#i want to quit my job and fuck off to a rural little place up north to see what real fall and real winter are like
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Independence terrifies me.
I went from being coddled to having to think about everything.
The idea of being an adult is scary.
So last year, I was living at the place that I'd called home. It wasn't just home. When I was younger it was a sanctuary, a place that was safer than home.
I'd lived there full-time since my second semester of my freshman year in high school.
I didn't have any prospects, which I'm ashamed to admit. I got up, ate, went on my phone, and went back to my room. Sometimes played video games. I'd stopped reading, despite specific books and comics previously being some of my greatest loves.
I'd been out of therapy for three years, I'd just barely started seeing a psychiatrist again. And the day that I called and had an over the phone consultation with a DBT therapist, my house burned down.
I'd tried working two jobs in the past, gotten fired from both. One was a little under a month.
I kept saying, "I'll look, I'll apply."
Or, "I'll look at going back to school."
I did...on occasion. Not as often as I said I did, nowhere near as often as I said I would.
I was severely depressed. I didn't shower or brush my teeth as much as I should have, the latter led to my needing my top four front teeth crowned, courtesy of my grandparents.
Last week, I was supposed to walk down to catch the bus. I live in a semi-rural area, and it
A few weeks ago, I broke down crying in therapy as I voiced aloud the rude awakening that had hit me.
"All this shit I have to figure out and think about and they all cost money!"
This was after my grandfather told me at some point he'd expect me to pay for my therapy. He didn't say when, just at some point.
To me, this was a looming threat. I've made so much progress since being back in therapy, and that's with it being paid for and getting a ride there. That progress looks like not having outbursts, doing laundry, signing back up for school. Not exactly impressive. But worth acknowledging.
It took me time to work up the courage to make a psychiatrist appointment last week, due to being off my meds for a few months. Everything takes conscious effort.
The first time I had to seriously think about money. I'm not struggling right now, I'm living with my mother. But I don't know what the future holds.
In my mind I'm just one or two more failures away from winding up dying on the street. Or being a leech on my family for the rest of my life.
One is dramatic, both are pathetic. And a bit delusional. Plenty of people are educated and harder working than me and still wind up out there.
I'm back in school, taking two classes, not working, because I doubt I'd be able to handle more than that.
I'm still trying to figure out a study program. I
Today, half of me wishes so badly to go back to living there. Having all my needs met, binging whenever I want. Not having to think about much.
But I not only wasn't productive, I wasn't really happy. I was filling the void.
I didn't want to end my life, I just didn't have a life.
But it was easier to say I'd become an adult later.
My grandmother still saw me as her kid, so it was okay, right? But she's not here to enable me.
I was comfortable. But not okay.
Do I want sympathy? Maybe. But in comparison to so many other people, I'm not sure my struggles are worth complaining about.
Life is hard as fuck, and it feels like it's only going to get harder, but I've been far too sheltered, and it hasn't done me many favors.
Independence terrifies me because I'd prefer to have someone else tell me what I have to do.
I feel like I need a lot of handholding.
But the only hand to hold is my own.
That's not quite true, I have my basic needs met. I have hands to hold, family and friends. I just don't have someone constantly hugging me.
But that's what I'm used to. So the adjustment is rough, to say the least.
It's such a stark difference, and my mind is already a bit different, that I have to remind myself feeling and fact are different.
#adulting#living with mental illness#mental health#neurodivergence#depression#bpd#anxiety#functioning with mental illness
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#envy is so poisonous#i wish i knew how to stop making myself seethe with envy and yearning but god I just want to know what it's like so badly#i want to quit my job and fuck off to a rural little place up north to see what real fall and real winter are like#im tired of the sounds of a city im tired of the smell of tar and dust im tired of it being 90 negrees in November#im tired of working retail and im tired of being tired#but i don't work hard enough to be a full time artist#how can i when i have to work all day come home cook and clean and do laundry and feed the animals and try to get my work done for class#im so exhausted by other things and other people#and the housing market is so fucked up anyway#ive been watching videos about the down sides to living in a rural area and the sacrifices it takes to live that way#but it doesn't make me want it any less#and im envious that the partners of these people are supportive of that lifestyle and encourage it#i want to fucking G O#but my partner is happy here and has no desire or ability to move#i am happy but more and more i feel like im in a cage due to circumstances#i didn't think committing myself to this person was going to mean committing to the shitass himetown I've never left#i don't want to leave him and I would never but i want to leave Here
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Ever since I could remember, I wanted to drive a giant car. There are downsides to this lifestyle, of course: hard to find parking, paint is more expensive, and they usually drink fuel like a generator powering the nation of Germany. Of course, that last one is variable, isn’t it?
Now, you might think that it’s irresponsible to take a 1970s Cadillac land barge, rip out the perfectly good engine, and stick in a single-cylinder lawn equipment engine instead. You’d be right, which is why no 1970s Cadillac came with a perfectly good engine from the factory. They’re all various formats of disappointing, lazy, slothful torque beasts that get valve float if you try to wind them out to the lofty heights of one thousand five hundred rpm. The modern Honda-clone generator engine, on the other hand, is a marvel of mechanical engineering.
Why so? Well, Honda did a pretty good job on that engine in the first place, and squadrons of dudes copy-pasting them into a Fusion360 document called “My New Generator, 100% Original, Honest” before selling thousands on AliExpress hasn’t changed that. When you’ve got a good fundamental design, it’s hard to really screw it up. They try, of course, but there’s a sort of fear on the part of those ripoff artists. Worst case, you have to finish drilling a hole or seal up a hole that shouldn’t exist. The same experience as having bought the Cadillac new in the first place, really.
Now your thoughts turn to the improbability of the engine to provide the necessary power. I don’t blame you. A ‘76 Fleetwood is like five thousand fucking pounds wet. A Princess Auto Honda-clone engine makes six horsepower on a good day, or eight if you stuff it full of nitrous oxide. In fact, it makes so little juice that the marketing materials refer to it as six and a half horsepower, because at that scale you’re gonna notice every significant digit.
However, they are extremely cheap, you get a bulk discount, and the return policy is quite flexible. That, and the Fleet’s engine bay easily has enough room for eight of the fuckers. Fifty-two horse is more than the original engine makes after several years of greasy used-car salesmen pouring motor honey into the oil fill hole every time one of the owners decided it was time to get rid of this rolling yacht in order to pay off their bail bondsmen. I dyno-tested the entire quantity of 212cc Predators available in my city until I found the most horsey ones possible, too, so maybe it might even be knocking on the door of fifty-four.
There’s just one problem: I haven’t been able to find a ‘76 Fleetwood to do all this with. Turns out that the downside of making rolling art is that it looks pretty good when it’s up on blocks in the middle of a farmer’s field, too. Not to mention that I’m pretty sure the cops have been following me to make sure I don’t steal any more Cub Cadets from the rurals.
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After the Flood (a.k.a. bicci fic)
Hello friends! Some of you may remember that back in... er, who knows, I was writing a Bicci Proposal Fanfic. However, school and lack of motivation got in the way, and essentially, I forgot it existed. Until now. It's done, it's ready, it's here for you to read in whole! (I posted half of it before, but I can't find the thing.)
Characters: Jimmy Kaga-Ricci, Lister Bird, Rowan Omondi, OC (Abby Omondi), Angel Rahimi
Themes: older Ark, marriage proposal, coming out, grand gestures, The Ark Revival Tour, and peak Bicci romance (hopefully)
TWs: mentions of recovery from addiction, anxiety, food
Word count: 9k
JIMMY
It’s often impossible to pinpoint what exactly set off an event – or perhaps multiple – that changed your life as you knew it.
That was not Jimmy’s case, however. He remembered that Barbecue Saturday very well.
This time, it was Rowan and his spouse Abby who hosted. The two couples took turns and Jimmy was oh so grateful for it; the idea of managing Lister’s chaotic culinary experiments more than twice in one summer filled him with dread.
On Saturday morning, Jimmy and Lister packed up and drove all the way to the suburbs of London where Rowan and Abby lived. The sun was bright, everything gleamed buttery yellow, and Jimmy managed to talk Abby into letting him set the table and carry in all the food instead of her, which was quite an accomplishment. She was about as stubborn as her husband.
They rarely invited more than three extra people though. Being in the public eye in your formative years made you appreciate small gatherings of trustworthy people. And one of those proved to be Angel. Or, you know, Feresteh, but her nickname really stuck with them. From that time Jimmy nearly quit the band and Lister impaled himself and almost drowned in mud… yeah, call that a wild youth.
Over ten years later, they were hardly the same people.
After they decided to quit being The Ark for their own wellbeing and safety, Rowan kept his place in the music industry as a songwriter, producer and a solo artist. He went with the name Le Monde, a play on his surname as well as French for “the world”. It suited him. He was the world, never small, never just one thing.
Lister stopped being involved in music after a few collabs. While he was figuring out what to do next, he took a few modelling jobs, acted in music videos and got a small part in a sitcom. Jimmy used that time to get a college degree, but found he just wouldn’t be able to get the usual “college experience” he yearned for, and only got his diploma after doing classes long-distance.
Jimmy and Lister also got together. After many failed attempts at courtship and pretending being friends with benefits was enough… they got together. To Jimmy, it felt like it was inevitable; they have acted like partners long before it was official, they just needed to clean up their own messes before they could be a couple. It wouldn’t have felt right back then, but it did now.
Rowan was already at the grill preparing meat and wrapping camembert in shiny aluminium foil when Angel marched in, tall, elegant, beaming. Jimmy loved to see her again. Each time, she seemed a little more confident, more expressive, more… just more. She really did find her calling in the music industry, just as much as he found his tucked away in rural England with his boyfriend.
Yet, he was to be “tucked away” no longer.
At a certain point, their group fell momentarily silent; everyone was chewing their meal and soaking in the sun. Then Angel said, in an unfamiliar, cautious tone: “You see, I was talking to a couple of people…”
Rowan exchanged a quick look with Jimmy. “Go on,” he said.
“It’s gonna be ten years since you guys disbanded, you know.”
“I know,” Jimmy echoed.
“So. I was thinking. Hear me out, even if you think it’s bollocks…” Angel shot them a look, and then made a motion with her hand as if she was presenting them with something. “Have you ever thought of doing a revival concert?”
As Rowan did a theatrical “errrm”, Jimmy saw straight through his best friend’s bullshit: the two of them rehearsed this conversation. He knew Ro for most of his life, who did he think he was fooling?
His mind offered the answer quickly: Abby, perhaps. He wants to see how she would react, doesn’t he? Rowan would love to do a revival show like that, no doubt, but he valued his wife’s opinion too much to make a decision without her.
He felt movement on his left, and looked Lister in the eyes.
“Well,” said Lister, looking at him. “Wow, okay,” said Jimmy. Both were considering.
Angel swiftly picked up, “Just wanted to run this idea by you. Not because it’s me who would love to see you play once more – I mean, of course I would – but it’s expected to have an amazing turn-out.”
“Obviously, they’re The Ark,” Abby commented matter-of-factly.
“You’re right, Abby. So, guys? How are we feeling about this?”
It was bizzare. Normally, Jimmy would have expected to say he wasn’t at all interested – the boyband life was not for him anymore, tough luck – but recently, he felt a strong sense of nostalgia surge through him as the ten year mark got closer. He found himself reaching for his old guitar way more often, strumming at it, looking for something between the strings he could not reach.
Maybe he could do it just once.
What eventually came out of his mouth was… “I haven’t sung like that for a long time though.”
“You sing to me,” Lister contradicted him, his fingers intertwining with his. “All the time.”
Jimmy felt his face get hotter. “That’s hardly… Are you thousands of people?” He turned to Angel. “How many are we talking, anyway?”
She smiled a kind smile. “I don’t know, Jimmy, that depends on whether you three are up to it or not.”
Rowan cleared his throat. “Personally speaking, I think I wouldn’t mind, as long as we are just doing it once, and not trying for a comeback. I wouldn’t go there.”
“Same,” Lister nodded. “I love you guys, but I’m fine the way things are.”
“Right,” said Rowan firmly. “But… just this once, I mean, why not? We could use some extra money.” With this, he gently let his palm rest on Abby’s belly that swelled under her summer dress like a balloon. (Jimmy fought the urge to aww at them.)
Abby immediately assured him they were more than fine financially, but Rowan barely listened, clearly waiting for his former bandmates to say something. Jimmy felt Lister looking at him, unwavering. So he turned to him and asked, “What do you think? Cool or not?”
“I’m waiting for you to say.”
“Why?”
“Don’t want you to feel pressured or anything.”
“You shouldn’t… Just say what your opinion is!”
“You express your opinion,” Lister retorted, pretending to square his shoulders as a threat. Jimmy lovingly nudged him, and to stop being annoying to the remaining three people at the table, he shrugged, “It doesn’t sound so bad. One concert. I mean, we are still friends after all this time, so why not?”
