. No more dinners, or espresso romanos. That’s just what he had to do.

Maybe she would just find someone else. Then it wouldn’t matter. His misery, he could contend with. But hers? It was killing him — her silence, the seemingly permanent furrow in her brow, how she avoided his eye. If she found someone else then maybe their work relationship could stand a chance. He thought to the surgical intern, Lahela. Whatever that was between them, it could grow. Ethan swallowed down the bile that formed in his mouth as he thought of them together — dating, falling in love…

What if she moved? What if she left Edenbrook? She had received enough interest at the conference from several senior Attendings. He felt his heart start to rise in his throat, at the thought of her leaving. Could he do that — drive her away so much that she would move to another hospital?

“Would you move to New York?” He blurted out, unable to stop his panicked thoughts.

She turned her head to him, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “What?”

“Would you take Dr. Lynn’s offer? Leave Edenbrook?” He gulped, “Or anywhere else.”

Her lips twitched, “Boston is my home now. If Edenbrook wants me, that’s where I’ll be.”

He tried to hide his sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing for a moment. But he tensed up again as she spoke again.

“It’s gonna take a lot more than you rejecting me for me to want to move to a different state, Dr. Ramsey.” Her voice was a harsh whisper.

He swallowed, his stomach twisting with guilt, “I didn’t reject you. I — we — we just couldn’t.”

“But the thing is — we were and we can. But you get so wrapped up in that head of yours…” Her voice trailed off, and she starting picking at her nails.

Ethan didn’t know what to say — his mouth opening and closing as he thought.

Jordynne shoulders slumped at his silence, and she returned to looking out the window. But this time she put in headphones. She wouldn’t look at him, listen to him, or touch him — tucked into the corner of the large leather seat, staying as far away from him as she could.

The rest of the flight was brutally quiet. Ethan sat looking forward — straining his neck so straight so he wouldn’t dare glimpse at her. They didn’t make a sound to each other as they got off the plane, or grabbed their bags. They exchanged pleasantries with Ines and Zaid at the exit to the airport, before they walked out into the Boston streets.

It was a gloomy day — the dark clouds overhead threatening to rain at any moment. Ethan fumbled in his bags for his car keys, his suitcase at his side. When he heard the sounds of rolling wheels, he turned to see Jordynne stalking off towards the subway — dragging her suitcase behind.

“Rookie!” Ethan called after her, grabbing the handle of his suitcase and following after her. When he caught up to her, she flashed him a look but kept marching forward. “At least let me drive you home.”

“I have a shift, I’m going to the hospital.”

“Okay. Then let me drive you to the hospital.” He offered.

“No thanks, Dr. Ramsey.” The words were pleasant enough, but her tone wasn’t. She reached the tops of the steps leading down to the subway. Picking up her suitcase awkwardly in her arms, she started down the stairs without a backward glance.

Ethan stood at the top of the stairs, watching her blonde ponytail swing with her movement until she disappeared at the bottom around the corner. Reaching up to his face, he grabbed the bridge of his nose and pinched it.

“Fuck,” He growled to himself, before angrily grabbing his suitcase and stalking off in the opposite direction.

Part Twelve

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lilith-lovett · 5 years

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Found Families - Home is Where the Hart is

Finally I am getting to Roman, Virgil and Dee’s appearances, again if anyone wants to draw them you are welcome to do so and please send them to me. So here they are.

Roman Hart (Martez)

Roman is the eldest of the Hart siblings and the tallest having just recently hit a major growth spurt now sitting a few inches above Logan which he enjoys immensely but along with the extra height came the clumsiness from his long lanky limbs, he is relatively strong and fit from hauling around heavy stage equipment and set pieces and his weekly dance lessons and theatre performing. He is Hispanic by descent so he has naturally bronzed skin and also enjoys experimenting with makeup but would never wear it outside of his house or the theatre, he has naturally wavy auburn hair but since becoming a teenager it is often now slick with styling gel and his eyes are a brilliant sparkling emerald green which he accentuates with different shades of eye-shadow introduced to him by Virgil and it is one of their common interests. As Roman has gotten older his fashion sense has changed dramatically from his prince costumes he now assures Patton he is far to old for to whatever the latest trends are such as one of his favourites, an all white ensemble including a white t-shirt and white jeans which more often than not are covered in paint stains, underneath a red bomber jacket embellished with yellow stitching and a crown he asked Patton to add for him not entirely abandoning his princely persona and when he is returns home to changes his red jacket for his favourite red sash Patton bought him the day he official became a member of the Hart family.

Virgil Hart (Storm)

Virgil is the third eldest of the Hart siblings, he is almost as tall as Logan but appears a lot shorter than he actually is because of his slouch and bad posture to make himself less noticeable. He is quite skinny as he hasn't fully gained the weight he lost as a child since being placed in an orphanage as while living with his biological parents he usually went without as his parents would rarely buy food but on the occasion his mother did give him money to buy food he would often spend it on Dee instead of himself, also his anxiety and other mental health issues regularly make it difficult for him to eat but he is gradually getting better. He has naturally pale skin due to his aversion to the going outdoors and like his brother Roman he also enjoys experimenting with make-up though tends to go with darker colours such as black and purple to fit his aesthetic, he has long straight black hair with a fringe he allow to fall over his sharp grey eyes he also often uses his fringe as a shield to hide himself from others eyes. Virgil’s touch outer exterior is exemplified by his dark aesthetic and choice in clothing distressed jeans, band t-shirts and over-sized his patchwork black and purple hoodie Patton bought and modified for him shortly after he was adopted by him to fit his ‘emo’ (as dubbed by Roman) style which is his favourite piece of clothing and is rarely ever seen without it and has definitely physically attacked Roman for stealing and hiding it on several occasions. Like Logan, Virgil also has many scars and old injuries from his time living in an abusive household such as burn scars on his hands he hides almost 24/7 with gloves, a faded scar on his cheekbone and several others scattered across his body as he took the majority of the abuse from his father so his bother didn’t have to.

Declan ‘Dee’ Hart (Storm)

Dee is the youngest of the Hart siblings and is also Virgil’s biological half-brother so the two look quite similar but also have some major difference. Even while living with his biological parents - who he doesn’t remember - he never lost a lot of weight as Virgil also made sure he was well fed often discarding his own needs for Dee’s he doesn’t find this out until he is much older, he like his brother is naturally pale but actually enjoys venturing outside especially on a warm day which often brings a little colour to his skin. He also black hair but unlike his brother’s long straight his is extremely curly and often looks an unruly mess especially after a long day and has a heterochromia where one of his eyes are blue and the other his hazel brown that Patton adores but a lot of people are put of by but he doesn’t experience much bullying or teasing for his appearance until he starts school. Dee has an obsession with snakes and almost every article of clothing he owns has some sort of snake or snake design on it more or not in his favourite colour yellow but if it’s not he will not wear it, as he gets older he develops a rather eccentric and strange fashion sense which Patton takes full responsibility for and loves his sons different looks. Despite Virgil’s caution with keeping their parents away from Dee he didn’t escape entirely unscathed as he received large burns which cover the entire right side of his body and a portion of his face leaving painful scars behind so he has to wear mittens to prevent him from scratching them but it isn’t until he is a lot older until he begins facing problems for it but he has his dad and his brothers to tell him that his scars are nothing to be ashamed of.

Sorry this is so late, I had an exam today which actually went quite well so I am really pleased about that. I should have the second chapter of Home of Where the Hart is posted by either tonight or tomorrow.

Thanks.

#sander sides au #sander sides #logan sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #deceit sanders #symapthetic deceit #Adoption AU #Found Familes #Home is Where the Hart is #tw child abuse #tw anxiety #tw fire #tw bullying

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darkwinterchild · 6 years

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Arrow: how season 1 set up the world

Originally posted on Reddit

Warning: a lot of words, as usual.

Worldbuilding is an important part of storytelling, so I wanted to talk a little about one of the most important pieces of worldbuilding in Arrow: Starling City itself. Because I think it has been neglected after the first seasons. The city used to be so full of life back in the days. It felt whole, it felt real and it felt grounded, and there are two major ways the writers managed to accomplish that: first, they introduced characters from all walks of life, both mains and minors; second, they set up a social background, the issue of class, and used that background to frame, color, compare and contrast their characters from the get-go - give them more depth and complexity.

So first, let’s look at season 1’s array of characters

The main character belonged to Starling City’s elite: that was our point of entry, our main point of view. On the one hand, we had Oliver, Thea, Thea’s friends, Tommy, Max Fuller and Carter Bowen to represent the privileged youths of the city. On the other, we had Walter, Moira, Malcolm, Frank Chen and the people on the List (Adam Hunt, Martin Somers, etc.) to introduce us to the older generation and their shenanigans.

Middle class? The Lance family used to be at the center: Laurel, Quentin, Dinah and Sara (dead but certainly not forgotten). From there, we had Laurel’s friends and colleagues at CNRI (Joanna in particular), and we had Quentin’s friends and colleagues at SCPD (Pike, Hilton, McKenna). We also had Diggle and Carly, poor Rob, and Felicity Smoak.

The people of the Glades were given a voice via Laurel’s storyline as a lawyer: Emily Nocenti, Peter Declan, and Eric and Nancy Moore with their son Taylor. Roy, our main boy, was introduced in episode 15. Raisa, the Queens’ Russian maid, left an impression in spite of only being featured in episode 1. Others were antagonists, but they were still given depth and motivations: the Restons and the Savior in particular.

Organized crime in Starling City used to operate at every level. At the very top, we had Malcolm Merlyn and his organisation. Then, among the lesser rich, we had the Bertinelli family (Frank and Helena). Ted Gaynor and his disgruntled veterans belonged more or less to the middle class. Finally, down at the bottom, we had the Triad, the Bratva, and Count Vertigo’s drug ring.

Throughout the first season, the main characters also mostly all had their own distinct narrative space. Just to cite some of the most important ones: Laurel shared separate storylines with Oliver, Lance and Tommy; Felicity shared separate storylines with Walter and Oliver; Tommy shared separate storylines with Laurel, Oliver and his father; Thea shared separate storylines with her mother, Oliver and Roy. There were so many different factions with different opinions and different agendas, doing completely different things - which made it all the more exciting whenever these storylines intersected (and they all came together in the big finale). This was a way to breath life into their world: Starling City used to be more than just a bunch of vigilante saving nameless faces. It used to be Laurel and the lawyers at CNRI fighting the city’s corrupt elite; it used to be Tommy trying to find his place; it used to be Quentin Lance and SCPD fighting crime and chasing after the Hood; it used to be Walter, a good man trying to solve a mystery; it used to be Moira, trying hard not to drown in her conspiracies; it used to be Roy and Thea figuring out who they wanted to be; etc.

So, this diversity of POV wasn’t a coincidence, but a consequence of the choice the writers made when they incorporated class as one of the thematic pillars of their show. Once they made that decision, it was obviously very important to have both main and minor characters at every social level through which we could explore life in the city. Note also the variety of professions/life styles within the same social class: in terms of worldbuilding, it is doubly important, because of course that leads to a variety of locations. The city didn’t just feel different in season 1 because of all the characters, it also looked different because of all the different sets associated with these characters.

How class was used to ground Starling City and bring it to life

The class issue was an integral part of the story. For a show based on a liberal superhero (from what I’ve heard), it is the one social justice issue they chose to tackle (racism, homophobia, sexism, etc. basically weren’t addressed at all), and they obviously put some effort into it.