“In that case, I would love to be the centre of attention again!” Lister exclaimed and gave Jimmy a boyish grin. “The crowd was deprived of my looks for too long.”
“Buddy, you were the drummer,” Rowan said. “Bold of you to assume anyone even looked at you with me and Jimmy jumping at the front.”
Jimmy snorted with laughter, but Lister was quick to defend himself. “Google all Lister Bird slash Reader fanfic and then we can talk about who got noticed, buddy.”
“Oi, you’re not even properly revived yet, stop fighting!” Angel called out, but laughter started bubbling from every direction before she even finished the sentence.
They had a proper business meeting about it in two weeks. And then another and another. When they announced the first date, the sales went through the roof. Jimmy had to get off of social media because the internet exploded with their names and faces. But he sort of found it a bit sweet, that so many people stuck around for them, like old friends that he never had the chance to talk to. One concert became three and then five, which was, honestly, more like a small tour at that point. Jimmy fought to call it After the Flood and won.
LISTER
“You really shouldn’t do that, you know. This bitch is hard to get rid of.”
Rowan tried to hide a small cough and put out his cigarette on the metal window sill next to him. “Hey,” he greeted Lister. “Didn’t expect you to come out here.”
“Yeah.” Lister found it hard to hang around smokers, and unfortunately, he met quite the number of them while they were in the process of rehearsing. “I wanted to talk to you.”
“What’s up?”
“Can we walk, like, over there? So… nobody can hear us through the door?”
Rowan eyed him suspiciously, but he followed him to the railing on the edge of the roof. There, he turned to him, seeming to fight himself.
“I’m really looking for a less shitty way to ask this,” he admitted eventually. “But… What have you done now, Lister?”
Lister felt a sort of numbed cramp seize his stomach for a second. It took a lot not to let anger overcome him. They were well over thirty, how the hell was Rowan still treating him like a fuck up?
But no. This was more important than old grudges.
“Nothing! As of yet,” he assured his bandmate.
“Okay…?”
“Right. So. Erm. Nobody is here, right? Fine. I had this idea… you know, Jimmy and I have been together for a long time and I obviously care about him a lot, I always have, you kind of know that…”
“Yes, go on,” he pushed on gently.
“Fuck it. I want to fucking propose!”
A giant weight fell off his shoulders when he spoke those words aloud. It was like coming out all over again, god.
Rowan’s eyes twinkled. “Oooh,” he almost whispered, “and you need my help with that? I’m your man, tell me the plan!”
“There is none right now.”
“Oh, okay. I can still help if you want.”
This was another part Lister dreaded discussing.
“I… okay, so, I was thinking of… doing it on stage?”
His friend’s face changed rapidly.
Lister’s dream of a grand proposal to the love of his life in brilliant stage lights and the roars of the audience faded away. “That’s a no? That’s a no. Shit, forget it then.” He felt sick.
“Lister, I’m absolutely positive you mean well,” Rowan started. “But Jimmy would-“
Speak of the devil.
The door opened and out of it peaked Jimmy’s unshaven face. “Oh! There you both are.”
Rowan froze for a second. Lister was ready to improvise. “Alright, so how about I come by yours after practice and you transfer the files to me?” He smiled, but impaled Rowan with a meaningful look.
Fortunately, he caught on. “Oh yeah, yeah, that could work.”
“What files?” Jimmy inquired as he joined them, oblivious.
“Rowan has some of our old drafts still saved. I was thinking of squeezing in a drum solo somewhere, maybe with spoken word over it?”
“Sounds cool,” Jimmy smiled at him and slightly brushed the back of his hand with Lister’s. “Anyway, Dick the Sound Guy wants us all in there immediately.”
“Stop calling him that or I’ll have a Freudian slip at some point,” Lister laughed and guided Jimmy back into the building. Him and Rowan managed to exchange a subtle nod over the shorter man’s head.
JIMMY
As they were packing up that day, Jimmy tried incredibly hard to catch Rowan alone. Just like the old times when he needed to discuss something personal. And yet again, it involved Lister. Jimmy felt young and stupid again, but not really in a good way.
Finally, he managed to stop him while he was putting away the equipment. Lister was meanwhile in the office of their temporary new manager. “Ro, I need advice!” he whispered to his best friend.
“What about?”
“It’s Lister.”
“Oh dear Jesus, I’m having flashbacks.”
“Don’t be a dick, it’s important.”
“Okay then, tell me.”
“It kind of involves you too. Just… tell me if it’s a good idea.”
“Go on!”
“I want to, uh… I want to tell people Lister and I are a couple…” He took a breath. “Which means I would be coming out as gay as well, probably. I know that’s, like, a huge pile of drama, so if you don’t want me to complicate the tour, just say it, it’s honestly kind of irresponsible when I’m thinking about it now…”
“Jimbob. Easy.” Rowan waited for a second for Jimmy to wind down, leaning on a stack of five chairs, and then asked, “Are you really sure about it? Do you want people to know?”
Jimmy felt his thoughts humming in his head. He forced himself to say exactly how he felt.
“I know it’s gonna sound super dramatic, but I don’t want to die not saying it,” he explained slowly. “It became really important to me… I don’t know when. But it did. Talking about this part of me, too. I’m just worried about what Lister might say.”
“So I take it that you didn’t discuss this?”
“No way. I don’t even know how to start!” Jimmy exploded in loud whispering. “I should have talked to him a long time ago, but I just didn’t have the balls.”
“I get that, but… just bring it up. Like, theoretically. What if. I think he’s going to support you through it.”
“How could he?”
“What are you even saying at this point?
“You think he would like people sticking their nose in our personal business? I feel like it’s so unfair to him and his privacy… And I feel terrible about still wanting to do it… even though it’s inconsiderate. It’s all a fucking mess.”
“Okay, okay.” Rowan massaged his nose. He looked like he was trying incredibly hard not to snap at Jimmy and be at least somewhat encouraging. “Look, no spoilers, but I am going to say this. Lister absolutely will notbe mad and he will want to talk about the two of you if you give him the chance. That is all.”
“Wait, what? Ro, did he tell you something?”
“I am not talking!”
“Is that how you treat your best friend in a life crisis?!”
“You’re putting me in a life crisis, don’t you dare play the pity card! I swear, the two of you are a nightmare.”
“Rowan! Come back!”
LISTER
His visit to Rowan’s place was very brief, but it was enough for him to understand Rowan’s concerns. Eventually.
Lister explained that it didn’t feel appropriate for him to just whip out a ring in a restaurant: Jimmy was his love, his dream boy, as cliché as it sounded, and he wanted to do something that would measure up to all he was feeling. Which was… well, a whole lot. Like a “get down on one knee in front of thousands of people” lot.
And yet.
“It’s all great, and I’m sure there are people in the world that would love it, but we are talking about Jimmy.”
“Come on. I know, he’s private about… well, everything, but…”
“That, yes,” Rowan pointed at him while holding a can of coke, “but don’t you think this proposal on stage would be an anxiety-inducing situation? Because to me, that sounds like a lot of pressure and nerves.”
“He hasn’t had attacks since we moved and he went on those meds.”
“That doesn’t really –“
“Matter. Yeah. Yeah, I get your point, mate, he would die of shock. And everybody watching him. Fuck, I’m stupid.”
“No, you’re not,” Rowan grinned. “The two of you are just different… in some aspects. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”
Will I? Lister asked himself as he was driving back to the hotel that Jimmy and him were staying at for the time being. This was the only thing I came up with, like, ever.
When he swept his key card over the sensor and the door to their suite opened, he was greeted by the smell of dinner. He took a look into their little kitchen and found his boyfriend sitting at the table with his laptop. He didn’t notice him for a second, so Lister came up behind him and hugged him tightly.
Jimmy yelped.
“Where’s the food?!” Lister shook him a little, imitating Batman.
“Your hands are so cold!” Jimmy protested, but there was a trace of laughter in his voice. “On the stove, you bully!”
Lister almost flew over there, looking under the lid on the pot.
“Pasta,” Jimmy shrugged. “I needed my comfort food, so that’s that for you.” Lister smiled and thanked him, because yes, he was starving. Pasta was Jimmy’s go-to meal to cook, as it was quick to make and he was a pasta-sauce prodigy.
While his dinner was heating up in the microwave, Jimmy made small-talk about the supposed unused lyrics Rowan and him exchanged. Lister found it hard to lie to him, so he just turned to playful teasing, telling Jimmy to stop sniffing around, he’ll hear it when the time comes.
“Oh come on,” Jimmy huffed. “I’m just asking! And it’s my show, too. Spill it.”
“Sorry. Totally gonna steal your spotlight.”
“Lister, just tell me what it is.”
“A song.”
“What song?”
“A song that you have to wait for.”
“Babe, what song?!”
Lister took him by the waist and pulled him against his body. “Are you trying to ‘babe’ me into telling you right now? Is that what’s happening? Right in front of my pasta?” He went in for a kiss, and Jimmy tried to murmur something against his lips… but then he gave up. They leaned into each other and kept kissing until Lister pulled away to open the microwave. He got himself a fork and went to sit down after the long day, but Jimmy stayed there, right next to the sink. Looking a bit like he was going to hurl.
Before Lister could ask if he’s okay, Jimmy sat down on the other chair with a determined look on his face.
“There is something I need to discuss!” he blurted out.
Lister cautiously dropped the fork back into the bowl. “Okay…? And it’s something to do with me, yeah?”
“Yep. A lot to do with you.” He was visibly nervous. He clasped his hands together, as if Lister would have not noticed. “I… I was thinking about this one thing, and I need your opinion about it.”
“Cool. Go for it.”
“It’s about our relationship.”
“Are you aware you sound very sinister right now?”
He wildly shook his hands as if he wanted to dry them off. “Sorry, didn’t mean to,” he apologized in a strained voice. Then he cleared his throat, sharply lifted his eyes towards Lister’s and exclaimed, “I would like to reveal that we’re together.”
Lister felt everything about his face go lax in shock. He opened his eyes round and wide, his mouth followed, and Jimmy looked like he would faint.
“I, er. I just. I thought about it and I think it’s a decent idea and – please say something, Lister, before I get a fucking heart attack right now.”
It must have been so hard for him to speak up. Lister thought of his proposal plans and felt his mouth slowly form a smile. “I think it’s… brilliant! Yes, I would really like to do that!”
“Wait, really?”
“This is – I didn’t think you would want to, when did you change your mind?”
Jimmy shrugged, grinning in a sheepish way that made him look much younger. And cuter. “I thought I just… wanted to be open about this part of my life. Figured it’s time to say we are together. But if you, like, don’t feel like it, then…”
Lister beamed. “I feel like it. If you do, I do, trust me.” He walked around the table and lifted Jimmy into a hug. He laughed, relieved.
This was when it dawned on Lister… it was not such an easy matter. Exciting, yes, but it would gather all kinds of attention. He leaned onto the table, grabbed his dinner and him and Jimmy started talking about the situation it would put them in. If both are truly okay with it, how much would they reveal, when is the best time to do it. They kept talking through the bathroom door and while they were changing into pajamas in their bedroom.
As they were laying down and Lister gestured Jimmy to crawl into his arms, they became quieter. “You know why I also want to say it?” Jimmy mumbled, lying on the soft linen with one eye open.
“I’m all ears.”
“If I have to see one more article about which model or actress you’re screwing, I’m gonna lose the remaining marbles that I have.” Lister started chuckling as Jimmy awkwardly added, “Which is, admittedly, not many. Most have been lost in my youth.”
“Oh no,” Lister laughed and turned Jimmy’s face upwards to his. “So this just in: my boyfriend is possessive. Fancy that.”
“I’m not, it’s… I am… Oh, you hated Jowan, stop being smug.”
“I know I did, we both know. But jealous Jimmy? That’s a rare sight.”
“It’s just super uncomfortable. It’s all women, as well.”
“Heteronormativity is a bitch,” Lister nodded. He snuggled closer and let out a breath, “Don’t worry though. I am exclusively your problem.”
Jimmy kissed him, smiling. Lister felt lightheaded. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against Jimmy’s. He loved this – he loved how much he felt for him after so long they have been together. It never ceased or faded away… because it was Jimmy.
Lister was pretty sure he would love him until his last day on Earth.
It was time to start looking for a ring.
JIMMY
Not much later, they had a team meeting scheduled with all the important people at their recording company that were involved with their tour. Jimmy and Lister announced their intention to come out during the tour, and with Rowan’s full support, it wasn’t too hard to win the producers over. Jimmy had anticipated the PR people would deem it overly risky to their image, but they were fairly chill. As Rowan had put it, “As if anything about The Ark was ever about pandering to conservatives.”
They agreed that their demographic is absolutely different, and before they knew it, they were being ignored while people were exchanging speculations about how it all could help them promote the tour.
“If they do it on, like, the second show…”
“…we could sell some extra tickets after… another wave…”
“…that would probably be a good time to release a single, something related to…”
Jimmy felt something in his chest sink. This is why they left. These people took something good, something from their hearts and souls, and wanted to turn it into money. Some part of him understood, that’s how business works, but mostly, he just felt really sad for them.
“Oi!” Lister exploded over the chatter. “Sorry, but we are still here, and – Could you maybe not act like this coming out is a marketing tactic?!”
The room went briefly silent.
Jimmy squeezed his hand under the table to say a silent thanks. Then he choked out, “That’s not why we’re doing it!”
Their producer looked at them over the top of her reading glasses.
“Of course it’s not, love,” she cooed. “But to say it bluntly, I think you need all the help you can get.”
After many weeks and many briefings, they had agreed on making the announcement on the third show. Right in the middle of tour. Everybody was nervous, expectant, but there was this air of hopefulness when Jimmy and Lister ended up alone together. The glimmer in his partner’s eye when their eyes met promised something… no, it was not living absolutely openly, they still wanted privacy. But it felt like they were sealing something.
This was not an easy coming out.
But they were in for it. Together.
LISTER
“Just so I know,” Rowan said as Lister was trying to take off his Doc Martens with all his might, “what did you tell Jimmy this time?”
“We’re still working on music.”
“We should really make something then, before you go. I am not gonna lie to my childhood best friend, y’know.”
Finally, the boot came off, and Lister got off the little cabinet in Rowan’s hall. Abby was already making tea, and when she saw him walk by the kitchen door, she just nodded at him. Lister smirked at her; she loved pretending to still be mad at him for taking Rowan to a strip club on his stag night. (Or was it dancing on the table at the wedding reception? Anyhow.)
Rowan sat him down in the lounge and started the conversation with: “So. The big reveal is getting closer. How are we feeling?”
“I – great, good. I’m fine, and Jimmy seems to be fine, so yeah, we’re fine.”
“But I assume that’s not what you need help with?”
“You assume right. I will need you to bear with me, though.”
“That sounds interesting,” Rowan retorted and flashed a smile at Abby who was bringing them two steaming mugs of earl gray. “And when I say interesting I mean impending doom, why thank you, Abby!”
“No problem.” She slowly leaned over, careful not to lose balance with her belly, and kissed him on the forehead. “I’ll be off for my swimming class then. You two behave, will you.”
As she was making her way to the hall, Lister jokingly remarked, “No goodbye kiss for me?”
She stopped in the middle of the room and exchanged a glance with Rowan. Rowan, stirring his tea with a teaspoon, said, “Please don’t kill him, I need him for the concert.”
“Come on, you guys, I was fully kidding. Goodbye, Abby,” he waved to her with a bright smile. “Enjoy your swimming stuff!”
“Thank you, will do.” She disappeared.
“Just a question!” he called after her. She came back with an eyeroll. “Is it, like, harder to swim when you are pregnant? Like, I don’t mean to insult you or anything, I’m just genuinely wondering.”
She, too, put aside her snarky façade for a second. “Actually, I go there because it’s relieving. The water makes you float, so the weight of the baby is taken off my back and legs for a little while.”
“Oh! That’s clever.”
“Thank you. The more you know, am I right?”
“You know what I was just thinking of?”
“Yeah? I really have to go.”
“When you’re swimming, you’re a human submarine for the baby.”
It seemed to take Abby a minute to realize what he was saying. Very slowly, she brought her palm to her forehead.
Rowan then didn’t make it much better by adding, “Since when does a submarine have water inside? That would defeat the purpose.”
Lister thought about it and then gasped. “So… right now, you are a reverse human submarine!”
Abby looked at them both, clearly lost for words. “I’ll just go…” She closed the lounge door behind her.
After a good ten minutes of Rowan half laughing and half chastising Lister for saying the things he says, Lister threw his hands up in the air and claimed they seem to have “traded their sense of humour for a marriage certificate” two years ago.
Rowan immediately followed: “Speaking of marriage, any updates on that? You and…?”
“Well, my friend, that is precisely what we need to talk about today.”
“Okay. The meeting is officially in session, go.”
“First: am I the only one that was really surprised by Jimmy wanting to make us public? Because I really didn’t expect that at all.”
“Yeah, I guess he’s still full of surprises, huh?”
“That he is. However, Ro, I was thinking, and I still want to do a proposal. No – let me finish, it’s not that straightforward. I spent a lot of time talking to Jimmy about what he wants and how he sees the future, and you were super right in saying that I should never put him on the spot like that. Being so exposed to the public when we were kids messed with us in a big way, all of us.”
Rowan snapped his fingers in agreement.
“The idea is… It would be a proposal before a proposal. Like… I don’t know, announcing that I have the intention of proposing to him soon. And asking him if he is okay with that, you know? If he’s okay with the idea of saying yes. That way,” Lister gesticulated with his hands, “he’s not forced right there to say yes, the eventual real proposal can be sort of expected, which would calm him down a bit, but still a surprise, because when is it going to happen? I’m not saying.”
Rowan stared at him for about three seconds. “That was… a whole thing, buddy.”
“Thoughts?”
“I’m just trying to wrap my head around this. Wait. You want to do a proposal before the actual proposal.”
“Yes.”
“On stage. At the same time you are announcing that the two of you are together?”
“No! I mean, I don’t think so. I thought like, more at the end, maybe.”
“Proposal before a proposal…”
“It’s clever, if you think about it.”
“To me, it just seems very extra, Lister. Which I know is your trademark, but –”
“No, but listen. I want to propose to Jimmy. He wouldn’t survive a big flashy proposal, but I still want to make it a big deal, because it is. Ergo, I announce that I want to spend the rest of my stupid little life with him and ask him if it is okay to propose to him one day, likely soon.”
Rowan’ expression changed. “That does make sense,” he said. “For the two of you, especially.”
“Okay then: dear dad, do I have your blessing?”
“Never call me that again. But yes.”
“You are the closest to being a father out of all of us.”
“That is not what it sounds like and you know it.”
JIMMY
The first show was an explosion of feeling and memories. Nauseous with anxiety, burdened with expectation and weak in the knees, Jimmy ran into his first appearance on the stage the same way he would run into the middle of the highway. The lights and screams and colours almost blew him to pieces and then glued him back together. His first words addressed to the crowd and the earth-shattering screams that came in answer woke something in him, a force of nature. The gig was rather small compared to those they ended on ten years ago, but the crowd loved them to pieces and oh, he felt so alive.
The second show was slightly bigger, yes, and their fans didn’t disappoint. Plenty of pride flags were chucked at him, and he waved them and gave them to his mates and it made him even more excited about what him and Lister were going to do the next time round. These people stayed with them for so long, this sea of faces that looked toward him… for many of them, he would be the representation they need, again.
He remembered being a young trans boy, questioning if there is a life, a future, for him. Where were all the queer adults? The trans adults? How could he imagine adult life if he had never seen someone like him live it?
There he was, now. Adult. Gay. Transgender. A lot of time, he still knew very little about what he was doing, but he had a boyfriend who knew equally little, and together, they might be just what some queer kid in the crowd yearns to see.
LISTER
It was D-Day. Christ and Mary, it was, and they were going to say it. Finally. The staff have been informed, the security has been strengthened, they did everything so that some fan wouldn’t try and knock them the fuck out…, but he was still incredibly nervous. Minutes before the show, among all the rush and flourish, he caught Jimmy and pulled him to the side, apologizing to a couple of sound guys securing some cables on the ground.
“How are you doing?” he blurted out.
“I’ll die, but maybe in a good way. You?”
“Same. Or I’ll throw up, in a bad way.”
“Wait really?”
“No, I’m sick, but not the vomiting kind.”
“Anxiety! Welcome to the club!” Jimmy shouted as he was being ushered away under the stage so he could come up on a platform.
More pushing, more ushering, and he stood next to Rowan.
Their intro – a dramatic organ solo as light flashed through the artificial fog like sunbeams – was rumbling all around them. The crowd was losing their minds. He didn’t know how, but he still heard Rowan whisper:
“Lister, promise me you won’t do the other thing today!”
“Told you I won’t, stop being patronizing!” he snapped back, but then it was their time, and they were on a stage, coming up from behind Jimmy, each on every side, acting astonished as they supposedly came down from Noah’s Ark onto new land.
Listed dared to put his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder as they did so.
The show was on.
Here we go.
JIMMY
During the concert, he used every opportunity to interact with the audience that he had. It felt a bit manipulative at first – he wanted them to be up for a bit of talking, eventually – but then the feeling of guilt faded away. However complicated his relationship with the fans used to be, these people were the fans. They stayed loyal to them, they kept their music in their hearts, and came to this revival gig…
It would be okay, okay, okay.
When the last accords of the last song whizzed away into the night and he was thanking the crowd that stomped and cheered and waved signs in hope of an encore… he stopped at the front of the stage. Rowan strummed a few last cords on the guitar and fell silent.
He wished he had somewhere to sit down. His legs were shaking.
But he was not afraid. Not really.
“Now, you guys, these shows are very special for us. Because every single one of you, as we’re standing here and looking at each other, you have been waiting for so long…” His voice was drowned out by cheers. “For so long, you have not forgotten us, you came to our shows, you have been amazingly supportive, and I want to thank you, from the bottom of my heart!” He shouted the last few words as the sea of faces roared in joy.
When they calmed down again, he continued. “And because you are the ones that stuck with us… because of that, I would like to say a few things to you.
If you know about the days of my youth…” Pause as people laughed and shouted affirmations at him. “…you would probably remember that I was presumed to be in a relationship with a person that is standing on the stage with me, right now.”
It was good that only a few people cheered. But it made him sick to the stomach, still.
“Okay, no,” Rowan came in, and people applauded, and he pointed at them with a not-so-fake scolding look, “no, no, don’t you woo at me, young lady. This is so utterly not a thing! Jimmy has never left the friendzone!”
“Same here,” Jimmy laughed and patted Rowan across the back, maybe a little too hard, overcompensating. “Did you all, like, miss that Rowan came out as straight all those years ago?”
People were laughing. Nobody really cared, they just found it funny. Rowan claimed he was leaving it to Jimmy before “the PR team has me taken out”, and retreated a few steps, leaving Jimmy to face the crowd again.
Deep breaths, he told himself.
“What I wanted to say was that there was one thing that those people back then got right.” Breathe in, breathe out. “I am gay.”
Two seconds of silence and then an absolute thunderstorm of an applause. A rainbow pride flag landed at his feet and Jimmy took it, with meek laughter, and put it around his shoulders. He heard Rowan cheer and clap too, and for what felt like years, he couldn’t get a word in. He wished the whole world could be like this.
“I – gosh, thank you all, I’m not sure whether it was a surprise,” he finally managed to say, his voice breaking a little from surprise, “but yeah. I am a trans, gay man…” The hall exploded with joyous noise. “…and it’s not all that there is to me, but I’m here. And queer. Hello.”
He thought he was going to pass out. He had a clever segway prepared, but he couldn’t remember a word of it. This was the moment. He wanted to say it, but at the same time… How could he? It was so hard, why do things have to be so hard?
“The other… the second thing,” he said, gripping the pride flag. “It is that… wow, it’s hard. It’s that I am…” He felt himself turn around, and like a lost child call: “Lister?”
Lister climbed out from behind the drum set instantly. Nobody cheered, there were only confused whispers. Jimmy looked at him, asking for help without words, and he knew, as he always did. Jimmy found a place to look, above the crowd, beyond everything, as Lister stepped in and slowly took his hand.
“The second thing is that we are together,” Lister said, his voice steady.
And the crowd lost it.
There were people wailing in happy tears. Screaming at the top of their lungs. A dissonance of chanting their names, all at a different rhythm, before Rowan ran up to them and hugged them and spurred the crowd on, and they stood there wrapped in a pride flag, and Jimmy was kind of crying and leaning on Lister, and it was another half an hour of a pure mess, before they really left the stage with their ears buzzing and eyes wide.
Jimmy and Lister tumbled into a corner somewhere, and Jimmy had happy tears streaming down his cheeks and they were kissing and holding each other and shaking.
“Oh, I’m such a mess,” Jimmy laughed as he was smearing tears and foundation on his sleeve.
“And I love you so much,” Lister blurted out in a moment of raw honesty.
“Me too,” Jimmy took one of his hands and kissed the palm. “I love you so fucking much it’s unreal sometimes.”
LISTER
This was, hands down, the most jittery Lister got before a show. Ever.
Currently, he found himself sat at an old sofa in the dressing room, hands clasped and both legs involuntarily jumping up and down. Was it annoying? Likely. But he had to let his knees jump in such a vigorous way because if he hadn’t, his teeth might start clattering.