Most characters and relationships during the first season explored class dynamics to some extend. When you look at romance, for example, class was the most essential element of Thea/Roy, a core element of both Oliver/Laurel and Tommy/Laurel (Quentin resenting these rich bad boys for what Oliver did to his daughters, Moira telling Laurel that her son loved being at her place because he didn’t feel like Robert’s son there, just himself; Tommy being cut off being an important part of the development of his story with Laurel; etc.), and definitely colored the way Moira/Walter as a high-end couple was written. Concerning characters, the fact that they were billionaires was a defining characteristic of both the Queens and the Merlyns, just like the fact that he was poor was a defining characteristic of Roy. Actually, we can’t just talk about a defining characteristic: their social standing was basically one of the driving character traits in their storylines, for all these characters.

Class used to be at the very core of show. Oliver’s story started when he realized his family’s fortune was built upon the suffering of others - when his father shot himself in the head and left him with the mission of righting the wrongs he committed toward the lower class. On the outside, the Hood was designed to be a champion of the people, an avenger going after the corrupt elite: he was the monster they created, karma in a way, consequences for all those who thought they could abuse their power and get away with it just because they had money. On the inside, the Hood is a deeply personal story about redemption and legacy, it is about an ex- billionaire playboy making amends for not only his father’s cruelty and indifference, but also his own mistakes - the entitlement that made him hurt his girlfriend horribly and irreparably, and left her sister dead at sea.

The Hood going after the List grounded the show in so many ways. First, it made his story different than all the other superheroes out there. Second (and particularly relevant to this post), it allowed the writers to explore the city in so many different angles: these people were not only businessmen but also accountants, investors, financial advisors, etc. By telling us their stories, the writers were also telling us how the city worked in all its complexities, who were the many different players. It made it more whole. Third, it meant the Hood had a justification for being a vigilante: he wasn’t there to replace the police back then, he was there to do what they couldn’t because they weren’t allowed to. Go after the guilty that eluded the law, that fancied themselves above it. His targets and his M.O. meant Oliver couldn’t do what he wanted to do by legal means. Each operation was carefully planned in advance, complete with detective work. This added a layer of believability to his story and the world they lived in that completely fell off in latter seasons.

The class issue wasn’t used to ground just the hero’s story into something real: it’s the same deal for the big bad’s plot. Everything about the Undertaking is a commentary on class, from Malcolm’s motivation (the crime-infested Glades that killed his wife), its execution (using his power as the most successful businessman in Starling to persuade or bully the other powerful players into joining his cause, take control of the corrupt first class via blackmail, infiltrate the law-enforcement, etc.: all of that to have a hand of command over every important chess piece in the city), to his end-goal (the annihilation of the poorest part of town). Actually, I’ve always found the diversity of Malcolm’s main group, the team that orchestrated the Undertaking, striking: he was the only white man, the others were two women, an Asian man, and a black man (Robert was killed right after they switched objectives so I’m not counting him). The only thing they had in common was their social standing, so you feel like it was deliberately constructed not to be a gender or race issue, but specifically a class one.

Even if you exclude the hero and villain’s plots, most storylines during season 1 had a relation to class in one way or another. The Savior? Fed up with the gangbangers in the Glades and the executives who let them run around free. The Huntress? Couldn’t stand her father oppressing the poor anymore. Ted Gaynor? Resentful over having to babysit rich kids. Firefly? He was created during the Nodell Tower fire, a tragedy that only occurred because the construction company that built it used substandard material to save a few bucks. Etc. Every single one of these storylines served to flesh out Starling City and its citizens a bit more.

Season 1’s most iconic quote is probably “You have failed this city” - the vigilante’s tagline. These words are directly related to the class issue, and what made them powerful was how thoroughly the writers set up the city’s social background, how full of life they made Starling feel.

The current situation

Since season 1 was, well, the first season, it was its responsibility to set up solid foundations for the show, notably a believable world. A city in which the show could grow into something more. I think it did a good job, but the seasons that followed didn’t really respect that work with the exception of season 2.

The class issue was dropped somewhere after the first third of season 2, which was busy trying to introduce more comic-booky elements. Season 3 and on didn’t pick it up again. I feel like season 3 was trying to do something worldbuilding-wise w/ the League of Assassins, but failed miserably (they succeeded in destroying one of DC’s most legendary mythos that’s all, and I’m very bitter about it).

So what does Star City look like today? IMHO: boring. You’d think Oliver being Mayor would mean it gets more development, but it’s more bland and empty and dead than ever.

In terms of point of views in season 5 and 6, mostly all we get is Team Arrow in the Arrow Cave and Team Arrow in the Mayor’s Office. They killed, wrote off the show, or forgot about most of the characters that added layers and diversity to the city. Apart from the masks and their allies, mostly all we have now are some villainous POV here and there, most of them not even originally from the city but just coming around to cause mayhem for some reason (I do think the character of Susan Williams was a welcome break for that reason, but she wasn’t particularly well-received). I don’t even know how the city looks like anymore, empty warehouses is all I can see in my head.

It’s actually a joke how the background of the characters, wrt the totally dropped class issue, simply doesn’t matter now. We were left wondering where Oliver, the main character, lived for an entire season. Most of Team Arrow doesn’t have a job, and it’s only recently been addressed. Curtis, well-off genius who used to hold a good job in a giant tech company, can say stuff like “as a black man I’m 80% more likely to get shot than you” (/paraphrased) to Rene, poor latino guy from the Glades who has actually been a victim of random gun violence and used to be a marine - because the history of these characters barely matters anymore, it’s just superficial.

In terms of believability, all the work season 1 put into making it all seem grounded has been thrown out the window. Revolutionary tech is invented on the fly in a matter of minutes. Felicity can hack into anything in a matter of seconds - her and Curtis basically have God-like powers, I swear. I still don’t understand how Oliver manages to be the Mayor and also moonlight as the Green Arrow. Also he’s good at being the Mayor and Thea was an awesome Chief of Staff despite them having zero credentials in politics because our heroes can now be absolutely anything they want if the plot demands it (or just if it pleases the writers). He can pass magical bills on controversial issues that everyone is happy with because Star City is now just a bland simple-minded mass. The Arrow cave is more technology advanced than the NASA and honestly, since they don’t kill and only go after common criminals, I don’t even know why they haven’t simply joined the law enforcement - as a special unit or something, Marvel style. The whole vigilante thing seem pointless at this point, just another hurdle.

(I mean, for real, last episode, Dinah, instead of confronting Vigilante in her capacity as a cop, had to go put on her costume first - that I have no idea where she hid since FBI lady was snooping around. Seems inconvenient and a giant loss of time when people’s lives are at stakes, yk?)

Tobias Church can just show up and take control of Star City’s organized crime (which, btw, I’m surprised to see is even still around) in a matter of… what was it? Two weeks? Which completely undermines these guys, in addition to being unrealistic. It’s another thing that makes the citizens of Star City look stupid or useless, just like the fact people haven’t figured out Oliver and his little gang are the vigilantes makes them look stupid. The writers destroyed any credibility the city had as a whole.

So, yeah, the world of Arrow’s latter seasons is a senseless one, and Star City feels like it has lost its soul.

This is all my humble opinion. Thoughts?

#arrow #a1 #a5 #a6 #oliver queen #mp #my commentary #so i totally forgot to post this here too #i wanted to put pictures so

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askdawnandvern · 7 years

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A Lamb Among Wolves Ch:26

First off, I want to apologize for being two days late posting this. I imagine you guys were sort of on the edge of your seats after last time, so making you wait longer probably sucked. The whole point of having a chapter buffer was if i got sick, I would still have something to post. But thanks to the poor weather being what it was, I was, and still am suffering a pretty bad cold. On top of that I had to have some stuff done today medically that'd I'd rather not go into. Sufficed to say, sitting at my desk and working was a very non-option.

So I missed the Monday post date, and for that I'm sorry. Here's the chapter you had to wait on. I hope you all like it. And don't worry, schedule is still the same. I'm not changing the post date to Wednesday now or anything. The Monday after next will see the next chapter go up. Until then, here's hoping you like this new chapter, and until next time, I'm going back to bed...

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Chapter Twenty Six: A Brief History of The Northern Roaropean Lamb

"When compared to other mammals rise to a civilized state, sheep and caprids in general were found to have crawled out of their caves significantly earlier than most. Long before the founding of Scottram, Irelamb, and The new Pridelands, Sheep had been subsisting in the form of small communities and cities states spread across the regions. Records of advanced farming tools and written texts have been found to go back nearly as far as the advent of the original Pridelands Empire, and it gave them a great deal of time to grow and refine their culture and practices as they approached nation status."

"Early sheep herds were actually surprisingly similar in structure to that of their wolf counterparts, although forgoing the alpha-beta hierarchy system. At the advent of sheep cultural norms, the herd was largely composed of family members, with the sire ram or ewe leading the herd. But sheep were largely less tribal earlier in their development, which lead to largely peaceful intermingling and trading with other herds. This would lead to the herd dynamic quickly shifting away from simply being made up of families, and expanding to outside herds and even other species of caprids in the interest or protection and convenience."

"This is where early sheep and wolf differed the most greatly. Caprids were generally more docile, and as such spent more time cultivating and perfecting the land they already held rather than forcibly expanding into new territory. But what they lacked in offensive war mongering, they made up for in defense. And this is why they open and inclusive nature of the herd system became a great benefit when it came to sheepkind, especially those centered in the burgeoning nation of Shcottram."

"Years of proxy wars against invading wolves had only proved to hone and embolden the herd mentality of sheep kind, more and more small herds combining their resources and arms in an effort to keep the wolves at bay. Naturally these increasingly larger and larger herd based clans would place their faith in the strongest warrior among them, looking to them as the herd leader. It was this style of herd structure that would lead to the Blackwool clan's rise to power, and the birth of Schottram as a unified country. Specifically Sean Blackwool, who would become the first king of Scottram upon it's creation in 954 A.P. Irelamb, the neighboring nation would see formation just six years later."

"Sean was a seasoned warrior who, in his years before rising to the status of ruler, would lead the sheep under his command to many glorious and seemingly impossible victories against the invading Norwulff forces. But the one that would earn him the favor and praise of every herd in the nation would be 'The Battle of Woolcrag' in 944 A.P. Sean's strategic planning, cunning, and exemplary skill in combat would see him lead his armies to the successful liberation of the town after ten years of wolf occupation. Word of Blackwool's greatest victory spread like wildfire, sung from village to village and herd to herd. And with it came the pleas and requests to join under Blackwool's herd and finally put an end to the wolf occupation of sheep lands. It would take a total of ten years, and numerous battles, but eventually every herd in the land would join Blackwool in his fight against the wolves, and elevate him and his family to the status of being the recognized leader of all the herds in the country."

"This of course saw the birth of Shcottram, In which Sean would declare every sheep who resided upon its shores as being one herd, as well as every wolf as unwelcome among them. And soon after the installation of the Blackwool family as the ruling class among the Shcotts, Blackwools armies successfully drove the last of the occupying wolves out of the nation, This of course wasn't the end of the Norwulff attacks, but never again would the invaders manage to hold any land on Schottish soil."