He hated that he couldn’t just be pumped and excited. He had to feel this unsettling, buzzing mess of an emotion. Anxiety, as Jimmy informed him. This is what it’s like for an anxious person, he said… except make it all the time and often for no real reason.
Lister shook his head a little.
His reason, too, was basically nothing. He knew. As if Jimmy would actually reject him or something…
Or would he?
Maybe he could? Oh God, maybe he could…
“Hey! You’re actually scaring me, what’s up with you?!”
Lister blinked in confusion. He saw Jimmy as he was making his way over. A half scolding, half worried look decorated his face.
He lowered his voice when he added: “The last time I saw you like this was when you had withdrawal symptoms. You can tell me if that’s what it is.”
“It’s not that. I’m fine,” Lister insisted. Crap, he was panicking too hard to actually come up with anything convincing. Come on, Bird, focus… He’s onto you…
“Actually,” Rowan’s voice travelled to them from the corner, “I just think we had weird coffee.”
“What? But you’re fine.”
“Yeah, well,” Rowan continued to make up a story, “we both got one, but I didn’t like the taste, it was too strong. Lister felt bad for throwing them out so he finished both of them, didn’t you?”
“Ye-Yes,” he finally caught on. Had to admit, Ro was impressive at this. Lister started to believe what their friend used to say: that he can lie very well, he just chooses not to. “I didn’t want to waste it. The coffee.”
“Lister,” Jimmy grunted in disbelief, hands on his hips. “That was a brilliant idea, you walnut! Look at yourself, you’re gonna be sick now!”
“I’m not.”
“You look it.”
“I’m just…” He rubbed his clammy hands together. “I’m just anxious I guess.”
“Well, no shit. Why do you think I avoid caffeine?” Jimmy sighed and dropped into a squat in front of Lister. He took Lister’s hands in his. “Seriously, are you okay? You’re not gonna have a heart attack, are you?”
“No, babe. I’m alright.” The last thing he wanted was for his boyfriend to be anxious too.
He looked down at Jimmy. The realization dawned on him, as he noticed that his partner dropped onto one of his knees to be more comfortable; very soon, the roles will be reversed. It will be Lister down on one knee, only Jimmy would be standing up in that case…
Okay.
Wow.
This is what true internal screaming felt like.
“You need water, as in now,” Jimmy decided and jumped up. “I’ll need you to drink at least three glasses before we start, that should help.”
He rushed out of the room to get hands on some water. Rowan and Lister looked at each other, the pretence gone.
“Alright?” Rowan nodded.
“I’m fucking choking, dude,” Lister replied.
It almost looked as if his friend was going to give him advice, or maybe say something generic and calming… but instead, Rowan let out a small laugh. Lister’s lips started twisting without him giving the command.
And then the two collapsed laughing. The pressure of this being the very last show and the knowledge of what Lister was about to do at the end of it were just the right recipe for hysterics.
Jimmy didn’t bother to ask twice what the joke was, as long as they promised they weren’t laughing at him.
-----------------------------------
As the concert was coming to an end and the crowd was cheering and chanting for an encore, Rowan seized the opportunity and called: “Alright, friends, we would like to indulge you in a little experiment! Can you join me at the front, Lister?”
Lister got out from behind the drum set and jogged to meet the rest of the group. Jimmy smiled, but his eyes studied both of them suspiciously. “What is this?”
Lister lazily raised his arms with the palms of his hands towards the crowd. “I have to admit, we kind of didn’t tell Jimmy what this is about. Sorry, my guy.” People laughed. Rowan signalled someone backstage, as Lister added: “But just so you don’t feel left out, you can have this triangle.” A nervous assistant handed Jimmy the instrument and ran off again.
Everybody was jeering and whistling, but there was an air of anticipation in the air.
“Oh wow, that’s generous of you,” Jimmy grimaced.
“I know, right? Anyhow.” Lister took a step forward, trying to calm himself. He could do this. He had acting jobs, he could absolutely pull this off.
He was Lister freaking Bird! He was the fan favourite!
“Dear audience, allow me to tell you a tale,” he addressed the crowd in his best narrator voice. A couple of screams rose from the crowd, but everyone else was listening intently. Behind him, Rowan started strumming a little melody on his guitar – one they created especially as a backdrop to Lister’s talk.
“I know this is a little unusual,” Lister admitted to the sea of people, “I know that you’re used to stories coming to you via this man’s voice,” he pointed at Jimmy, “and this man’s lyrics.” Rowan. “I know that I am just a simple drummer in this arrangement. But today, I will do the voice and the words. Because, well… Talking all the time is the one thing I am actually good at.”
That made the crowd laugh. Good. Great.
“But now, on with the story!” he exclaimed and made a motion with his hands as if he was showing them a canvas.
“Picture this. We are all fifteen, stuffed into a tiny studio in London,” he smiled, as if nostalgic. His voice flowed out of him in a steady melody, like the hum of a river. “We all had that awkward long hair phase – yes, I see some true veterans in the audience today. Good,” he smiled at a couple of girls in the front who seemed to know exactly which haircuts he meant. He raised his hands again. “I am sitting outside the recording room, behind the glass. On the other side, there’s Jimmy. I can see him clearly, I hope you can too,” he said, keeping his dreamy smile. “The giant black hoodie. The fringe almost hiding his eyes. Jimmy waits for the cue, bouncing up and down,” he chuckled as he swayed up and down on his toes, “and then starts singing the interlude in our first album. It’s only about two lines that we need to record, but I remember wishing it lasted longer. Obviously. Because his voice is amazing.”
The audience started yelling and swooning at once. Lister was honestly more okay looking at them than if he had to look at Jimmy and see what his reaction is.
Now, here comes the real cliché.
“But then,” he paused with real embarrassment in his voice, “then he looked up from under his hair… at me, with those big brown eyes… and asked me, if he was okay.”
Breathe in, and:
“My friends, that was the moment I have fallen for Jimmy Kaga-Ricci.”
A roar of screams started rising from the audience, when Rowan strummed dramatically on the guitar, as if something tragic had happened. Lister shot a look at Jimmy and found him laughing. Surprised, but amused.
Thank fuck. I’ve never told him that before.
On the outside, he theatrically turned to Rowan and scolded him: “I was just getting sentimental here?”
Rowan shrugged and strummed a more positive jingle. Everyone laughed and clapped. Lister was starting to enjoy this, actually. He sighed and walked forward onto a prolonged platform where Jimmy was usually stood on.
“Well, maybe my trusty assistant was right with the sound effects,” he admitted jovially. “Because my crush absolutely did not like me back for years. Hey, but that’s not to throw shade at the guy,” he added quickly to prevent any pitiful reaction that would make Jimmy feel bad. “Because you have to consider that I was and still am a bloody mess of a person.” That amused the listeners. Lister turned round, as he exclaimed. “I am the creator of problems, the maker of terrible decisions. We can all agree that Jimmy is a lovely lad…” He had to pause for the overwhelming reaction in support of that statement. “Yes, he is, but inflicting my teenage self upon him, that would just not be right.”
Jimmy suddenly clanked the metal stick against the triangle in an absolute cacophony to draw attention to himself. “Excuse me,” he called to Lister, “could you stop insulting yourself? I would enjoy that.”
A girl somewhere below them screamed as if she was getting murdered. They exchanged a quick glance, as if to say a little yikes, but then Lister laughed it off.
“Sorry, sorry,” he continued. “Through it all, Jimmy was always here for me. He was one of my first real friends. He was understanding when I needed it most, and ready to kick my ass when I needed it most.” He smiled at his boyfriend and hoped his voice is not shaking. “Look at you, Jimmy! I’m being embarrassing in front of hundreds of people and you still haven’t walked off stage.”
Jimmy laughed and lightly hit the triangle. He was ever the professional, but his eyes glimmered in curiosity. Expectation.
Lister kept looking at him. Rowan was strumming a slightly different melody now, and if Lister did say so himself, the atmosphere was fucking perfect.
“What I want to say is…, I feel that we were together before we got together. We were always partners. A great team. Maybe you wouldn’t think the same,” he admitted to Jimmy, “but a girl can dream. Oh! A rhyme!” He exclaimed to a symphony of awwws and ooohs. People were laughing again, clapping here and there. “That will be the only time!” Lister made a face of feigned shock. “Or not? Wow, I’m unpredictable!”
“You’re hot,” Jimmy rhymed with unexpected confidence.
The crowd was screaming their heads off at this interaction. Even Lister was a little flustered. He came back to his bandmates and gestured toward Jimmy, who was still smirking a little. “And he can improv, what’s not to like, honestly!”
Now, there came the challenge. Lister took a deep breath and prayed to all deities that were listening for this to come off as more sweet than cringy.
His voice fell into a different rhythm. One he kept studying every possible minute from any good slam poetry or original poem reading he could find online.
“But now, if our audience permits,” he put one hand on his chest, turning directly to Jimmy, “I would like to address you. Because, dear Jimmy, although I love each face in the crowd, my friends, my family, those that are both… I can state loud and proud that the biggest part of my heart goes to you.” He grinned sheepishly at Jimmy’s stunned expression, when he added: “If not all of it.”
“I can only guess what goes on in that mind, whether you think this is suspicious or kind… I can’t know these things. But there is one thing I do know. That no matter how much we grow, what we lose and what we gain, through all the smiles and all the pain, I will love you. It’s as big and as small as this. And today was an opportunity I couldn’t miss. So, nobody panic, stay in your seats. It’s not what it looks like.”
He got down on one knee in front of his boyfriend.
Jimmy gasped in sync with the audience: “Lister!” He backed away.
“Oh no, mister, don’t panic,” Lister retorted. That managed to amuse Jimmy a little – that he would know this would be the reaction. The audience was still going absolutely wild. Another pride flag just about missed Lister’s left ear.
“As I said, it’s not what it looks like. And I’m sick of rhyming by now, so…” He reached for Jimmy’s hand. Pulled it down to his by the triangle and encouragingly pressed a thumb into his palm. “I wanted to tell you – in a way that means something – that I don’t see myself living my life with anyone but you. So I have a question. Can you imagine me proposing in the near future?”
Jimmy looked like he suddenly couldn’t speak any human language. The only thing that came from his open lips was: “Huh?”
He was trying not to panic. To explain it well. Better than he had to Rowan.
“I would like to start talking about marriage. With you. I’m asking your permission to… go pick out a ring, perhaps. And propose to you. One day.”
“You want to…” He was trying so hard to make sense of this situation. Lister could almost hear the wheels in his brain clanking and whirring. After a second, Jimmy blurted out about the last thing Lister expected. “You really want to marry me?”
He had to laugh. That sounded so bizarre! You have the wrong number, I don’t think you want to marry me, of all people. As if.
Covering Jimmy’s hand with both of his own, he answered: “Who else, Jimmy?”
As there was no instant reply, Lister felt the audience grow impatient.
This was the time to smooth things out. Make it amusing.
“Okay, I don’t want to stress you out. You can just think about it,” he ensured his partner. But I just wanted to let you know my, er, intentions.” Wow, great choice of words, Bird. But was there any better? He decided to make fun of himself a little when he sarcastically added: “Because this is the regency era, apparently.”
People were losing it. However, Lister was only looking at Jimmy now… and realized that the eyes of his boyfriend were welling up with tears as he looked down. Were they happy or sad tears? Shit.
“Oh…” Lister managed to say, when Jimmy dropped the triangle on the floor with a thud and shakily took Lister’s face into his soft palms.
His voice was trembling with emotion, as he answered:
“Allister Bird, I would love to marry you. I don’t think you even need to propose again.”
Before Lister could even register what he meant, Jimmy leaned down and gently pressed a kiss at his forehead. This was probably as close to kissing in public as Jimmy would ever allow.
Lister finally realized. He realized.
At the same time, Jimmy dropped down and Lister shot up. They embraced each other tightly, a mess of crumpled clothes and limbs and teary laughing, and Lister almost lifted Jimmy off the ground as he was happy-crying into the shorter man’s shoulder.
They heard Rowan screaming at the top of his lungs: “HE SAID YES, PEOPLE!” His voice was drowned out by the massive storm of excited screams that wouldn’t seize for good twenty minutes after.
But Lister and Jimmy didn’t really pay attention.
Paradoxically, although everyone could see them – and everyone would see them, as the news probably already travelled through the internet at the speed of light – it felt like this moment was theirs alone.
#osemanverse#osemanverse fanfic#alice oseman#jimmy kaga ricci#lister bird#bicci#rowan omondi#angel rahimi#oc#bicci proposal#i was born for this#iwbft#the ark#older ark#older au#proposal#engagement#grand gesture#fanfiction
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Hello! Would you be able to tell me what happens in brokeback mountain? Im unable to watch it anywhere (or look it up) but I've heard about before! Is it a sad movie?
Yes very quite sad
MAJOR SPOILER WARNING for everyone else lol
Also warning for homophobic violence
essentially it’s 1963 and these two dudes Jack and Ennis do a job together over summer on Brokeback mountain, one night after getting drunk they hook up and they keep having their little affair until the summer is over when they go their separate ways bc Ennis has to get married
It’s like four years before they see each other again, Ennis has a wife and a couple kids but is more than happy to keep his thing with Jack going and they continue this affair for several years going on semifrequent week-long trips (I think once a month?) back up to the mountain, Jack also gets married and has a kid between these meetings
Later on in their relationship things get tense because Jack has always wanted the two of them to get a place together, even though Ennis is divorced at this point he can’t just give up working cause he’s gotta support his kids still, so they leave off on a bit of a sour note bc Ennis has a job that won’t let them meet again til November (I don’t remember what month it was at the time of the convo but I’m assuming it’s a long time)
after a bit Ennis goes to pick up the next postcard he usually gets from Jack, but the postcard has a big ol red DECEASED stamp on it. Ennis calls Jack’s wife to find out what happened, she tells him that a tire blew up in his face and he drowned in his own blood, but the scene shows that he was actually brutally beat to death by several men, very similar to a story Ennis told Jack around the time they first met: when Ennis was young there were two local men that lived together and one was a victim of a gruesome hate crime
The rest of the film is Ennis coping with his loss and overall it is a very tragic ending to a love story, I’m not sure if I would classify this as a bury your gays trope bc shit like this was not uncommon for the time period and it goes to show how difficult or even impossible it was to be openly queer back then, especially in rural areas. Either way it fucking stings after the fact!
this is the extent of my summarizing skills so if you still wanna know more I can find a more detailed synopsis and paste it here, or I can slide u the website I watched it on, whatever’s best for your situation
#do I regret watching it#maybe a little I went to bed with a headache from wanting to cry#but I figured it was about time#plz rec me more queer films that won’t wrench my heart so bad#ask
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if you have a question about aussie slang, for a fic or whatevs, please just ask i don't know all of it, but we do have some fun words and sayings that are day to day statements
esp. the more rural you go
not everyone has the full accent though, because you do get a lot of pressure at work to come across... professional or whatever.
the only one i've never been sure of being an Actual Phrase, or if it Became A Phrase after popularisation on a tv show, is "Stone the Flaming Crows" bc a dude from Neighbours used to say it frequently.
examples of day to day stuff i can think of right now
mad as a frog in a sock (angry about something, went off, off the shits)
mad as a cut snake (usually means 'they're nuts', but can also mean they exploded with anger, usually contextual)
she'll be right (it's fine - can be a flippant statement, can be reassurance, etc)
drongo / galah - (idiot, not very smart, wanker, etc)
dunny = toilet
thunderbox/outhouse / long-drop - usually outdoor toilet
dry as a nun's nasty / dry as a dead dingo's donger (I am thirsty, or It Is Hot AF/we need rain so bad)
chuck a u-ey (do a u-turn)
Oi! (Hey I want your attention/i was surprised, general exclamation, stop that, you are in a lot of fucking trouble mate - depends on the tone of voice and volume) like "OI!" says aunty ruth has just found her dentures in jello and she knows you did it, etc
Bugger off (go away, or sometimes a statement of disbelief)
Yeah nah /Nah yeah (can mean yes, no or maybe depending on what was said directly before the statement)
you cant pull the wool over my eyes - you can't lie to me like that / i can see you are not telling the truth
shut your gob / put a sock in it / put a cork in it - (shut up / shut the FUCK up / close your mouth or i will shut it for you) depends on tone
Ya wally (you idiot)
Roo = kangaroo
o = can be affixed to anything to shorten it
at the servo - gone to the service station, arvo - afternoon, smoko - morning tea, bottlo - where the grog is
goon/goonsack - wine in a box
grog - alcohol
stubbie - beer, ususally
boardies - board shorts
rashie - swimming shirt,
slip, slop, slap - ancient proverb for avoiding sunburn. singing pelican.
thongs - footwear
sheila = female / woman, don't hear this a lot at the moment tbh except in certain contexts or from specific people
'Getting rowdy' = things are heating up, people are riled up, a fight is about to/has just broken out, etc.
DJ's like a mad cunt = one very specific meme about a bad PM we had like 10 years ago. i can't tell you how many PM's ago, it's been game of thrones here lmao
Beyond the black stump / Out whoop-whoop / references to timbuktu (quite a distance away)
strewth!/crickey!/bloody hell - (exclamation of surprise, expletive replacement, etc)
flat out like a lizard drinking (tired / drunk / exhausted / sleeping)
pull a harry holt - (I've heard a dozens variations of this one, it means Go Missing / Disappear, often used as a joke. PM Holt went swimming one day and disappeared)
have a stickybeak (to poke your nose in/investigate/look around)
chuck a wobbly/throw a tanty/chuck a tanty/throw a wobbly (throw a tantrum, i have legit never seen anyone successfully deescalate a situation by telling someone not to chuck a wobbly or throw a tanty, go figure lmao)
bogan - (very specific kind of low-income, generally white, people. sort of like rednecks, but with more stereotypical aussie features like a mullet, singlet tops, sunnies, stubbies, etc. tend to fall under the liberal party ideology - who are our republicans... )
ankle-biters / rugrats / little takkers / gremlins / nippers - (kids, usually the littler ones)
tiff - argument, small fight (had a tiff, had a row)
pav = pavlova
piss/whizz/take a piss = going to pee
vegemite - delicious
Kiwi = New Zealander
Banana benders - the disrespectful bs that apparently other states call anyone living in Queensland, the wankers
station - farming areas that have sheep or livestock usually, have farmhands etc.
dole bludger(s) - (anyone on Centrelink, whether they want to be or not, with no other employment. but like, a lot of people on centrelink have a job that does not cover enough and need additional financial supports to meet a minimum wage, or are students or apprentices, etc. there are people who go on centrelink on and off to avoid engaging in the jobseeking stuff, they are the real dole bludgers, but a lot of richer people tend to call anyone on 'welfare' bludgers)
don't you come the raw prawn with me - (do not lie to me / don't try that shit with me, mate / I wasn't born yesterday /etc)
dak/dack - to dack someone is to come up behind them and yank their pants down (or skirts). Often taking out your boxers, too.)
budgie smugglers - (speedoes, male swimwear)
togs/toggs or cozzie (swimwear, any kind. cozzie = costume)
mozzie - (mosquito)
better than a kick up the backside /better than a kick in the arse - (pretty self explanatory, one of those phrases parents use to get slightly hurt kids to start laughing and/or coworkers to commisserate about new work rules, etc)
I wouldn't piss on (name) if they were on fire - (self-explanatory, you hate them, or they're a useless tit or an insufferable person /a suckup etc, and you would gladly hand them a match)
one for the road = getting a drink for the road, usually. can also make a joke of it like, "one last piss for the road" = I'm going to the bathroom before I leave
here's your handbag, what's your hurry - probs not an aussie phrase but a common joke in my family
----------------
So like, there's some words and items from Australian Indigenous culture that often get used wrong in stereotypical characters, like saying 'gone walkabout', using 'cooee', making digeridoo jokes, and making some really uncomfy 'savages' statements can be very disrespectful. You might want to go looking into Australia's fucked up policies and historical (and only recent) situations before starting any arguments about this stuff... in many ways it mirrors the cruelty of american colonisers to native american peoples, etc.
Avoid some phrases.
Your character gone to cool their head? He's gone off on to soak his head, or he's on his bike (gone away) but he'll be back...
You can use 'Oi, dickhead!'
Please don't mock the names of towns or places, they are often the names from the traditional custodians and inhabitants.
-----------------
Random things:
We drive on the left side of the road, driver's side reversed.
More of our cars are automatic than manual.
Utes aren't atypical, but bigger vehicles are out in rural areas because more than a few of the rural roads are poorly maintained or dirt, with potholes that yoyo your soul into your body.
If you have a character on a long drive on a non-highway, or rural road:
+if you are on a one-lane road and someone is comingthe other way, you both move half-on, half-off; for big vehicles or trucks, you can choose to pull off completely and stop. Just for safety, esp. in rain, fog, mist or late at night.
+at one-lane bridges, you have a give way sign on one side. if you want your characters to have a moment of 'pause to look at each other while driving' or 'a quiet moment of reflection', have them wait for another car or truck to pass from the other side.
These can be a few metres long, to like, a really long bridge.
+They may pass markers that say 'flood level marker' with numbers of 2, 3 or 5 metres. Could be useful to remark on if your fic needs a reason for them to have a crisis.
+Bushfire warning signs (from Low to Catastrophic) are frequent
+Animal Crossing signs are very frequent, and often have a wildlife rescue number on them
+Water restriction signs are in most small towns, they range from levels 1 to 6. This can change what the characters are allowed to do with water in little towns, etc.
+You may occasionally find a small servo and one or two houses.
+pubs don't open/won't serve alcohol until after 10am.
the joke has always been, 'beer on your cornflakes' but you will never be able to actually get that unless you preplanned the night before in your hotel room.
+Around dawn and dusk, a lot of animals like hares, kangaroos, wallabies, sometimes echidnas and koalas and little numbat things, and snakes and bushmice will be close to the road. Sometimes dashing across. They do not react logically to cars approaching, and will leap out at random. Hares do this zigzag nonsense.
If you need the character to hit the brakes frantically, or swerve, this is a good reason. If you are ever driving here and see an animal on the side of the road, flip lights to low beam, slow down and watch to see how they react. If you can. If there's a truck blaring down on you, you may not be able to.
+Emus are in more rural areas. Echidnas sometimes appear on fringes of towns though.
+Kookaburras are a lovely creature, I have rescued a few and they are nice... but their laugh is very grating when it goes off super early in the morning. They eat snakes (good) and baby birds (not so good).
+Lots of snakes round here. LOTS.
Carpet Snakes are pretty common, red-belly black snakes, eastern brown (big danger!!!), whip snakes have declined in my region, keelback snakes, this one black and white banded one we found deceased, etc. Snakes can climb, snakes can SWIM.
Putting something that stinks around a campsite MAY help, but not always.
+Never go swimming in a dam you don't own, and that hasn't been checked, and if no one knows where you are. How deep is it? What's on the bottom? How stirred is the water? etc.
+Kangaroos CAN drown you. They have perfected this attack, and will do it to humans, dogs and other pursuers alike.
They can also eviscerate you with their hind paws or shatter your ribs with a kick. The 'boxing' they do is exceptionally violent.
This seems to surprise people, but like, giraffes can kill each other by slamming their heads into each other, you think a 7 ft swole motherfucking cryptid can't do harm? They can be lovely tho, if they trust you. But DO NOT GO PETTING WILDLIFE.
+Dropbears, austrilanicus vericanthus bitus, are real.
We do make jokes about them, but they are a Problem. The pee on yourself thing won't ward them off, that's more about working out which tourists are the most gullible (and if they run with it, the moistest) lmao. Akubras and other thicker-layered headwear,
+We have wild dogs and feral pigs. Do not fuck with the feral pigs, some are HUGE, and no... they're not just pigs who escaped farms, these are MASSIVE motherfuckers who will Get You if they See You.
Rustling in the night outside the tent? Good Luck.
+Koalas should not be picked up directly. They have claws, and a lot of them have chamydia. I mean if a character saves one in a fic that's fine I guess, but like... someone's getting antibiotics after that lmao.
They are bigger than you think, dumber than you think, and sometimes they have to be chased across a highway with a windscreen cover bc they're not very bright and keep failing to climb metal fences, lmaoooo
+Towns of about 20-30k will have more shops (some franchise, some local owned), servos, fast food places and usually at least two to three shopping centres. Usually small level entertainments like a cinema, or local groups.
+Towns with 10-20k, may have one or two major shopping centres, servos (tracks and RVs catered to), possibly a maccas, and the majority of stores will be local-owned. May have a cinema, but not one that has the newest releases.
Local council may have more festivals, or 'that one thing they're known for'.
+0-10k towns have a small local store, prices usually a bit higher.
A servo, often with capacity for trucks. Local festivals. Characters can cop a bit of side-eye in these places, esp. if they don't fit the traditional ideas or are loud/violently american.
+Grey nomads are a thing. Old people with fancy caravans who drive So Slow, and move all around aus. Several refused to stop during covid and it was like, WHO DO YOU THNK WE'RE TRYING TO KEEP ALIVE BY STOPPING YOU MOVING THROUGH MULTIPLE TOWNS???
+Some rural areas have legit red dirt, its always super cool to look at. Some places have light brown to dark brown, some have more chalky colours or yellowish dirt. Depends.
+Reminder: Australia has very specific gun laws, if your character/s have weapons then they may need to be sneaky or store them specifically in the vehicle. Although if you're talking about like, mad max type rules, then who cares. But if you have them get into a gun fight in a town, the police will come, etc.