"The royal line would keep Schottram stable for many centuries. With each onslaught of attacks, (mostly coming from the Norwulves) being successfully repelled. Between the strategic planning of the Blackwool lords in regards to their armies, and many members of the family line leading the charges, kings included, attacks by the invading Norwulves were foiled at every conceivable turn. The Blackwool family, keeping in line with the legacy Sean Blackwool had left in his wake, considered themselves rams of the sheep of Shcottram. And so every male in the family was taught how to fight without exception. However the frequent Norwulff attacks kept the ruling Blackwools rather busy when it came to dealing with the economic needs and rule of law among the everyday Shcotts. And so it was left to the ewes of the Blackwool family to deal in the matters of diplomacy and the needs of the citizenry, especially the acting Queen. More often than not, the acting Queen would often find herself in a greater role as the face of the citizens of Shcottram, but the King's vigilant defense of Schottrams shores did not go unappreciated by the populace despite this."

"The Norwulff reformation caused great consternation and argument among the Blackwool Royal Court, as well as the residents of the nation as a whole. While the ruling herd in Irelamb seemed to be more open to hearing the pleas for peace with the new wolf nation out, the festering old wounds of the constant battles between groups kept Schottram on the offensive. Both the acting King and Queens remained unwilling to hear the Düclaw clan out on peace talks, that was until Delcan and Moira Blackwool took thier respective thrones in 1342 A.P."

"The newly crowned King had an even more distrusting and suspicious attitude when it came to the wolf's entreaty. In fact, the old wounds of the previous attacks, as well as Lesser Norwulff's continued attacks on the nation despite the Greater Norwulff's calls for peace left Declan eager to pay their old enemy back. He was one of the first of the line of Blackwools to call for an offensive stance rather than defensive one. That the time had come to bring the fight to the nation of wolves, to wipe them out, and ensure that sheepkind would never have to worry about their treachery ever again."

“Moira on the other hoof, believed that negotiation and mending old wounds were the key to moving forward as a species, for the sake of sheep and wolves alike. She believed that a full scale war would be nothing more than a fools errand, and would only end disastrously for both parties. This became the catalyst for the many arguments the couple, although it wasn't their first. According to the documentation left by castle guards and castle hoofmaidens close to the couple, they rarely spoke to each other in any manner other than professionally and coldly. There were rarely any affectionate moments between the pair, even after the birth of their sons they remained stoic and cold to one another. It is for these many reasons their short marriage was rumored to be an unhappy one."

"King Declan's attitude toward the wolves would prove to be his undoing however. Eager to get a jump on the unsuspecting wolves, the king put out an order to shore up every able bodied ram in the nation to prepare themselves for enlistment in the King's army. He planned to lead a fleet of 45 of Schottrams finest warships to the shores of Lesser Norwulff to exact what he felt was long overdue revenge for the wolves heinous crimes. Ignoring his wife's pleas to rethink the invasion, the King set off with his ships and nearly half of Scottram's males in 1345 A.P. But of course we all know how that ended, I more or less went over it in the chapter about Norwulff history. The ships never made it to the shore, swallowed by an angry sea while caught in a snarling winter storm. Not even a piece of the wrecked ships washed up on the shores of Lesser Norwulff, and thus the wolves never even knew anything about the supposed oncoming invasion. The Kings death left Moira to sit upon the Schottish throne alone, until her sons came of the proper age to take over the position of King in her stead. Moira's prediction had proven to be half true, in that the attempt at war had proven to be disastrous for the Schottish citizens."

"Now seated on the throne with a nation in chaos, Moira had to act quickly to repair the void left by the loss of so many able bodied rams to her husbands foolish endeavor. She would go on to announce to her subjects that the disaster that befell Declan and his army was an act of the gods, a powerful and painful warning that the time had come to end the bitter feud between sheep and wolf-kind. Some of the Schottish citizenry were vehemently against Moira's call for peace, but the overwhelming majority of sheep under Blackwool's rule respected and were willing to follow the Queens call."

"Schottram had suffered greatly for Declan's folly, and the prospect of making peace was more favorable than the possibility of losing even more lives while the nation was in such a critical state. Even more so, the possibility of finally putting an end to the dreary life of perpetual preparedness for war was an enticing prospect to the Schottish populace. Instead of living in constant fear and alert of Norwulff attack, always on guard for the next invasion, the Norwulves would now be the ones to guard the sheep."

"Queen Moira is quite an interesting and enigmatic figure. As well as being one of my ancestors of very high distinction, she was probably the most beloved ruler in all of Schottish history, even more so after the peace treaty was formed with the wolves in 1346. Many historic accounts of Moira describe her as a mammal of poise and grace that no Queen who had sat on the throne before had ever held, and those who wrote such statements could scarcely conceive a Queen in the future who could live up to her legacy. The air around her was said to fill those who looked upon her with renewed faith and confidence, and even her detractors couldn't argue against the wisdom and skill with which she managed the nation as a whole, with no King to aide her on top of it all. The strength and foresight she carried carving her a prominent and powerful role in the shaping of Shcottish History. Even today her portrait can be found on the ten buck note used as Schottish currency, as well as various churches and art pieces depicting scenes from her benevolent rule."

"However, details of the Queens personal life are few and far between, especially after her first meetings with the wolf ambassador Erik Düclaw. The Queen had kept sparse personal journals to begin with, and they completely stopped about a month after negotiations with Erik began. When concerns were brought up about meeting the ambassador alone, the Queen had been cited as brushing off said concerns off with a laugh. Apparently one of her guards accounts had described the Queen as mentioning that she was certain the meetings would go fine as she had dreamed that they would, as well as having dreamt of Erik specifically."

"Incidentally, aside from being the live-in ambassador, Erik was also made to be Moira's personal body guard despite the protest from the royal court and castle guard. Public accounts cite the Queens reasoning for the move as being a bid to instill confidence in wolves living among sheep, as well as a show of the Queens strength and resolve when it came to her beliefs. In the same way the Blackwool males fought along side their citzens, she was willing to risk her life in order to stand behind her decrees, at least in the eyes of the public it seemed."

"Even after the Queen turned control of the crown over to her son Declan the second, and retired to the royal estate to the north, Erik was bid to follow suit. While he was no longer the acting ambassador, Queen Moira insisted he remain her body guard until the end of her days despite more objections from her sons and the royal court. But the Queen once again justified these decisions as remaining firm on her stance about how well sheep and wolves worked together. Even though she would now remain out of the public eye, she refused to be seen as a mammal who says one thing, and does another."

"Reasons like these are the straws with which conspiracy theorists grasp at to point to the possibility of a secret tryst going on between the pair. Between the sudden absence in the Queens journals after Erik became a permanent fixture in Moira's life. That he was with her at all times, even so far as appearing in every portrait of the Queen post becoming her personal guard. There were even accounts from the night watch of alleged howling coming from the Queen's personal bedchamber in the midnight hours. Of course with no other wolves within close proximity to the castle, and the inability of mammals outside of the wolf species being able to read the type of howl being heard the watch chalked it up to dumb, functionless savage instincts.

"There was also Declan the second's short lived time on the throne, and the controversy surrounding his expulsion and the seating of his younger brother Roderick in his stead just four years later. Despite having been given the throne by his Mother without a struggle, Declan seemed to have a chip on his shoulder when it came to his Mother and her relations with Erik. Much like his Mother, his personal accounts are few and far between. But from the portions that he did write, it was clear the young king shared his Father's view when it came to wolves in general, and seemed to have a general disgust for his Mother's close relationship with Erik. Key phrases in his writings such as referring to his Mother's relationship to the wolf as an "unholy union." as well as an "affront to his Father's memory and legacy." tend to be the ones theorists tend to gravitate toward. But the most baffling turn was Declan's attempt to burn his Mother's Estate to the ground with the Erik and her inside without provocation. I mean, at the time Declan had already secured the throne, with no one to answer to other than perhaps his Mother's clout over the Schottish citizens. Was it simply to honor his Father's memory? To remove any dissent at the possibility of rolling back the Ram-Wolf pact? Perhaps a hatred of Erik specifically? Again the personal accounts are to few and far between to form an accurate account of the young King's reasoning."

"The plot was of course, a failure. Queen Moira and Erik Düclaw survived the blaze, despite half of the estate burning to the ground. It had apparently started in the newest addition to the estate, Blackwool Tower, a large windowless tower built once Moira had turned the throne over to Declan II, which was odd considering it was far from the Queen's living area. Despite the fact that no lives were apparently lost, the Queen was noted as being livid to the point of illness. Personal accounts of the guard staff and hoofmaidens had referred to her breaking down in tears on several occasions despite never expressing why. Needless to say, her anger and disgust fell at Declan immediately, and despite her turning over royal authority to the ram, she was able to easily rescind it in the face of the overwhelming evidence of his involvement in the arson attempt. Many of his personal staff held no loyalty for the new King, and had willingly confessed against him when faced with Moira and the Schottish public. Declan found himself imprisoned in a tower similar to the one he had burned to the ground shortly after being found guilty, and he would spend the rest of his days there while his younger brother Roderick took the newly evacuated throne."

“Instances like these do make it somewhat hard to completely dismiss such theories and notions about Schottam's Queen. Believers are also quick to postulate that the absence of the Queen's personal records and Declan the Second's after the Ram-Wolf pact are actually the fault of the Schottish Government. That officials and the current royal Blackwool descendants have buried the texts, in fears that confirmation of any relationship other than professional existing with Erik Düclaw would tarnish the Queens legacy. But whether it proves to be true or not, it seems we'll never know for sure.""I personally would like to believe in such a secret, clandestine relationship, having always been a hopeless romantic. But the idea that Vernon and myself were not the first star crossed lovers in my family line, and that our hardships were not only shared, but considerably more difficult to endure for the couple during the time. But I have yet to find any concrete clues to solidify it for me, despite my personal hopes. Perhaps if I find the time, I can do more research on the topic and revisit Moira's mysterious relationship in a later chapter, but for now I must press forward in regards to my family's history lest I get distracted from the overall goal of this book."

"Wolf integration in Shcottish society was slow going despite the overwhelming desire for peace amongst the sheep folk. Sheep remained wary of their new neighbors, and despite the desperate need for workers in a great deal of trades among Shcottish soceity wolves were turned away from most positions. The only exceptions were the role of peace keepers among the towns and cities, as well as positions in the Shcottish Army. This is where it is believed the association between wolves and positions of law and order really began. And even as the years went on, and the sheep became more lax when it came to the jobs available to wolves they continued to naturally migrate toward law enforcement and defense work."

"By the time the visionary leader King Richard the Lionhearted took the throne of the New Pridelands, the combined forces of wolf and sheep in the Shcottish army had repelled two incursions by the empire on the Southern Shcottish border. Proving just how effective the aide the Norwulves gave to the Schotts had ultimately been. At the time the nation had grown rather quickly, as had it's populace, and so these victories were nothing to simply shrug off. The New Pridelands had become a growing threat to Shcottish sovereignty, and without the aide of the wolves among them it is arguable that the nation would have remained independent."

"Luckily, Lionheart signified a changing of the guard in terms of the New Pridelands expansionist polices. The charismatic leader spearheaded a radical change of ideals, including phasing out the monarchy in favor of democratic rule, and the concept of co-operative exploration and shared ownership. Lionheart was very eager to find a new land where he could field test these ideas, and his plan would lead to the birth of modern day Zootopia as I mentioned in the section related to Norwulff History."

"While the Blackwool royals remained skeptical on the idea of phasing out monarchies, the concept of mutually beneficial co-operative exploration was somewhat appealing to them. Despite fears that Animalia was largely flat, the building pressure applied by the rebound of Shcottram's population created a great need to expand and find new resource supplies."