Dunno, just ask if you have a question... just trying to think of random things to paint a picture if you have a character over here for a roadtrip or mission or whatever.
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The Analyst | Night Terrors (2)
Pairing: OT7 x Reader
Summary: The prestigious department of police and investigations in Seoul, Korea, is called to the small town of Cape Springs in rural California. Nothing is quite what it seems here.
Warnings: Blood, violence, you know crime stuff? Fluffy stuff somehow
Genre: Mystery, Crime, Angst, a lil humor, sexual innuendos, BUT I S W E AR DON’T WRITE SMUT OKAY
Word Count: 8k Words (they just keep getting longer omg)
A/N: Let me know your thoughts! Any suspects? Just message me if you want to be tagged!
Thank you so much to @kingbewwy for helping with my story planning and ideas!!
Beautiful header by the wonderful @dnrequests
Other:
Series Masterlist
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You were leaving class, head down, trying to stay out of the way of the students in front of you. Blending into the background was something that you wanted, but you also couldn’t hide your passion for forensic analysis. The entire process fascinated you, plus it was a job that had you easily disappearing from the public eye. You were taking biochemistry, toxicology, and criminal justice to bolster your dreams.
It was a normal day. Normal as it could be for you, anyway. You were currently interning at the local police station on a work study permit. You would go and observe how things worked in your free time, often shadowing the forensic analyst of the team. Jae-hwa was an older man with years of experience, yet no cases to use that experience on. The man would often grumble about the slowness of the town as he showed you how to work the equipment.
Today, you made your way to the station, shoulders drooping under the weight of your backpack.
“Y/N!” Your mentor called. “Come here, we want to introduce you to somebody.”
“Okay?” You dropped your bag in the office lounge and made your way to where you could hear his voice. He stood, a younger man next to him.
“This is Namjoon, he’s interning here as well now.”
You smiled warmly, Namjoon did the same. He had dimples, which you couldn’t help thinking were adorable.
“Nice to meet you, I’m Y/N, I hope we work well together.” You held out your hand and he shook it. His grip was firm, but not tight.
“Nice to meet you as well, and same to you.” He dipped his head in acknowledgement. He seemed cool, calm, and collected. He would make a great police chief. If it weren’t for that hair.You thought to yourself. His bright blue hair might be a little too...funky?
“I’ll let you two get acquainted.” The forensic autopsy technician passed you some money. “Here, go out to lunch or something.”
“Oh, it’s fine, I can pay.” You smiled, offering the cash back to him. You may be a broke college student, but you still refused handouts. The man sighed.
“Just take it, Y/N.” Then he left.
There was an awkward silence as you and the other intern stared at each other. He swallowed, you blinked a couple times. Finally, you cleared your throat.
“I guess we should get going, then I’ll show you around the station.” You announced, headed towards the exit. The blue haired male snapped out of his daze and raced after you.
“So what brings you here?” You asked, turning the corner and scanning the street before quickly crossing the road.
“You just jaywalked.” He brushed past your question. For some reason, his tone made you feel as if you’d just been convicted of murder. Your eyes darted around the block before turning to face him.
“And you have bright blue hair. Don’t point out the obvious. Besides, I don’t see any cops. What are you going to do, arrest me?” You rolled your eyes.
“My hair is perfectly fine- it was just a stupid dare, and anyway aren’t you supposed to be representing the station?”
“It’s not like I’m wearing a uniform or holding a sign screaming that I intern at the police department.” You pursed your lips. Why did he make you so nervous?
“Maybe not, but I am about to be a police chief.” He raised an eyebrow.
Your face went pale.
“What?”
“Yeah, I’m assembling the best of the best to create Bangtan Police Department. We’re going to take the police world by storm.” His chest puffed slightly in pride. You only laughed, watching his expression deflate.
“Namjoon you are hilarious. You’re so young. Just get through this internship and think over it again.” You patted his arm and continued walking down the street. He gaped, once again having to catch up to you.
“Excuse me, I’m sure you’re actually younger than me! And it’s true, it’s going to be great!”
“What are you going to do? Call out every person who jaywalks?” A small smile slid onto your face. He was not as amused.
“I’m going to help with solving murder cases, cold cases, help the poor, anything.”
“Uh huh.” You opened the door to the cafe. “Got any people in mind?”
“I have a couple friends. Yoongi is already known as a top notch investigator and he’s training a rookie named Taehyung, but they’re on board with joining.”
“Min Yoongi? The person who helped solve the murders of Hyun and In-sun?” You tilted your head in interest.
The murders of Hyun and In-sun were a famous case in Korea. The case itself was filled with weird holes and inconsistencies, along with the fact that the local police had been bribed. In the end, the case had gone cold until Min Yoongi came in and solved it within a month. It was...extraordinary. There was something different in the way that man’s mind worked.
“Yeah!” Namjoon nodded enthusiastically. “My father trained him.”
You narrowed your eyes, not believing his story.
“Okay, okay, who else?”
“Well, my second in command will be my long term partner and friend, Kim Seokjin. He’s a reasonable man with experience in the field as a police officer and investigative reporter.”
“Interesting, continue.”
The drinks arrived, condensation dripping off the glasses.
“Well, that’s all I have so far. I’m planning on recruiting more once we get more well known.”
You pinched the bridge of your nose.
“Okay, let me get this straight, lover boy.” You ignored his flushed his face at the nickname you just appointed. “You have four people and you want to start the world’s best investigative slash police team.”
“Yes.” He said, his voice softer and you could tell he was losing his energy. “But I still need an analyst.” He gave you a pointed look.
With a sigh, you studied the man. He had potential, he just needed to cultivate it. With a little growing and pushing, he’d make a great police chief. You sipped your water, mulling over the idea. It was definitely enticing, to offer yourself to him once you were done with your studies, but he was looking for the best of the best.
“You should ask Mr. Jae-hwa.” You decided.
“Who?”
“My mentor. Surely he introduced himself.”
“Well yeah, I remember him I-” He sheepishly ran his fingers through his hair. “Okay, he’s your mentor, right? So why don’t you just...join?”
“I’m inexperienced.” You frowned. “I’ve only been an intern for a year and studying for two.”
“Once you graduate.” He amended. “I think we’d work well together.”
You chuckled, thinking over the opportunity. It was a risk. Every police department was looking for a good forensic analyst, you could find a good job at an established department if you wanted. Still, the offer he was giving you was enticing. Being partners with him didn’t even seem so bad. Namjoon had a hunger inside him. A hunger to prove himself and you could see him going the distance. You picked up your menu, a little smile gracing your lips. You shook your head with amusement.
“You’re too hungry, Namjoon.”
You had been busy. You were already working on several cases and had traveled out to Daegu to personally investigate a case. It was about a head found in a car, the body found a few days later in a house. There was lots of blood. You placed the cotton swab into a tube and sealed it up to test later. Then you maneuvered around the crime scene, trying to avoid all the police doing their jobs. You had a habit of trying to shrink, to stay out of everyone’s way as much as possible.
That’s when Namjoon called you. You frowned. Isn’t he in America? You glanced at the time. 4:15 P.M. You sighed, picking it up. Typical, for him to call in the middle of the night.
“Namjoon, why the fuck are you calling me? You know I’m busy, as I said, you could just send your samples to the forensic analyst back at Bangtan….are you doubting my team’s capabilities?” You scoffed at his urgent tone. “There’s no reason for an ‘on site’ analyst.”
You put him onto speaker phone and stepped into your car.
“Yeah, we also have murders over here, what makes you so special?”
“And here I remembered you being so nice.” His muffled voice came through the speaker.
“Excuse me! I am nice! I just don’t enjoy being pulled away, I have an important job to do here too.” You complained to him, indicating and turning left.
“Please!” A new voice came through the phone, audio cracking and popping from bad connection.
“Taehyung, is that you?” Your eyebrows furrowed. “The connection is so poor here.” You glanced at your samples.
You could send these to your team and join Namjoon and the others. It had been a little under a week since you last saw them and your skin was just itching to be near them again. Perhaps it was a silly little crush, or crushes if you factored in the fact that there were seven of them. You didn’t think it possible, but here you were, pining after seven of your coworkers.
“Fine!” You cried over their voices shouting into the phone. You parked in front of your hotel. You were already clearing your schedule and arranging for the samples to be sent to your team of analysts. “I’ll be there in two days, just please grab some blood swabs for me.” You huffed, hanging up.
You pressed your forehead to the wheel of the car, a sigh escaping your lips as you pressed your eyes shut. These boys were already giving you a headache and you weren’t even with them yet.
Two days later, a Tuesday, you set your bags down in the empty lobby of the Cape Springs police station. You arrived like the plague doctor, briefcase and everything, the fading sun behind you. The dust made you want to sneeze, your nose scrunching up as you fought the urge. You decided to go straight to the police station, y’know, for funsies; and also to surprise them. The hard suitcase that held your equipment was in hand as you sneakily made your way through the building.
You could hear the murmur of their voices and you turned right down a short hallway. There was an open door that led to a conference room with a large round table. Eight chairs were pulled up, one empty, a ninth chair in the corner occupied by a small looking girl. She was eagerly taking notes of the conversation.
“Once Y/N arrives, we can finally look over the samples. My best guess is Rohypnol but you never know, it could be something less traceable, like oxygen injected into the bloodstream.” Namjoon declared.
“But we’ve never found any discarded needles, that seems nonsensical.” Jimin pointed out.
“Rohypnol is a good guess, based on the reports you sent in.” You leaned against the door frame, arms crossed. A sly smile graced your lips.
Startled, eight heads turned to face you. Seven smiles broke out.
“Y/N! You’re finally here!” Taehyung jumped up, Jungkook following suit. You opened your arms, used to their tag team hugs.
You peer over the taller men’s shoulders, just barely, to catch Namjoon smiling with, perhaps, relief. Jin was observing the sight, amusement evident in his posture, Hoseok was quick to wait behind Jimin who was also awaiting your hug. Then there was Yoongi who didn’t seem bothered at all, yielding no reaction.
You weren’t exactly disappointed, this was his usual behavior, but it was surprising. Time to fix that attitude. You had always been a motherly figure, despite your lack of interest in having children. The two younger ones pulled away and before Jimin and Hoseok could launch forward, you put up a hand to stop them.
“Yoongi.” You barked harshly, placing your hands on your hips. He groaned loudly, like a reluctant teenager. “Is that any way to greet your mother?” You frowned in mock disapproval. “Come give me a hug.” You opened your arms up to him and made a grabbing motion with your fingers.
“You’re not my mother, I’m way older than you.” He grumbled, standing and giving you a quick hug. You flushed proudly. Everyone, you included, knew Yoongi would follow your orders, begrudgingly, yes, but he would still follow them no matter what. He held a deep respect for you, despite being four years older. You never knew where it came from, but it was there.
After the awkward hug, Jimin and Hoseok embraced you. They giggled and easily snitched on the misbehavior of their friends, receiving annoyed shouts from the other boys.
“Taehyung!” You cried, horrified. “Is it true you’ve only been eating french toast for all your meals?!”
“That’s not completely true. I ate regular toast once when they were out of ingredients for french toast.” Taehyung said grimly, his face without a trace of humor. You just huffed and turned to the remaining people.
The girl was visibly startled by all the commotion and she stood next to Jin and Namjoon. A little too close. Your eyes narrowed, but you shook your head. You needed to focus on the task at hand.
There was still a twinge of jealousy. You were the only female in the inner circle, the best of the best. The eight wonders of the crime world. Each specializing in a different area, constantly called upon for the biggest of mysteries. Every single one, without fail, ended with a stamp on the file; Case solved.
“And who is this?” You tried to hide the slightest twinge of jealousy in your gut. She seemed to be a perfectly nice girl, a bit fragile looking, but someone with the face of an angel. She looks like she wouldn’t hurt a fly.
“This is Hae-won.” Jungkook grinned. “She’s my age and she’s here to study the process!” He explained excitedly.
“That’s great, Jungkook. Lovely to meet you, Hae-won.” You passed off her slight narrowing of eyes to a trick of the light. After all, the sun was coming in low at this hour and it could have been shining in her eyes. You held up the hard suitcase that had your heavy equipment. “Where can I set up my equipment?”
“O-over here.” Hae-won stuttered, rushing ahead to show you the old forensic room. “We haven’t had the need for it in a while, I’m sorry it’s so dusty.” She apologized, dipping her head in embarrassment.
“It’s perfect, thank you.” You bowed to her and she left the room to leave you to set up.
You took out your plastic test tubes, ziplocs, microscope, and petri dishes. Then you checked to make sure your camera wasn’t scratched before throwing open the blinds. The window was facing the opposite direction from the sun so all you could see was a long shadow hitting the building next door.
“Joonie?” You barked from your room. You made a note to pick up wipes to clean up the place.
“Yes?” His footsteps pounded down the hallway and then skidded to a halt outside the door.
“Did you get the blood samples like I asked?” You asked, a cheery tone to your voice.
“Yes, but can’t you wait? I know you’re a workaholic, but we’re heading out to the diner for some dinner.”
“No wonder you guys haven’t been able to solve anything.” You rolled your eyes.
“First of all!” Namjoon sputtered, “Betty’s diner has excellent food and second of all, we need to eat, unlike you. You’re like a vampire, you only need blood to survive.”
“I enjoy my work.” You said dryly, giving him a hard look, fingertips pressed together.
“Yeah, yeah, just a little too much.”
“If this is your way of asking me to live a little, I will have you know that my work is very fulfilling.” Especially when I get to work 24/7 with you guys.
Namjoon sighed and crossed his arms. “You will only get the samples once we go out for food. You will eat at all mealtimes and that’s an order.”
“Fine.” You grumbled, turning around to take out the last lense. “Who else is going to supervise that Tae gets a balanced diet?”
“That’s the spirit.”
He turned to leave, but he lingered in the doorway. His hand rested on the wooden door frame, tethering him to the room. You admired the way his smooth brown hair looked as it became dusk.
It had taken forever, but you had convinced him to stop dying it blue in college. It’s damaging the hell out of your roots and how is anyone going to take you seriously with vibrant blue hair? That’s what you had said. He had relented after some push back and now you were blessed to see his beautiful hazel brown hair.
“By the way, we missed you.” Namjoon murmured softly, you almost didn’t catch it. It was a surprise, but the fearless police chief had a soft voice, one that could easily be missed if you weren’t listening.
“I was gone for under a week before you needed my help.”
His lips quirked into a smile, hand slipping from the door frame as he retreated back to the meeting room.
You decided Hae-won didn’t talk much. You tried to engage her in conversation, but she had responded half-heartedly several times and you gave up trying to push it. A part of you had hoped you would become friends, maybe talk about something other than the murders. Because contrary to popular belief, you weren’t a complete workaholic. Which, now that you thought about it, Namjoon was being a huge ass hypocrite.
Whenever you were on a job with the other seven men, all they could talk about was the case and if they were going to drag you out to dinner, you didn’t want to be regaled with tales of disembodied heads and people being cut open. It just wasn’t polite.
“Hae-won, what did you order?” You asked, trying to include the girl who seemed to shrink with every passing minute.
She avoided your gaze, mumbling something to the table, or it may have been to you. You couldn’t tell because she refused to look anywhere except the ground.
“She said she ordered a burger.” Jungkook nodded at you. You raised an eyebrow.
“She can tell me that herself, yeah?” You didn’t mean it so harshly, it just came out that way.
“Hae-won is just a little shy!” Taehyung interjected, rushing to the girl’s defense. You just narrowed your eyes further.
“And what did you say she was studying to be?” You weren’t an interrogator or investigator by any means, but you had seen Yoongi and Taehyung at work before.
“An interrogation officer.” Yoongi drawled, taking a sip of his water and looking like he wished it were alcohol instead.
“Interesting.” You murmured. Maybe she was just nervous about meeting new people, but she would have to get over that quickly if she wanted to last.
“Oh yeah, I found something at the crime scene yesterday. I wanted to check again.” Jimin said, bringing the conversation back.
“And?” Namjoon looked expectantly at him.
“Well it was after we went to retrieve the samples for Y/N and…” He shook his head. “I think it’s better to discuss it in detail in the meeting tomorrow.” He sighed. “I just wanted to give you a heads up.”
“Too bad we didn’t bring in a forensic autopsy technician.” Taehyung sighed, head resting on Jimin’s shoulder.
It made the man tense, but Taehyung had never been good at reading the room. Namjoon kicked the poor boy under the table, making him jolt upright with an awkward chuckle. Small town, things are different here. It was like the token red dot in a sea of blue.
“I interned under a forensic autopsy technician. I don’t know much, but I understand the process.” You cracked your knuckles, already trying to recall the steps you’d seen Jae-hwa, your mentor, go through. Namjoon nodded along with your statement, having worked alongside you.
“Of course our very own specialist isn’t just experienced in one area.” Jungkook puffed his chest out and you tried to hide the flutter in your heart and the heat crawling up your neck.
“Can I visit the crime scene tomorrow?” You asked, though you would even if they told you no.
“Yes, of course. Do it before the meeting so you can discuss your findings.” Jin nodded.
“When is the meeting?” You were exhausted, jetlag wearing you down.
“2:00 P.M. tomorrow.”
“Okay.” You made a mental note of it. “I’ll be there. Would anyone like to join me?”
“Uh, yeah.” Jimin quickly raised his hand. “I’d like to check it out more.”
“I’ll go too.” Hoseok said, having not spoken much, which was odd for the hyper police officer.
He had spent the time whispering things to Hae-won. It looked like they were in their own little fantasy, their own fan club. For some reason, your blood began to boil at the thought. Calm down. It’s nothing. There’s nothing going on here. You’ve known these boys forever. If anyone is going to be with them, it’ll be you. The last sentence in your mental monologue made you internally slap yourself. How can you think like that? Just shut up and do your job.
Right, maybe your job could distract you from whatever feelings you had towards your incredibly handsome coworkers. Besides, they had a job to do too. The last thing on their minds should be their love life, so the same should apply to you.
“I have french toast?” The waiter asked. You turned your head to face Taehyung so fast you almost got whiplash.
“You bastard, you said you were getting the hamburger.”
He just grinned evilly and leaned over the table to take his plate.
You had seen plenty of dead bodies before, but usually it was easier when they were cleaned up. God, it was like no one understood how autopsies worked in this place. You couldn’t just deal with this bloodied corpse, you need to be able to see and analyse the wound.
Having Namjoon there helped you with your frustration as you swiped at the blood staining the victim’s, Hak-kun, neck. You ignored the goosebumps that broke out when your finger brushed over his very cold and very dead skin. Namjoon looked more disturbed while you held a calm facade.
Right, he’d seen Hak-kun alive and breathing just days prior. The man had seen him warm and full of blood pumping through his heart. The contrast must be disconcerting.
“Namjoon, you really don’t have to be here.” You said softly. You may be a dumb ass sometimes when it came to emotions, but you weren’t heartless. Besides, you could feel the waves of anxiety rolling off him.
Ever the brave chief, he shook his head and took a step closer.
“It’s fine, really.” He swallowed thickly in a way that screamed definitely not fine. “I want to help.”
He could be a real help, you knew that, but your guilt won out. “No it’s okay, I insist. Actually, it would be better if you left while I examined the body.”
“I don’t believe you.” There wasn’t a hint of amusement in his voice.
“Okay, fine, but just stand where you won’t be in the way and take note of everything I say.” You quickly amend. Once Namjoon pulls the ‘I don’t believe you’ card, there’s no escaping his words.
“Alright.” He seemed content with that.
You picked up your scissors to get ready to cut away at the dirtied fabric. You took another moment to look at him. He was standing dutifully, a pen and notepad in hand. He waited expectantly.
“If this becomes too much for you to watch, I won’t fault you for leaving.” Your eyes clouded over in sympathy. He scoffed.
“You underestimate your chief.”
“If you say so.” You then set to cutting away the strips of cloth that covered the abdomen. You took a moment to search for bruising. You found none. “No bruising visible on abdomen, though I speculate there are some on the back, according to Jimin’s description.” Your voice was monotone, calm, without a single waver.
“The neck has been cut deep. I can guess that the killer is experienced. It’s a clean cut, straight down and cutting through the sternocleidomastoid.” You leaned down, surveying for any other nicks.
“I see no other points of contact, the neck being the only surface bloodied. No extra cuts, it’s not messy.” You rolled the body over and cut away the back. Your eyebrows furrowed together. Your lack of speaking caused Namjoon to look up.
He eyed the bruises warily as you moved more cloth aside.
“There is severe bruising along the vertebrae.” You dictated, eyeing the dark spots along the spine. “Most likely caused by dragging. There are other bruises, they look roughly the size of fingerprints.”
You took out the tape set on the tray beside you and pressed a strip to one of the dark spots. “I’ll analyse this, see if there’s any fingerprints. From where they’re located and from the bruising, I can guess that the killer is smaller in stature. Most likely having to drag the victim to his final resting place, unable to support his weight.” You thought for a moment. “That’s enough for now.”
You cut some fabric and placed them in ziploc bags. Then you wheeled the body back into a cold storage unit. You cleaned up your workstation and then left Namjoon trailing behind you.
“How did you figure all that out?” He asked after a moment.
“Those are just my guesses, they aren’t the law.” You smiled gently. “I’m trained to give my best guesses.” You walked ahead. “Now, let’s go visit that crime scene.”
The ground was free of blood. You had even gotten on your stomach to check and found nothing. This could only mean that Hak-kun was murdered in his car. That also made little sense and his positioning was confusing as well. He had been resting against the dashboard, looking peacefully asleep. It was also odd how he even managed to get into his car. A small town like this didn’t have security cameras up and around so that could give no answers.
The only traces of blood were in the car. Drugs must have played a part in this, why else didn’t he fight back? Your stomach turned. This was definitely an odd case. The murders were cold, calculated, well thought out and tracks well covered. It was exceptionally easy to get away with these in such a small town.
You arrived back at the police station to see if your samples were done. They were, and the results were not surprising. Rohypnol. Most commonly known as the date rape drug, it acted fast to immobilize an unsuspecting person. You printed out the results, because thank god they had wifi here at least, and left for the meeting.
The meeting room wasn’t big and with nine of you in it, the walls were suffocatingly close.
“Okay, let’s begin.” Namjoon said as everyone settled into their seats. Hae-won took the seat in the corner. “Jimin, start.”
The detective nodded to his superior and turned to grab his briefcase off the floor. He placed it on the table with a thump. Everyone in the room waited with bated breath. The pink haired man pulled on blue plastic gloves and took out a plastic bag. Inside of it was a beret. It was black with a little gold button in the center. It could be considered cute if it wasn’t found at a murder sight.
“I was looking around and I accidentally bumped open the glove compartment. I found this.” He explained, pulling it out with a gloved hand and turning it to show everyone. Hae-won let out a small gasp.
“That’s mine!” She squeaked. “It went missing a few days ago.”
You exchanged a worried look with your coworkers. Carefully, you placed your files on the table and stood. You crouched in front of her, the men watching you. You placed your hands on hers; she was trembling.
“Hae-won, love.” You smiled softly. “You realize this incriminates you, yes?”
She shook her head violently and pulled her hands away from you. In her eyes, you didn’t see any sign of a killer. You only saw a scared girl, a shaking, terrified out of her mind, girl.
“I-I didn’t-didn’t-” She stuttered, breathless.
Jungkook quickly jumped up, rushing over to comfort the girl. You were pushed aside and you tried your best to keep a frown off your face. You settled for an impassive look.
“Y/N! How could you suggest such a thing, can’t you see Hae-won wouldn’t even hurt a fly. She’s scared of walking home alone at night, you think she’s going to murder five people?” Jungkook seethed. You ignored the rage boiling in your stomach.
“It’s proper procedure, she needs to know.” You tutted.
“And you’re being heartless.” Jungkook hissed. You were taken aback, lips pressing into a thin line.
“I’m doing my job, Jeon.” You said coldly. “Listen, I read the case file, I know you found Hak-kun’s tie and then he was murdered, so there’s a possibility that these talismans are a sign of who is next.” You pointed to the beret as you spoke, trying to shrug off your pain.
“In that case, we need Hae-won under constant surveillance when Saturday rolls around.” Jin said. Instantly they all looked to Hoseok.
“What? Why me?” The man furrowed his eyebrows.
“Have you forgotten? You’re one of the only formally trained and active police officers we have. Jin is too old.” Yoongi smirked.
“Excuse me!” Jin gaped, mouth opening and closing to find a response.
“And if she is the murderer, then we can watch her carefully.” Namjoon turned to you, seeing if this placated you. It wasn’t like you needed to be satisfied by any agreement. You were just doing your damn job, why couldn’t they?
“I have no problem with that.” You sat down in your chair. “Anyway,” You opened your file as the room went back to order. “I found, very obviously, traces of Rohypnol. The victim was definitely drugged, the question is how.”
“All the evidence we have is the glass of spilt water we found. I can only guess he took it voluntarily.” Jin pointed out.
“Well, didn’t he mention having a headache in that tape? He could have easily been convinced.” Jimin leaned back, crossing his arms. There was a tense silence as everyone worked to put pieces together.
“There has to be a motive, there hasn’t to be a reason these people are connected.” You drummed your fingers on the table restlessly.
You didn’t want to be suspicious of Jin, but you were. If he wasn’t the murderer, was it possible he was involved with them? He was the last one in the surveillance room. You didn’t want to accuse him and you were busy denying it to yourself, but it was a possibility. Surely, Yoongi and Taehyung had thought of it as well and brushed it off.