"While the population of Shcottram was adapting and growing comfortable with the wolves among them, the royals relationship with them seemed to grow increasingly bitter after Moira and Erik's respective passings. Despite all the benefits to the nation the wolf populace had brought, Moira's descendants almost refused to acknowledge that such changes had been the work of the new wolf migrants. When Declan the second took the throne, he was quick to make sure that no wolves were employed within the castle walls despite his Mother's stern condemnation of it. His son Donnan treated the wolf populace in Shcottram even worse, calling for the mammals to be taxed for simply choosing to live in Shcottram."

"However, to the public, the beneficial changes including wolves had made on their society was readily apparent to even the most uneducated among them, and as such disagreed with the proposed taxation. But the outcry became louder and more angry when Donnan began calling for undoing Moira's truce and expelling the wolves living among them. The wolf and sheep populace grew unruly and violent, and in response the king deployed his own army upon the most troublesome towns under his control to better keep the peace. However, his efforts would prove futile thanks to the work of his cousin Arthur Bellwether. A prominent public speaker, the sheep was found at the center of many of the unruly demonstrations, and the King's continued tyrannical action only garnered him enough public support for the staging of a violent coop against Donnan."

"With Donnan removed from power, and the throne assumed by Bellwether, the Ram-Wolf pact remained untouched. But with Bellwether's descendants, that coldness fostered for wolves and predators in general seemed to return and persist, and while nothing in direct conflict with the rights of Shcottish wolves ever came back into the laws of the land. The royals seemed averse to hearing the mammals concerns and looking after them as well as they did the sheep citizenry. Even under King Ewan, despite his willingness to join Lionheart's exploration of the mysterious western lands, his trust for the leader and predators in general remained bitter and strained."

"This would of course spread to Zootopia with the King's second son, Archibald Bellwether. And it would remain a consistent rhetoric in nearly every Bellwether that would hold political office after him, myself unfortunately included."

"No one is really sure why even after the change of hooves in the royal family, that the strange distrust and coldness in regards to wolves and predators seemed to return to the blackwool-bellwether line. But again, if one were to ask a conspiracy theorist, they would explain that the each ruling member of the bloodline was burdened with the truth in regards to Moira and Erik's affair. That living with the shame and the fear of exposure of that royal secret caused them to distance themselves from associating with wolves in any way. The more they appeared to disdain them, the less suspicion the public might have when it came to the Moira connection. But again, this is nothing that can be proven with any sort of hard evidence. And as far as Bellwethers go, when it comes to my Grandfather, my Father and me, we knew nothing about the alleged affair. At least I know I certainly didn't, and such information was never told to me."

"The events leading up to 'The Wolf War of the Meadowlands', and the subsequent aftermath is what saw the return of the public divide between the common sheep and wolf. The bloodshed and barbarism of the Native Canideans reminding the sheep populace of what their ancestors had always warned them that wolves were truly capable of. And while it was ultimately Leif's efforts to drive the Redclaws out that saved the county, Archibald had latched on to the fear and waryness of the local sheep and exploited it to fill the citizens heads with his own beliefs. The ram would feed into the rising anti-wolf sentiment, and even go so far as to expand it into including all predators in general. This left the caprid citizens more distrustful of their wolf neighbors than ever, and the wolves found themselves silently shunned and marginalized by the Meadowlands populace. Archibald's fear mongering was an attempt to set stage for how predators were to be looked at in this new world, and his take on sheep and wolf relations is largely what has persisted to this day in the caprid consciousness. But despite his efforts to denigrate wolves to the lowest echelons of society, they continue to find themselves in positions of protection and law enforcement. In fact it seems that when it comes to the overall perception of predators, the only thing Archibald's sentiments manage to construct was a hierarchy among the new world's predator classes. One that supported wolves and lions in higher roles in society while at the same time causing those predators to look down their muzzles at preds like foxes, racoons and rats."

"As for Shcottram as a nation, it remained under the archaic rule of a monarchy longer than any civilized society in historical record. The reign of the Blackwool-Bellwethers continued up until the early 1900s despite the other branch of their family in Zootopia allowing the district to be subject to a democratic vote since its inception. Today, the royal family still exists in Shcottram despite the nations now fully democratic government as a powerless entity with no real authority over the Shcottish citizenry. They exist as something of a tradition, a relic of cultural importance to the fabric of Shcottish identity. At most the members of the Blackwool-Bellwethers are akin to that of the famous actors and movie stars of North Mammalia. Making posturing speeches at public events, and hosting glitzy and glamorous ceremonies from their palatial castle estate. The most involvement the public has in regards to the family is paying for them to throw weddings and celebrations despite the fact the family has a near endless supply of wealth. But to the citizens of Shcottram, such celebrations are not just praising the Blackwools, but praising the rich history of Shcottram itself."

"Meanwhile the Bellwether family in Zootopia have been in and out of office since the city-state was founded. And though the faces may have changed, the anti-predator sentiment only seemed to worsen with each new Bellwether. Some believe this is why the Bellwethers would find themselves spending less and less time in office as mammalian society grew around and away from their primitive beliefs."

"Before my Grandfather, Ash Bellwether, there hadn't been a Mayor Bellwether in over sixty years. And almost as much time passed before I was elected to the lesser role as Assistant Mayor to Leodore Lionheart. Even from my perch in such a lowly position my poisoned mind was set on continuing my families legacy, thanks in no small part to the indoctrination and abuse I suffered during my youth. I schemed, and I planned, and I justified it to myself by buying into my families rhetoric full sale. And in the end I did more damage than any Bellwether who came before me. Despite coming to my senses, and even going so far as to prevent a catastrophe that followed the seed of my once heinous intentions, it will never be enough to properly make amends for my terrible actions."

"I don't think the future of politics hold any place for a Bellwether. The name is tainted, marred by the actions of myself and those who have come before me. And now, my choice in mate assures that I will be the last in the line of Zootopian Bellwethers. The name will die with me, and perhaps that is for the best."

Dawn let out a tired sigh as she scanned the final sentence once more.

"The name will die with me, and perhaps that is for the best." Dawn murmured to herself quietly. She was sure if Vernon ever read that particular passage he would pitch a fit. After all, the wolf had been one to argue just how important it was to keep her name even in a hyphenated form on the ride up to the Meadowlands in the first place. The wolf remained stubbornly set on not going through a caprid wedding ceremony unless he got to wear the name Hunter-Bellwether in exchange. The wolf believed she should be proud of her name, that it had come to represent that a mammal was not only capable of change, but even heroic after how she had helped save the city from her Father. Even she had begun to consider the idea after talking to her sisters on the ride out to the fair. The praise and warm wishes causing the ewe to begin to believe what Vernon saw in the name, and why keeping it was so important.

But it only took a few minutes in Dorian's study to remind her why she had grown to detest it so. And writing about her families 'illustrious' history had only managed to sour her further on the idea. Dorian was right, the ewe would never be able to truly make up for her wrong doing. The damage had sent ripples across the world around her, had wounded families and friendships in ways that were beyond her ability to mend. It wasn't as if she could simply go back in time and stop herself, to pull herself back from the brink of madness long enough to prevent the hysteria and chaos caused by her scheming.

No matter what good she could do now, the name Bellwether would remain synonymous with bigoted, speciesict ideologues, and at the very least the one good thing she could do at this point was allow it to die the death it deserved. Vernon may never agree with it, this she was sure of. But she knew the wolf loved her enough to ultimately give up on sharing last names should she remain firm on the idea. It wasn't a position she wanted to put him in, but it was necessary, at least to her.

'Knock, knock' A light rapping a the bedroom door drew Dawn's attention up from her laptop. Up until now she had been alone, taking the time Vernon spent being forced into dish duty to write the more boring but necessary portions of her book. She figured she would have more than enough time to finish the sections before the Hunter girls decided the time had come to turn in for the night, and checking the clock for a moment had proven that she had. In fact the ewe had managed to finish earlier than planned, leaving her puzzled as to who else had turned up for bed early.

"Dawn?" Came Vanna's voice from beyond the door. "Are you in there?"

Dawn let out a sigh of relief at the sound of the familiar tigress' voice. After everything that happened earlier in the evening, having to face Ada or Qali without a buffer would have made the already uncomfortable ewe even more uneasy. At the very least should Vanna bring up Dawn's transgression in the corn field, it would be done with tact and careful wording rather than bluntly bringing it up.

"Y-yeah, I'm here." Dawn replied, closing her laptop softly. "You can come in."

The door opened slowly, Vanna moving it with care as she slipped in to the large bedroom. The tigress was already in her pajamas, wearing a pink tee-shirt that said 'bad kitty' across the chest, and a pair of pants adorned with colorful yarn balls. It was almost enough to cause Dawn to laugh out loud, the colorful and cutesy outfit contrasting sharply with the tigress' looming and intimidating figure. Then again, Dawn knew better by now, at least if their midnight musical duet was anything to go by. Still the ewe couldn't help but crack a smile at the large feline.

"I was hoping to catch you alone." Vanna said, keeping her voice on the quiet side. "I wanted to talk to you before the other girls came up to bed."

Dawn's smile dropped slightly, the concerned tone in Vanna's voice conveying a gravity behind her words that told Dawn whatever she had to say was important.

"O-oh of course Vanna, is everything alright?" Dawn said as she placed her laptop aside, sliding it to the edge of the bed where the tiger now stood.

"Yes, I mean..." Vanna trailed off as she placed a paw behind her head and awkwardly scratched. She looked away from Dawn, seemingly unable to keep steady eye contact as she continued. "I mean if you are that is?" Vanna asked.

Dawn scrunched her muzzle in confusion. "Am I okay?" The ewe replied.

Vanna sighed, grimacing as she tried to focus her gaze back on the ewe.

"I mean, I wanted to see if..." Vanna shook her head. "If you spoke to Papa Hunter at all, like we had discussed?"

Dawn froze, her brow furrowing at Vanna's unexpected question. She hadn't expected the tigress to follow up on their conversation so soon. The ewe had already spent enough time dwelling on what had happened in Dorian's office while she mulled over the disappointing and disgusting history of the Bellwether families crimes despite having elected to bury it when faced with Audrey's overwhelming kindness and the prospect of destroying any enjoyment the ewe might be able to get out of the remaining weekend. Dawn had sort of assumed that Vanna simply wouldn't have followed up on it, instead waiting for Dawn to tell her about what happened whenever she had chosen to finally do it.

But now the ewe was faced with a dilemma. How could she lie to her new found sister about her meeting with the older wolf. Unlike Audrey, Vanna was trained in the same way Dori was, at least Dawn reasoned as much. If the ewe showed even the slightest hesitation or wavering in tone while crafting the lie she intended to tell, she was certain the keen eyed feline would pick up on it. On the one hoof, lying to Vanna could easily hurt their budding relationship, especially if she picked up on it. But telling her what had truly happened, what Papa Hunter had said about her, Zach and Dawn herself might cause all sorts of problems.

Even now Dawn wondered if Vanna knew the truth about why her transfer request to the North Meadowlands had been approved. Had Zach even told her that he had been shot just weeks before she joined the force? And if Vanna knew what Dorian had said about Dawn, would the tiger feel obligated to argue with the wolf? To fight on Dawn's behalf and damage yet another relationship in the Hunter family.

All these questions continued to swirl around the ewe's mind, making her more and more uneasy as she desperately tried to think of how to respond. She could feel beads of sweat starting to form on her brow as she began to wring her hooves nervously.

"Dawn?" Vanna's voice brought Dawn's attention back to the tigress. Already she had screwed up, taking long enough to think of a reply for Vanna to feel the need to follow up. The ewe had to act quickly now.

"After how Audrey had caught us..." Dawn said with a sharp exhale as she looked in the tigress' eyes. "After how our...picnic..." Dawn said trailing off, her voice wavering slightly as she tried to find the right words. "Ended, well...I didn't think it was a good idea anymore."

Vanna squinted slightly, placing a paw to her chin as she seemingly began to analyze Dawn. The ewe recognized the stare, having been on the receiving end of a similar one just hours earlier. The tigress was scanning the ewe for nervous twitches and subconscious tells, anything to prove to her whether Dawn was lying or not.

"Oh?" Vanna asked, suspicion rising in her voice.

"W-well I thought maybe I should just leave it be after talking to Audrey." Dawn lied through her teeth, cursing herself for once again stuttering at the start. Dawn offered a meek smile. " She told me to wait him out, t-that he would come around eventually."

Vanna raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms as she squinted down at the ewe. From what Dawn could tell, the tigress' only seemed to slightly doubt her. Her body language exuding uncertainty when it came to gauging Dawn's responses.

"Hmm..." Vanna said before easing into a seat next to the ewe. The weight of the feline pressing against the mattress caused such a deep impression that Dawn found herself pulled closer to the big cat despite her best efforts. The tigress placed her paws on her lap as she let out a tired sigh.

"You know, if anything happened, I'd want you to be able to tell me right?" Vanna said, her tone laced with concern.

Dawn felt the guilt start to bubble up within her stomach as Vanna spoke. The genuine concern in her voice tugging at Dawn's heartstrings almost immediately.

"I mean, I know we haven't known each other long." Vanna continued. " I mean we're already calling each other sisters but..." Vanna paused, scratching the back of her head again. "I know we're still sort of getting used to each other."

Dawn gave a soft nod, swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat as quietly as she could.

"I don't know what exactly has gotten into Pa. But I don't want you to think I'm just going to stand by if he does anything out of line." Vanna sighed, placing a paw on the ewe's shoulder as she looked her way. Vanna's eyes shone with concern as she attempted to meet Dawn's gaze. "If he hurts you in any way, I would want you to feel comfortable enough to tell me."

The guilt was now weighing heavily on Dawn's heart as she listened to the feline's plea. Vanna truly did see her as a sister, and was set to do what she felt was the sisterly thing to do should Dorian act out of turn. She wanted nothing more than to help. But Dawn knew she had to keep up the lie. She had already done enough damage to the Hunter family, and she couldn't bear to do anymore.

"I would." Dawn murmured. "I-I swear."

The two were silent for a while, the awkward atmosphere filling the ewe with deeper dread and discomfort as she prayed for the tigress to simply accept her lie.

"You would?" Vanna asked, breaking the silence.

Dawn's response was immediate, as if she had seen the question coming a mile away.

"Of course!" Dawn said with a weak chuckle, flashing the tigress as genuine of a grin as she could muster despite herself. Even with her best efforts, the ewe couldn't manage to meet the large feline's gaze for longer than a few seconds at a time.

The tigress lowered her eyebrows, clearly unimpressed by the ewe's attempts at earnestly. Dawn could tell in Vanna's dull glare that there was no more doubt in her eyes that she was hiding something.

"Dawn." Vanna said firmly, her eyes tightening into slits as she grimaced.

A loud barking laugh suddenly broke through the tension, pulling Dawn's focus away from Vanna's interrogation to the entrance to the bedroom. The door had flung open revealing Ada standing proudly in the wooden frame. She was wearing a baggy pair of shorts, and a sleeveless tee that were a matching shade of blood red. Emblazoned across the front of the shirt was the white image of some sort of canid skull that Dawn could only assume was that of a hyena, with two bones crossing over one another behind it. She also seemed to be wearing some sort of fluffy white and purple cape draped around her neck.

"The party has arrived ladies!" Ada let out another cackle.

"Woo!" A voice chirped from seemingly nowhere. As Dawn searched for the source, her eyes fell back on Ada's odd, plushy cape. It took the ewe a moment, but as it suddenly dropped to the floor Dawn realized it hadn't been a cape at all, but rather it had been Qali. The arctic fox had been hanging from Ada's neck, and was now bouncing in her step as she made her way into the room in little more than a oversize purple tee-shirt and a pair of matching panties.

"Ada! Qali!" Dawn chirped, relieved that their sudden arrival was enough to quash any further probing from Vanna.

"'Evenin' squirt! How was your night?" Ada cooed teasingly, raising and lowering her eyebrows in a playful manner. "Cause from what I heard youse had a lotta fun."

Dawn immediately blushed, slapping her hooves over her muzzle in her best effort to cover it up.

"I...I..." Dawn stammered.

"Ah, dat's a yes!" Ada said with a grin as she made her way over to the nearest empty bed. With no hesitation the large mammal threw herself onto the bed, bouncing on the mattress as she came to rest in a lounging position. Leaning a paw on her chin, the hyeness regarded the ewe with a mischievous smile.

"Well c'mon lamb cakes, spill it. I want to hear all da juicy details!" Ada let out another barking laugh.

"W-well..." Dawn muttered, tapping her hooves together nervously.

"Howdy ladies." Once again Dawn's attention was drawn back to the bedroom entrance to find Malcolm standing in the doorframe. The pudgy wolf was dressed in baby blue pair of insulated underwear, monogrammed with his initials. The one piece garment seemed slightly undersized, as a good portion of the wolf's wrists and ankles were exposed, and the fabric seemed to strain around his pudgy belly. It was clear the wolf's PJ's had once been fitted to a slimmer wolf, but Malcolm had elected not to update his garment with the change in weight. The wolf had a tan, worn looking pillow clutched tightly against his side.

"Good evening Malcolm." Vanna replied as the wolf made his way into the room.

Dawn raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"W-wait, I thought Audrey separated the boys from the girls?" Dawn asked, looking to Vanna.

"That's only sorta true." Malcolm cut in as he sat down on another empty bed. "It's more about keepin' the couples separated." The wolf placed his pillow on the mattress, and proceeded to fluff it. "And me and Xavi bein' couples, well she had to figure out somethin'."

Ada chuckled. "Yeah, he couldn't stay wit da boys, dat would be like a buffet o' hunky wolves for 'em."

"So we made him an honorary Hunter girl!" Qali chirped, now bouncing on her mattress.

Dawn smirked, doing her best to suppress a chuckle.

"H-he's a Hunter girl?" Dawn bit her lip as the urge to giggle pressed against her teeth.

"Darn tootin'" Malcolm replied, leaning forward on the bed. The wolf idly kicked his feet in the air as he face the other girls. "Even got me a nickname and everythin'."

Dawn looked up at Vanna in a mixture of surprise and amusement.

"Really?" Dawn asked.

The tigress gave a short and simple nod. "Yes, we call him-"

"Butterbuns!" Qali snorted, idly playing with her tail as she stared up at the ceiling.

That was all Dawn could take before a giggling snort slipped free of her muzzle, Dawn did her best to close her muzzle with her hooves, but the giggling continued regardless.

"Butterbuns?" Dawn snickered. "H-How'd he get th-that name?" Dawn choked through her giggling.

The russet wolf's ear sagged slightly as a blush played across his muzzle.

"W-well it's sorta...I mean..." Malcolm stuttered awkwardly, poking his index fingers together as he looked away from the group.

"Let's just say I overheard him and Xave talkin' about a wild night involvin' sum budda." Ada said with a mischievously grin as she eyed the increasingly embarrassed red wolf. "And da name sorta....stuck." Ada let out another barking cackle.

Dawn felt a blush creeping on her own muzzle as she processed exactly what the Hyena was hinting at.

"But dat's old Buddabuns story to tell, for now lets get back to da topic at paw!" Ada shifted closer to the foot of her bed as her attention zeroed back on Dawn. "So enough stallin', I wanna hear about how you made ol' Puppy howl!"

Dawn's blush intensified as she shrunk into her shoulders. The ewe found herself skirting away from the attention, shimmying up to the head of her bed inadvertently.

"W-well I don't thi-"

"Leave her alone Ada." Vanna interjected, rising to Dawn's defense. "If she's not comfortable talking about it then you shouldn't pressure her."

Ada scoffed. "Ah c'mon, I ain't gonna rip on ya too hard for it." The hyena chuckled "Besides you ain't the only one here whose broken' dat rule." Ada grinned widely.

Dawn raised an eyebrow curiously. She had heard Vernon mention something like that earlier, and Audrey had more or less implied to the truthfulness of the wolf's statement, but in her emotional state she had barely even registered the statement. Now however...

"Wait..." Dawn said, moving away from the head of the bed as the hyeness peaked her interest. "Do you mean to say that you...?" Dawn trailed off, tapping her hooves together nervously as she found herself unable to finish the sentence.

Ada snickered. "Pft, of course not, I'm like da only on here who hasn't!" Ada leaned her head against her paw again. "Not for Yuri's lack a tryin'." Ada placed her paws under her chin before playfully batting her eyelashes. "I'm a classy goil."

Dawn turned her attention to Qali and Malcolm, both of whom seemed to be sharing an uncomfortable blush. With Dawn's eyes now fixed on them, the two produced weak smiles.

"Yeah, I'm afraid it's true." Malcolm said, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.

"Same, me and Trenny totally did it here." Qali added, with considerably less hesitation.

Dawn placed a hoof over her mouth in an attempt to stifle another rising giggle. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. That not only had she not been the first to break the House rule, but was now placing third overall. The previously shameful and embarrassing situation was starting to seem significantly more of a trifle now that she found herself among equally guilty members of the Hunter family.

"So you and Vanna are the only ones who-"

"Pft..." Ada shook her head. "Just me Fluff, I'm da only one who actually respects Ma Hunter's house."

Dawn blinked in surprise as Ada's words registered.

"Then...that would mean..." Dawn trailed off as she turned her attention back to the large, stoic cat sitting on the end of her bed. The looming tigress now seemed remarkable small as she cowed under the sudden attention. There was no way that Dawn could even begin to conceive of what Ada was implying, but the tigress' body language was all too telling.

"Vanna?" Dawn uttered as she raised her hooves to her mouth in shock.

The tigress only glanced at the ewe for a moment before turning away, but the blush that was radiating off her muzzle was blinding.

#Zootopia #Assistant Mayor Bellwether #dawn bellwether #fanfiction #furry #ask blog #wasted time #fan character

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ronanlyncx · 7 years

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the best parts of the dream thieves (featuring me crying pt. 2)

part one

- “Ronan was everything that was left: molten eyes and a smile made for war”

- Ronan’s second secret #gay

- Gansey: “i would have thought you had more muscles. Don’t feminist have big muscles?” i just want to punch him can someone please punch him

- gansey calling ronan an incredible creature #gay

- “The elderly made ronan anxious” bitch me too!!!

- Ronan wanting to race kavinsky in the pig and adam is like dude no there is like 5 people in here we weigh too much and ronan goes: “noah doesn’t count” “Hey!” “You’re dead!” i love these nerds

- Gansey: “am I in your dreams?” Ronan: “Oh yes, baby” i hate him jsjksksk

- “Ronan sometimes dreamt of Adam, too” #gay

- Gansey and Ronan going to get orange juice at 3:32 am

- “Unlike some people, my sense of worth isn’t tied into my occupation.” “Ooooooh,” Orla crowed… she traded her Henrietta accent for a gloriously snotty version of the Old South. “Someone’s been hanging out with Richard Campbell Gansey the third too much.” orla just came for blue’s life holy shit

- “Jane!” “It’s a wizard in box.” “It will do your homework.” “And it’s been dating your girlfriend.” “Are you all drunk?” hey quick question wtf am i reading

- “Why is the tea so good here?” “I spit in it” Blue Sargent is an icon

“Blue Sargent was pretty in a way that was physically painful to him. He was attracted to her like a heart attack.” not to sound like a cheesy white lady or anything but this shit breathtaking bro

- “What do you want, Adam? What do you need, Adam?… Freedom, autonomy, a perennial bank balance, a stainless steel condo in a dustless city, a silky black car, to make out with Blue, eight hours of sleep, a cell phone, a bed, to kiss Blue just once, a blister-less heel, bacon for breakfast, to hold Blue’s hand, one hour of sleep, toilet paper, deodorant, a soda, a minute to close his eyes. What do you want, Adam? To feel awake when my eyes are open.” PROTECT THIS ANGEL GET HIM SOME TOILET PAPER WTF (also notice how what he wants continues to drop in difficulty to acquire this is so sad i’m literally a mess)

- “You be careful, Adam Parrish. ‘Cause one day you might get what you ask for. There might be girls in Henrietta who’ll let you talk to them like that, but i’m not one of them.” i really love this woman

- “He [Gansey] was bare-legged and sockless in his Top-Siders and very clearly a real human, an attainable human, and this, somehow, made Ronan want to smash his fist through a wall” #gay

- “Adam thinks he saw an apparition at his place” Ronan eyed Noah, “I’m seeing an apparition right now.” this entire relationship is just ronan roasting noah have you ever seen anything so pure

- Noah freaking out about the glitter in the snowglobe #angel

- Ronan paying Adam’s rent i am alive

- Gansey comparing Blue to a platypus

- “He threw me out the window!” “You’re already dead!” amazing

- Blue wanting to get Adam high so he can relax seriously someone let this boy take a nap

- Noah: “Is crack the same thing as speed?”

- Ashley not going into St. Agnes bc she “refuses to participate in a ceremony that doesn’t allow equal spiritual privileges to women” NICE

- Ronan dreaming kavinsky a replica of his white sunglasses after kavinsky gave him a copy of ronan’s leather bands #pettygay

- “and he was the boy with the most beautifully interesting car and the most savagely handsome of friends, Ronan Lynch” #gay

- Gansey: “I love this car. I should buy four more of them. I’ll just open the door of one and fall into the other. One can be a living room, one can be by kitchen, I’ll live in one…” what...the fuck

- Declan coming to give gansey a new battery for the pig and Ronan actually doing the most™ “He hurriedly sprawled back in the seat, throwing one jean-covered leg over the top of Adam’s and laying his head in a posture of thoughtless abandon. By the time Declan arrived, Ronan looked as if he had been asleep for days.” this is so extra omfgggg

- “His [Declan’s] gaze followed his brother’s leg to where it rested on top of Adam’s, and his expression tightened.” dude ronan even your brother is noticing your crush u gotta do better

- Gansey thinking that Ronan tried to kill himself after all this time and then finding out that Ronan was attacked by a dream demon thing #shook

- Gansey and Ronan fighting a different dream demon thing with a box cutter and a crowbar how are these children alive

- “She [Blue] wore a dress Ronan thought looked like a lampshade. Whatever sort of lamp it belonged on, Gansey clearly wished he had one. Ronan wasn’t a fan of lamps.” This is the least subtle homosexuality metaphor i have ever read in my life (also: Gansey crushing on Blue #nice)

- refer to this post

- “Let’s just go on before Gansey has time to say something that makes me hate him” lmao

- “The air was stained permanently with the pleasant odor of Ronan’s childhood: hickory smoke and boxwood, grass and seed and lemon cleaner. ‘I remember,’ Gansey said thoughtfully to Ronan, ‘when you used to smell like this’” #gay

- Dream toaster

- “I am being perfectly fucking civil” #iconic

- “Don’t fucking swear” #iconic pt 2

- Calla preforming arial yoga through the continuation of Ronan’s reading

- The entire time they are on the boat adam and gansey have the biggest hard-ons for orla and blue wants to die/kill them and ronan is disgusted

- ronan complains about the heat like 600 times i love my dramatic son

- Gansey finding the skin of blue’s calf more “tantalizing” than orla’s entire torso boiiiii if u dont get!!!!!

- “Blue cheerfully spit a mouthful of brown water on his boat shoes.” she’s doing god’s work

- “He was struck by what a glorious and fearless animal Blue Sargent was.” I’m emo

- “Gansey, pacing next to his ruined miniature Henrietta, set his eyes on Ronan. There was something intense and heedless in them. There were many versions of Gansey, but this one had been rare since the introduction of Adam’s taming presence.” The fact that adam calms gansey down is so pure and i cannot believe this is canon (also: blue also calms gansey down... i love my bisexual son)

- Gansey being badass asf when him and ronan go to confront kavinsky about breaking in the apartment and ronan going super heart-eyes

- also i am convinced that this scene is dick’s bi awakening

- “…Gansey leaving for D.C. without him was unbearable. They had been a two-headed creature for so long, Ronan-and-Gansey. He couldn’t say it, though. There were a thousand reason’s why he couldn’t say it” #GAY

- “While i’m gone, dream me the world. Something new for every night.” #REALLYGAY

- no one in fox way can work a cellphone maura literally had to get blue to make the gray man’s voicemail work

- Ronan blowing a kiss to gansey and adam when they are flying away in the helicopter i fucking hate him jsjsjs

- Helen asking if Adam wants to go into the whole foods with her and adam just stares at her. me too buddy

- “’Pigmy Pouters. Feisty ones!’ Gansey mouthed Blue at Adam. Adam let out a little wail of helpless laughter.” adam parrish laughing: a concept

- Blue finally admitting to herself that she likes Gansey while laying in his bed

- “I’d ask you out, if i was alive” “i’d say yes” :(((((

- the fact that adam’s dad actually pushed my manz down the stairs at one point i will personally fight robert parrish

- “This is Adam Parrish. Shake his hand. He’s more clever than I am. One day we’ll be throwing one of these shindigs for him.” MY HEART

- Adam literally filling up a whole page describing helen #bi

- when helen asks why ronan wasn’t with them, adam and gansey both get the mental image of the house burning down lmao

- “you gonna race with those shades on, you Bulgarian mobster Jersey trash piece of shit?” he’s so elegant with words!!!1111!!!

- Ronan thinking Kavinsky is beautiful um this is gross but #gay

- Gansey calling Blue to calm him down just because she makes him feel “uneven and shattered” im fucking emo

- Kavinsky calling gansey literally anything BUT his name: “Dick three” “dick dick dick” “Dickie”

- Ronan figuring out how to master his dreams and then leaving kavinsky #scammer

- to be honest i cannot believe helen and gansey managed to convince adam about the hondoyota with the literal SKIT they used

- “HEY, OLD MAN!” “Ronan!” ANGELS

- ronan apologizing for wrecking the pig and Gansey actually not believing his ears.

- “Hey, Churchill tried to negotiate with hitler.” “Did he?” don’t argue with boat shoe about history this man will rip you to shreds

- pink switchblade

- “Times circular, chicken”

- BLUE GOING OFF ON ADAM IM JUST ABOUT TO QUOTE THE WHOLE ROAST

- THE WHOLE ROAST: “Politics! I have no interest. Voting? What? I forgot my apron. I think I ought to be in the kitchen right now, actually. My rolling pin-” “i didn’t know that you-” “thats my point! did it even occur to you? You wouldn’t have gone someplace without Gansey, though. You two make a grand couple! kiss him! (lmao) Well, i don’t want to be just someone to kiss. I want to be a real friend, too. Not just someone who’s fun to have around because- because I have breast!” GO OFF BITCHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

- Adam calling Blue a raging feminist like do boys not know that this is a complement like yes this is the angle i am going for thanks for noticing

- Gansey and Blue’s first drive together #i #am #emo

- “Jane, in this light you... Jesus. Jesus. I’ve got to get my head straight.” MURDER ME

- When Adam woke up at fox way after being asleep for 24 hours or whatever he drank four glasses for pomegranate juice and three cups of tea and then left in the span of ten minutes. i know sometimes these kids act like they are 50 years old but....this is a teenage boy

- “It was against Ronan’s nature to appear overly interested in anything.” HES SO EXTRA

- Grey man: “But it wasn’t personal.” Ronan: “It. Was. To. Me.” :((((((((((( also i’m pretty sure neil josten said the same thing to that police officer one time i love parallels.

- “when ronan thought of gansey, he thought moving into monmouth manufacturing, of nights spent in companionable insomnia, of a summer searching for a king, of gansey asking for the grey man for his life. Brothers.” kill. me.

- kavinsky dying #goodshit

#the raven cycle #pynch #bluesey #trc #adam parrish #ronan lynch #gansey #blue sargent #noah czerny #trc edit #BLLB IS NEXT IM SO EXCITED TO RE READ #anyways here u go nerds

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bountyofbeads · 4 years

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https://thedispatch.com/p/justin-amash-has-a-decision-to-make

This @declanpgarvey piece on @justinamash is well worth your time. A lot of good stuff. My favorite part though... https://t.co/Ziv3jTSshH

FreedomWorks, one of the country's most potent libertarian political groups, is distancing itself from Justin Amash. And this stat really tells a whole story. https://t.co/6idpEbEyoq

Justin Amash Has a Decision to Make

'Is there any better time to have a president who might be not from either party?'

By Declan Garvey | Published January 15, 2020 | The Dispatch | Posted January 15, 2020 |

Three weeks from the first votes of the 2020 election, the presidential race seems—finally—to be taking shape. Republicans, having blocked any serious attempts at a primary challenge, will field a candidate who brings passionate support from the hard-core GOP base, grudging acceptance from other Republicans, and intense opposition from everyone else. Democrats will likely field either a flawed candidate from the center—more accurately, the center-left—or an avowed leftist, maybe even an avowed socialist.

There are millions of moments, and billions of decisions, that will ultimately determine the next president and the next four years of the American experiment. But few will be as consequential as the decision now looming before a reserved, quirky, classical liberal from south central Michigan.

The 2016 presidential race between Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump was decided by 77,744 votes, split between three states: Wisconsin, Michigan, and Pennsylvania. Rep. Justin Amash received nearly three times as many that year (203,545) running to continue on as the representative of Michigan’s 3rd Congressional District. After winning re-election in 2018, however, Amash’s frustration with the GOP and its current leader led him to leave the party he’d called home for more than a decade. And with his new independence came calls for him to make good on his criticism of both political parties with a third-party run for president.

Amash hasn’t committed to a run. But he hasn’t ruled one out, either. And with the incredible volatility in American politics over the past two decades, marked by the record-low faith in Washington and the institutions of the federal government, taking such a leap seems less crazy today than it might have just a few years ago.

As Amash himself put it last week: “Is there any better time to have a president who might be not from either party?”

CEMENTING AN INDEPENDENT STREAK

The 39-year-old congressman had always had a bit (or more) of an independent streak. But since he emphatically left the GOP last summer, he’s truly been able to be himself.

“When you're in the Republican Party, like I was, there is a constant pressure to step carefully, to use your words more cautiously, when you are describing Republicans,” he said. “So, if you go onto TV and you're doing an interview, you don't necessarily want to throw the Republican leadership under the bus at every opportunity. Maybe you throw them under the bus, criticize them one time out of three times that you should. And most members of Congress will do it zero times out of three times. If there's three times they should, they'll do it zero times. Someone like me, I might do it once or twice, but really I'd like to do it three out of three.”

“As much as I would talk, and people thought, ‘Oh boy, Amash is so independent and he is really standing his ground, and he's making people on the left and the right upset about different things’ or whatever, I was actually holding my fire a lot on various things. And I did not like that.”

Few accused him of holding his fire then. No one does now.

Amash announced his newfound political independence in a Washington Post op-ed on, fittingly, the Fourth of July. “The two-party system has evolved into an existential threat to American principles and institutions,” he wrote. “Today, I am declaring my independence and leaving the Republican Party. No matter your circumstance, I’m asking you to join me in rejecting the partisan loyalties and rhetoric that divide and dehumanize us. I’m asking you to believe that we can do better than this two-party system—and to work toward it. If we continue to take America for granted, we will lose it.”

Allies will tell you Amash’s partisan metamorphosis was long in the making.

“I interviewed him in, what was it, 2018 maybe?” Matt Welch, editor at large of the libertarian Reason magazine, told us. “And said, ‘okay, so, you know, you're a libertarian-leaning Republican.’ He's like, ‘no, just libertarian is fine, please.’”

But he also hoped to send a signal. “I spoke to Congressman Amash in Las Vegas in July, after his leaving the Republican Party,” Dan Fishman, executive director of the Libertarian party said. “And he had a very deliberate statement where he said, ‘The important thing is that I have left the Republican Party. And if I do anything else right now, that message is lost.’”

Amash’s message was not lost.

“Great news for the Republican Party,” President Trump, the man who perhaps had the most to do with Amash’s switch, announced on his favorite communications platform. “One of the dumbest & most disloyal men in Congress is ‘quitting’ the Party.”

Amash is not dumb—far from it. The son of two immigrants, he graduated high school valedictorian of his class and earned his bachelor’s degree in economics from the University of Michigan, sticking around Ann Arbor long enough to nab a law degree as well.

But he is disloyal—at least in the Trumpian sense of the word. Amash has voted in line with Trump’s position just 63 percent of the time according to FiveThirtyEight, a lower “Trump score” than any Republican save Walter Jones, who passed away last February, and Jeff Van Drew, who was a Democrat until about four weeks ago. Amash spent his final few months in the GOP calling for the president to be impeached, much to the joy of Democrats and some of his constituents, but much to the chagrin of everyone in his own party.

THE FALL OF THE FREEDOM CAUCUS

Amash isn’t any less libertarian now than he was when he rode the Tea Party wave to D.C. in 2010, just two years after being elected to the Michigan House of Representatives. He’d contend it’s those around him who’ve changed.

On January 26, 2015, Amash and a group of eight other Republican congressmen (all men) formed the House Freedom Caucus (HFC) to stand up to a House leadership—then helmed by Speaker John Boehner—that they believed wasn’t conservative enough. Amash wrote the mission statement.

“The House Freedom Caucus gives a voice to countless Americans who feel that Washington does not represent them. We support open, accountable and limited government, the Constitution and the rule of law, and policies that promote the liberty, safety, and prosperity of all Americans.”

On May 20, 2019, the bloc, now boasting more than 30 members, unanimously condemned their co-founder when Amash determined—after the release of the Mueller Report—that President Trump had “engaged in impeachable conduct.” Three-and-a-half weeks later, Amash quit the group of limited-government stalwarts he helped create.

They “sanctioned him for coming out in favor of impeachment in the same week that like, they increased the debt by another trillion dollars or something,” Welch said, referring to a two-year budget deal that was floated at the time, but ultimately never came to fruition. “It's like, what is the use of this group?”

“As soon as you had a Republican president, and especially one who is fairly charismatic and entertaining and can rally a lot of people,” Amash said, choosing his words very carefully, “Republicans totally mailed it in. They said, ‘Look, we're just going to go with this guy on everything.’ And when I started to see even my House Freedom Caucus colleagues do that, it was really disheartening.”

“This is a group that had formed,” he continued, “for the purpose of standing on principle, standing up for the American people, doing what was right, ensuring that all voices were heard. And now, the group had moved more toward Trump cheerleading and that's not why the group was formed. And that was really tough.”

Not everyone in Washington would agree with Amash’s assessment of the caucus, which, once it grew large enough, wielded its influence to hold Republican leaders hostage and otherwise wreak havoc on the legislative process.

“Previously, groups of members on the right flank of the House Republican Conference operated under a version of the ‘Buckley Rule’: they fought for the most conservative legislation that could pass,” said Michael Steel, former aide to Speaker John Boehner. “The self-described ‘Freedom Caucus’ often seemed more about the fight than the result, and—when they chose not to get to ‘yes’ on must-pass bills—the House Republican leadership had to go to Democrats for votes, leading to worse policies and higher spending.”

When Trump was first elected, many wondered if the House Freedom Caucus would even continue to serve a purpose. After all, the GOP center of gravity no longer revolved around the speaker of the House. But the HFC made its presence known early on in 2017, scuttling the White House’s first attempt to overhaul the Affordable Care Act.

“The Freedom Caucus will hurt the entire Republican agenda if they don’t get on the team, & fast,” Trump wrote at the time. “We must fight them, & Dems, in 2018!”

Now? One of the caucus’s founding members, Mick Mulvaney, serves as Trump’s chief of staff. Another, Mark Meadows, is one of the president’s most enthusiastic advocates, and is rumored to be Mulvaney’s replacement in waiting.

Amash believes the co-opting of the Freedom Caucus was no accident. “I think that was intentional,” he said. “Whether it was the president's calculation or someone else's, to try to take some of the House Freedom Caucus members and bring them into the fold … I think this was a concerted effort by leadership and perhaps White House officials to pick off House Freedom Caucus members, to bring them in, to make them a part of the Republican team, in some sense, and then get them to stop battling Republicans.”

While his old Freedom Caucus buddies may have finally stopped battling Republicans under Trump, Amash was just getting started. But he claims his newfound independence has actually improved his connections on the Hill.

“I have better relationships with Republicans and with Democrats. When you're a Republican and you break from the Republicans on a piece of legislation or you disagree with the president or whatever it might be, they tend to come down hard on you because it's like you're a family member who has betrayed the family,” he said. “Since becoming an independent, my colleagues are more trusting. They are friendlier, on both sides of the aisle, and it's certainly been an improvement on the Republican side.”

Efforts to talk to his peers about this bore little fruit. A spokeswoman for the House Freedom Caucus declined to comment for the story, and no individual members contacted responded to emails from The Dispatch.

PAVED PARADISE

“I think John Boehner is the best speaker that we've had since I've been here,” said Amash. “And I say that as someone who tried to oust him from the speakership!”

This sentiment doesn’t represent a newfound appreciation for the Republican establishment or hint at new moderation from Amash. Instead, it’s a reflection of his belief in having big, messy debates—not avoiding them.

“If I were to create, like, an ideal speaker in my imagination, it would not be John Boehner,” Amash said. But in retrospect, “his successors are not better than him.”

“Boehner would swear at me, he would curse me, he would criticize me in public,” Amash recounted with a grin, almost fondly. “But he also, in some sense, would listen. He didn't dismiss you totally. You could engage with him. You could have some back and forth. He might swear at you, but then also allow you to have an amendment vote.”

Amendment votes might just be—aside from his family, the Detroit Pistons, and Friedrich Hayek—Amash’s favorite thing. He grew notorious in his first few years in Congress for his attempts to attach riders to larger bills aimed at curtailing what he calls “the surveillance state,” prioritizing the deficit, and limiting the executive branch’s war powers. Most of them failed to gain majority support, but several passed. In the Michigan legislature, Amash once noticed a missing comma in a piece of legislation; he introduced an amendment to remedy the crisis. That one passed, too.

Sitting in his office in January 2019, Amash said he didn’t realize how good he had had it under Boehner, who, through a spokesman, declined to comment for this story. Paul Ryan—who finally gave in and took the speaker’s gavel from Boehner after weeks of telling colleagues he didn’t want it—“told us he was going to open up the process and then totally closed it down,” per Amash. “I was hopeful that the next speaker would be better. It looked like that might happen. But instead it's gone the other way.”

Ryan, he claimed, “was the worst in every respect. Worst on process. Worst on substance.” The typically understated Amash was growing more animated. “He didn't even like the president, disagreed with him on a whole bunch of things, but never stood up to him!”

Just a few minutes into our conversation, it was becoming clear: The seeds for Amash’s eventual GOP departure were planted in the fall of 2015, not with Trump’s victory one year later.

“When you get to Congress, your hope is not to enter Congress and then leave the party that you've been a part of your whole life. You try to change the party, and you try to improve it. And I tried that for a long time and I actually thought we did make progress in the first few years,” Amash said. “After a while you say, ‘Well, this is not the right approach.’ Trying to work within the party, and change the party, is not the right way to handle it. And I need to go out and change hearts and minds and change the way people look at representation altogether.”

THE END OF PARTISANSHIP

Since he became the House’s only independent member last July, Amash has thought a lot about the role of political parties.

“People aren't allowed to break,” he lamented. “Like, you literally have to stick with the party.”

Amash said he wasn’t surprised that none of his former House colleagues split from the president to vote for impeachment.

“Early on I thought someone would break, I thought maybe a few of them would break,” he said. “I thought the White House strategy and Republican leadership strategy was kind of effective, which was to mock and shame anyone who had a difference of opinion. In other words, just ridicule. And if they ridicule enough, it makes it very hard for anyone to step out of line.”

(Some Democrats have floated Amash’s name as a potential impeachment manager when the trial begins in the Senate: “I'm happy to discuss that with the speaker, but it's not something I've discussed with her, and not something I’d take a position on unless I had a discussion with her.”)

But Amash thinks the intense, partisan moment we’re in is a product of Washington, not America at large.

“Members of Congress have miscalculated,” he said. “I think they are making assumptions about how partisan their constituents are that are not correct. It is true that a small percentage of the population is very politically active and you know, will be either cheerleading for the president or opposed to the president on everything. But most people are pretty moderate.”

“If they could see themselves from my perspective,” Amash said, “as someone who's independent, and who has sort of had the ire of both sides at times and also the praise from both sides at times … they would see that there are actually a lot of similarities that they don't recognize.”

It’s unclear that polling and research bears that out. In October, Pew Research Center released a report finding “the level of [partisan] division and animosity … has only deepened”: 79 percent of Democrats and 83 percent of Republicans gave members of the opposite party a “cold rating” on Pew’s “feeling thermometer.” Also,63 percent of Republicans said Democrats are more unpatriotic than other Americans, and 75 percent of Democrats said Republicans were more close-minded. Supporters of President Trump have attended his rallies wearing shirts that say they’d “rather be a Russian than a Democrat.” Democrats and progressives held massive protests the day Trump was inaugurated.

But Amash may have a point when he says “people care more about the character issues than they do about the particular positions or ideology of the representative.” And while Donald Trump’s character issues are something that would’ve given many Republicans pause in years past, his willingness to pick fights, and to mock and ridicule his opponents relentlessly, played a key role in his election. Trump won the Republican primary in 2016 campaigning on trade protectionism, friendlier relations with Russia, leaving entitlements alone, and withdrawing from global engagement. It remains an open question whether these positions were ever truly popular with the GOP base, but voters’ policy views can prove remarkably malleable to conform with the worldview of a charismatic leader.

Asked if he prefers to think of ideology as four-dimensional rather than two—with policy running along the horizontal axis and tone and temperament along the vertical—Amash nearly leapt out of his chair: “Yes, that’s right!”

AMASH HAS A DECISION TO MAKE

All of this makes Justin Amash one of the most interesting elected officials in the country. Does it make him a presidential candidate?

Since his personal Declaration of Independence, Republicans and Democrats alike have watched Amash carefully for signs he’d run for president. They’re unmistakable.

“I'll say what I've said before, I haven't ruled it out,” Amash said, the closest he came to sounding like a traditional politician. “But I'm running for Congress as an independent in my district. I'm very excited about that. I feel very good about that.”

He wants to be clear that he’s not abandoning his re-election bid—yet. “Just to be clear, I am running for office as an independent for, you know, my congressional seat. And I've filed for that, and you know, we're, we're doing what it takes to, to win that race.”

One more time. He begins to speak more cautiously.

“At some point you'll be at, we'll be at the point where I have to rule out, you know, running for president. And I'm not at that point yet. But, you know, we're probably getting closer to that point now. If you're going to run a campaign for president, you need enough time to run a strong campaign and you need enough time to win the campaign. I'm not running for president unless I believe I can win.”

If Amash doesn’t like the questions, he has no one but himself to blame. He’s long played coy with the idea, repeatedly, as he mentioned, refusing to rule out the possibility. When asked to describe the ideal Libertarian party presidential candidate at Students for Liberty’s LibertyCon last spring, he said that candidate would be wearing Air Jordans—coincidentally the shoes he had on at the time.

The current crop of candidates for the Libertarian crown shouldn’t instill any fear if Amash does want to run. Kim Ruff, who, according to Dan Fishman, “was certainly seen as a frontrunner,” dropped out last weekend. Lincoln Chafee—the former Republican senator, independent governor, and Democratic presidential candidate—is trying on a fourth party affiliation for size. Jacob Hornberger—founder of the Future of Freedom Foundation—and Adam Kokesh—an Iraq war veteran who has called for an “orderly dissolution of the federal government”—have thrown their hats in the ring. Fan favorites Vermin Supreme—the guy who wears a boot on his head—and John McAfee—the anti-virus software guy who wants to have sex with whales—are back for more.

“I think he would get the Libertarian party nomination,” Welch said. “He's very revered in the Libertarian world generally. If you had to name one person who people within the party would want to see run for that office, I think the name is Justin Amash.”

That’s not all. “[The Libertarians] have this great prize, right?” Welch said. “They're going to be on 50 ballots probably, and nobody else is going to come close to that. And all you have to do is win a majority of delegates of a thousand votes in Austin, Texas in May, and you get to be on 50 ballots. Who wouldn't want that?”

The Libertarian party oversees state conventions and primaries to select delegates for the national convention, but anything can happen at that point. Austin—with its “Keep Austin Weird” mantra—should prove an apt host this year. “No delegates are ever bound,” Fishman explains. “So, every delegate that comes to Austin has the opportunity to vote their conscience or vote the way they feel like the people who elected them as delegate would like them to vote. It's entirely up to them to interpret how they would like to do that.”

“Technically speaking,” he continues when asked specifically about Amash, “you don’t have to win any of the state primaries. But it’s a good idea for candidates to go to the state primaries and at least talk to the delegates that are being elected.”

Fishman didn’t explicitly comment on the quality of any one candidate over another, but when he told us that Ruff—one of the race’s front runners—had dropped out, he knowingly added: “Maybe that’s an opportunity for some other candidate who is thinking of jumping in.”

Welch isn’t sure Amash will go through with it. “Justin's a very competitive dude,” he said. “Running for something at the prospect of getting 3 percent of the vote doesn't seem like a thing that really excites him.”

“He's got this crazy challenge at home,” Welch continued, referring to the prospect of re-winning his Congressional seat as an independent. “He loves to prove people wrong about how to win elections in his congressional district … if he's able to win as an incumbent independent then that's an incredible thing to show and to prove people.”

In the race that he has filed for, Amash has plenty of competition, including businessman Joel Langlois, Michigan state Rep. Lynn Afendoulis, and Peter Meijer, an Iraq war veteran and member of the Meijer Grocery family. Larry Sabato’s Crystal Ball considers the race a toss-up. The Cook Political Report rating for the district recently changed from toss up to lean Republican, news Amash previously would have welcomed but these days does not.

“Amash is now his own island,” election analyst David Wasserman wrote. “It's doubtful there's a sufficient market for a pro-life/pro-impeachment independent in the district to allow him a path to a sixth term.”

If that’s true—and Wasserman is as smart an election analyst as there is—why not go bigger?

Amash has clearly entertained the idea of a presidential bid, and he makes the case without hesitation. “I'd say that most Americans probably do not feel very closely aligned to any of the candidates right now,” he said. “Any of the leading candidates on the Republican or Democratic side.”

“I definitely think that a strong candidate in the Libertarian party today can get more votes than any previous candidate,” Amash adds, building up steam before catching himself. “The best case right now for a Libertarian, no matter who it is, is that both of these parties have been disasters and have not really represented the American people well. Is there any better time to have a president who might be not from either party?”

The Gary Johnson and Bill Weld Libertarian ticket in 2016 received nearly 4.5 million votes, 3.27 percent of the popular vote. But veteran Republican political strategist Karl Rove doesn’t think that’s repeatable.

In 2016, Rove said over the phone, “one out of every six Americans, roughly, thought neither person was qualified to be president, neither Clinton nor Trump. So, there was a fertile field for third parties to fish in … I don’t think we’ll see anything close to the 18 percent who say both candidates are unqualified.”

But that doesn’t mean a Libertarian party candidate couldn’t play spoiler. “These things matter in close states,” Rove said. Ask Democrats what cost Al Gore the 2000 presidential race against Rove’s candidate, George W. Bush, and many will point to Ralph Nader’s near 100,000 votes in Florida —a state Bush won by 537 votes, delivering him the presidency.

A limited-government option might fare better in western states where “the vote for the Libertarian candidate in presidential election years traditionally is larger than the national average,” Rove said. “It's unclear whether or not Amash will specifically split the anti-Trump vote or whether he will have the ability to draw away people who might otherwise be inclined to vote for Trump. I think it's more likely that he would split the anti-Trump vote.”

Fishman, who himself ran for Congress in 2012 as a Libertarian, referenced his campaign’s internal polling in telling us that, depending who the nominees were, the split would likely be closer to 50-50. “We tend to pull evenly [from Republicans and Democrats],” he said. “But the other thing about it is that we find that we do a better job of activating the people who haven’t voted a lot … The apathetic voter is almost always the largest group.”

Trump campaign officials declined to comment on how they are thinking through third-party campaigns.

Rove is obviously a Republican through and through. But he doesn’t see a logical constituency for an Amash Libertarian Party candidacy. “What's his argument? Vote for me: I'm the guy who has no chance of getting elected, but I hate Trump? People are going to have a much better opportunity to vote for somebody who's anti-Trump than just Justin.”

Amash describes a “hypothetical” Libertarian campaign message as much more expansive than mere disdain for the president. America is “fundamentally within the classical liberal realm,” he said. “And you might call that constitutionally conservative or libertarian.”

But he thinks Libertarians are campaigning on their ideas in the wrong way. “This is a common mistake that a lot of Libertarian or Libertarian-leaning politicians make, in that they're under the impression that they have to persuade people of something that is a wholesale change to them,” Amash said, obviously having put some thought into the topic. “And that's not the case. When people ask me, ‘when has libertarianism ever been tried?’ I would say in the United States of America, this is the most libertarian country that has ever been known … Compared to countries throughout the world and throughout history, this is a very libertarian experiment, and most people are pretty comfortable with it.”

“I think most Americans are already there,” he adds. “It's not a matter of persuading them of the principles. It's persuading them that you are applying the principles they already believe in.”

ON AN ISLAND

Whichever path Amash chooses, he won’t be able to rely on many of the deep-pocketed political organizations that have buoyed his various candidacies over the past decade. “He has access to national Libertarian network money that a lot of people don't,” Welch told us, “and he still will get some money within his district, but it's a real struggle.”

Were he to run for president, Amash could tap into a substantial network of Libertarians and disaffected Republicans. Fishman said “there are a lot of members who want to see the Libertarian party succeed,” adding that “the potential is there to raise more than what Gary [Johnson] and Bill [Weld, the Party’s presidential and vice presidential nominees in 2016] raised. It would have to be the right candidate. They would have to come in with a professional staff. But, the thing that Johnson/Weld showed is that the message does resonate and you can do a good job of fundraising among people who are concerned about the country.”

And there is little doubt that Amash, as an outspoken Trump critic and former Republican, would benefit from what campaign veterans call “earned media” coverage in the mainstream press.

But on the congressional side, the powerful Michigan DeVos family pulled the plug on their support for Amash after he called for Trump’s impeachment.

A spokeswoman for Americans for Prosperity—the Koch political network—said they “have nothing to announce at this time” regarding support for Amash.

The Dispatch reached a spokesman for the Club for Growth—a fiscally conservative advocacy group which itself spent millions in an attempt to defeat Donald Trump in the 2016 Republican primary—and asked if the group would be supporting Amash, who in 2018 was one of only three congressmen to receive a perfect 100 percent voting score from the organization. The response? An indignant “no.”

Welch had guessed in our conversation that Americans for Prosperity and Club for Growth would abandon ship, but believed that a third limited-government advocacy organization would stand by their man. “FreedomWorks, I think, will probably be with him,” he said. And there was good reason to reach this conclusion. Amash has been given the FreedomWorks “Freedom Fighter” award every year he’s been in Congress. The group named him “FreedomWorks Member of the Month” as recently as June 2018, writing, “We recognize his remarkable consistency on all issues and admire his dedication to his job and his constituents. We hope he continues to be a steadfast voice for liberty in and out of Congress and that his unassailable principles will serve as an example to all aspiring future members of Congress.”

Visiting his office earlier this month, we noticed Amash proudly displayed his “Freedom Fighter” award prominently on his desk, alongside a Champion of the Merit Shop plaque, Small Business Champion certificate, a book called The ABCs of School Choice, and a three-foot tall Darth Vader figurine. (We probably should have asked about that last one.)

Reached on the phone, Peter Vicenzi, a spokesman for FreedomWorks, told us that he knew the group had supported Amash in the past, and that he has a very high FreedomWorks score, but that he was not sure if the group would be backing the congressman again in 2020.

A few minutes later, we got an email. “Amash has a very high score with us, but we don't have any plans to get involved in MI-03 at this time, seeing as we're focused on some other key races to help regain the GOP's House majority.” The spokesman said the group’s main initiative, “Dirty Thirty,” is aimed at “flipping the 30 or so districts that went for Trump in 2016, but blue in 2018.”

“So, you are only putting money behind Republican challengers in those 30 districts?” we asked. “Or are you supporting some incumbent Republicans financially as well?”

His response: “We're going to support some incumbents as well, mainly HFC members.”

In his near-decade of congressional service, Amash has voted against FreedomWorks’ wishes only three times, earning a 99 percent lifetime score. The first was on a budget resolution in 2017.

The other two?

“Agreeing to Article I of the Articles of Impeachment” and “Agreeing to Article II of the Articles of Impeachment.”

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Photograph of Justin Amash by Bill Pugliano/Getty Images.

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