“Hyung, don’t you think that it’s odd that the footage was looping.” Jungkook turned to Jin. “Isn’t security footage one of your specialties? You stayed late, you didn’t notice that he was looping?”
The second in command narrowed his eyes at the young male. “Are you suggesting I have something to do with this?”
There was an intense stare off as they glared at each other. Namjoon reached up to put a hand on his partner’s shoulder and Taehyung frowned at Jungkook. These seven men were the only ones you could trust in a case, what happens when that comes into question? The distrust would run rampant. Namjoon must have been on the same thought line as you because he broke the stare off by clearing his throat.
“Absolutely not, it would make no sense and Seokjin has been nothing but loyal all these years. He has no motive and he’s a trustworthy man.”
“I just think it’s something to ponder over.” The glorified coffee boy said.
“No. We don’t throw accusations around like that, Jeon.” Yoongi turned to scold the maknae. The boy simply shrugged, swiping his bangs off his face.
“It’s odd, that’s all.” He shrugged nonchalantly, ignoring the redness of Seokjin’s face.
Your eyes surveyed the room, noting the tense posture of Jin, the frown still plastered on Taehyung’s lips, the laid back nature of Yoongi, Hoseok’s arm around Jimin, and you decided to break it up.
“Okay, that’s enough. Apologize, Jeon.” You said sternly. The young man, who had been so confident a second before, now looked like a kicked puppy.
“I’m doing my job.”
“You don’t have a job here.” Namjoon drawled.
Jungkook’s face lit up red, embarrassment taking over.
“Yah! We let you sit here and then you go and accuse our second!” Taehyung shouted, jumping up. Jungkook scrambled back as the tall man stalked over to him.
“Kim Taehyung, sit the fuck back down.” You hissed. “And you too, Jungkook.”
They both halted immediately and sat back down. Taehyung swallowed.
“You guys are acting like children.” You huffed. “Now, let me continue.” You took out some papers and shuffled them. “First, it was a clean job. The stroke was purposeful along the jugular. There were no other signs of struggle except the bruises on his back, which could be attributed to being dragged along the pavement. I found no other DNA except Hak-kun’s.” You read.
“The killer was very clean indeed.” Namjoon responded, everyone remained silent. The tensions falling over the room like a thick blanket.
“Okay, I can’t think in this tension. You guys work your shit out, I’m going to look over the tapes again.” Yoongi stood and promptly left.
Your eyes trailed his figure as he stormed down the hall. The door to the room currently dubbed the ‘investigator’s nest’ slammed shut. Taehyung sighed and some of the tension left the room when he stood as well.
“I better go check up on him and work through some files.” He announced, not waiting for Namjoon to dismiss him before he left. You could hear him padding softly down the hall and knocking on the door.
The others gradually stood, making up some excuse or another before it was just you, sitting dumbfounded along with Namjoon, and Hae-won. There was a long, drawn out, silence that stretched between you three. You were an unlikely trio with no Jungkook to bridge the gap. You just stood and left, no further words needed. Besides, you wanted to test for fingerprints on the fabric.
Down the hallway, to the left, the Investigator’s Nest was closed to prying eyes. Taehyung sat on the floor, surrounded by old case files and manila folders. Yoongi sat at the desk, earbuds in as he listened to the tapes once more.
“You know, hyung, no matter how many times you listen to those tapes, nothing new is going to come up. Hak-kun obviously isn’t guilty.” Taehyung said, picking up a paper and reading it. The head investigator didn’t look up from the screen, but he did take an earbud out.
“I don’t think he’s guilty, I’m just wondering if he knew who it was. Maybe that’s why he so willingly took the drugs, maybe he recognized them.”
“You and I have both listened to those tapes so many times I could recite every line from memory.” Taehyung grumbled. He stretched out his legs, avoiding the neat stacks he had littered around.
“I know, I know.” Yoongi sighed and lightly slapped his face to stay awake. His eyes hurt.
“And we both know that he doesn’t mention anyone other than Mun-hee.”
“Maybe he was working with the killer?”
“Why would he be dead now then?”
“I. Don’t. Know.” Yoongi said through gritted teeth.
“Hyung…” The younger male stood and walked over standing behind him. His slender fingers started kneading Yoongi’s shoulders.
Taehyung had been feeling lonely, just a little. Though Yoongi and him slept together, the older man rarely showed his affections. It was the opposite to Taehyung’s openly affectionate personality. Now that they were in a small town, the prejudice was palpable everytime they hugged so Yoongi had basically cut him off from that as well.
“What’s wrong, Tae?” Of course he knew something was up with his young lover.
Yoongi had learned over the years how Taehyung ticked, how he functioned. He knew he had been somewhat neglectful, but he was more concerned about being beat up if the town found out about them.
“You know you haven’t kissed me since we arrived at the airport?” Taehyung murmured in Yoongi’s ear. It would be seductive if Taehyung didn’t genuinely want a kiss. Instead, it came across more whiny.
The investigator sighed and turned around in his chair to look over the taller man. He placed his hands on his hips.
“Is that really all you want?” He fought to keep the flush off his face.
Taehyung nodded wordlessly, leaning down, but Yoongi spotted an odd file on the ground. He moved his head, causing Taehyung to shout in anguish as he just missed his lips.
“In a moment, Tae.” Yoongi stood abruptly, causing Taehyung to stumble back a few steps.
The other man looked hurt, opening his mouth to say something when he saw Yoongi bend down to pick up a file. The head investigator opened the file, flipping through it until he suddenly stopped.
“What is it, Yoongs?” Taehyung peered over the man’s shoulder, but he turned the other way. With a huff, he stood back, studying Yoongi’s face.
“I found something interesting.” His eyes were focused on one spot, one picture.
A girl, her throat slit, blood pooling on the dashboard. She looked like she fell asleep at the wheel. Her hair splayed around her head, soaked in her own red liquid. His eyes trailed up the page. It was dated two years before. The picture was labeled ‘People V.S. Paek Cho, exhibit A’. He flipped to the next page. There was a newspaper article cut out. He examined it, frowning.
“Farmer Chung-hee’s daughter, Joo-Eun, found dead in her car, Rohypnol in her system. Officers claim there was no sign of sexual trauma, however. Paek Cho, an accomplished student and outstanding citizen is convicted of her murder…” Yoongi murmured, reading over the article.
“....Father had to be dragged out of the room by officers once the sentence was read out. An anonymous friend of Joo-Eun testifies against Paek Cho, stating ‘he always gave them the creeps’. Paek Cho receives one year of community service after being convicted of collusion in the murder, but in the end there was not enough evidence to convict the young man of first degree murder or even manslaughter.” He stopped, reading the last sentence in his mind. It’s odd, considering the amount of indisputable evidence stacked against Mr. Paek. His mind was racing with possibilities.
These murders and the murder of Joo-Eun held a shocking resemblance. It could be a way to get back at the town, but the only person mentioned who would have such a motive would be Chung-hee, the farmer, and no one in town had even mentioned him. He threw the file onto the desk.
“Taehyung, tell me what you see.”
The dark haired man picked up the file and flipped through it. “Oh.” was all he said.
His eyes were surveying the same picture, the article, everything.
“Why is the file so empty?” He murmured. He then skipped to the last few pages. “Wait.” He took out the article and placed it carefully down. The paper was old and worn.
“What is it?” Yoongi leaned over, placing his hands on the desk.
“It says here that Mun-hee was a juror at the trial, so was our Jane Doe.” Taehyung pointed to their names.
Yoongi’s eyes snapped up to meet Taehyung’s.
“Taehyung, we need those court documents, now.”
Slam. A thick binder of papers was dropped onto the desks. Jin looked up from his studies, Namjoon leaning over him as they spoke in hushed voices. Jimin was joking about something with Hoseok and Hae-won, who was now under 24/7 surveillance. You stood to the side, talking to Jungkook about your results and also trying to give him some pointers on holding his tongue.
Everyone’s eyes trailed to Taehyung and Yoongi’s panting forms in the doorway then to the binder on the desk. Dust flew from underneath, making Taehyung cough, the sound turning to a wheeze because of how out of breath he was.
“Did you guys just run a marathon or something?” You raised an eyebrow.
“Shut up, Y/N. You know I would never put myself through such torture.” Yoongi scoffed.
“We went to town hall to retrieve some court documents.” Taehyung explained quickly. He then went on to explain their previous discussion in detail, Yoongi chiming in every so often.
“Hae-won, are you alright?” Namjoon interrupted, looking at the trembling girl. She looked like she was panicking, sweat beading on her forehead.
“It’s just not right! They let Cho off so easily, it’s not justice, it’s against everything the law stands for.” She cried out, literally shaking with rage as she spoke. You, along with everyone else, were surprised by her outburst. Hae-won was a curious creature, hm?
“Were you a part of the case?” You prodded, subtly asking why she was so worked up. There would be no other reason for these emotions.
She had such bitterness apparent in her eyes. You watched her carefully, eyes drinking in her movements. You took note of the slightest twitch in her fingers, the crescent prints she left in the palms of her hands, the way her lips tugged downwards.
“N-no.” She said, her voice reverted to the quiet girl you all knew her as. She sat back down, taking in a shaky breath. “I just love this town, this is a sore spot for a lot of the good people in town.” She said sweetly.
“But you knew the jury members?” Jin asked.
“Yes, I...I went to school with them. We were seniors, a lot of us were 18 and the town is small, they don’t have a big pool of choices for jury members.” She explained.
“Right.” Yoongi nodded, seemingly understanding. He then turned his attention to the file in front of him and you did the same. “It looks like, just as we suspected, Hak-kun, Mun-hee, Jane Doe, and the two previous murders were jury members.”
“Poor Chung-hee was never the same after that trial.” Hae-won suddenly said, her voice ladened with pain. “He lives alone now, outside of town; doesn’t speak to anyone, refuses to even look the folks here in the eye.”
Once again, your attention drifted back to Hae-won.
“Did you know her, Joo-Eun?” You asked the girl.
“Yeah, but only a little. We went to the same high school, but she was always nice!” Hae-won said. “I just remember once she came out to meet me when I was about to head home. It was winter and the sun set early, you know? So anyway, it was getting dark and I remember how she grabbed my arm, her face pale. She said to me ‘I think someone is following me, please walk home with me.’ I didn’t think much of it. We don’t have any creepers, you know? But Paek Cho was always off.” She shrugged. Then suddenly she looked stricken, like she didn’t mean to say that much. The dark haired girl covered her face with her hands.
“Can you tell us anything else?” You asked softly.
“I’m sorry, I don’t-I don’t remember. I think she asked me to walk her home from a party once but I refused.” She sighed. “Then she was dead the next day. I was too busy studying for my finals.”
She may have been a harmless bystander, but it was obvious this weighed on her. “I often think about how I was the last person she contacted. I barely knew her and suddenly I was roped in.” She looked close to tears so you went over and hugged her.
The others remained silent, watching the interaction. Namjoon felt his heart flutter when you made eye contact with him. He couldn’t help imagining your arms wrapped around him.
“You said Chung-hee remained outside of town?” Namjoon questioned, not daring to take a step. He was worried he would throw off the delicate balance of tension in the room.
“Yes, but he’s not the murderer! He wouldn’t hurt anyone, he’s just a little grumpy, a real loner.” Hae-won cried.
“How are you connected with him, Hae-won?” Yoongi asked, his voice gentle, but prying.
“I’ve just-I used to buy my produce fresh from him.” She answered easily. “He was always kind.”
Yoongi nodded at her response.
“Jungkook, please take Hae-won out for some fresh air. It’s stuffy and dusty in here, it can’t be helping the situation.” Jin said factually. Jungkook nodded, despite their earlier differences, he still listened to his superior.
Once they were gone, you all stared at each other.
“Okay, I’ll say it then.” Taehyung broke the silence. “Chung-hee is the most obvious suspect here. He fits all the descriptions, he has a motive, he doesn’t speak to anyone in town.”
“But Hae-won said-” Hoseok began.
“I don’t give a rats ass about what Hae-won said.” Yoongi interrupted. “We need to investigate him.”
“It just doesn’t feel right. Something about it isn’t right, but it wouldn’t hurt to check it out, I suppose.” Hoseok relented. You noted that he spent a lot of time giving in to the others. It could be that he had an inferiority complex, being seen as your run of the mill police officer.
“Hoseok, you have opinions too, we’re okay with hearing them out, right Yoongi?” Jimin seemed to follow your thoughts.
“Uh, uh, right.” Hoseok murmured, suddenly bashful now that the spotlight was on him.
He realized that he so rarely was asked what he thought. The man spent a lot of time just following their orders; he trusted them wholly and completely. His faith had never wavered in his partners, his coworkers, his lovers. It felt unreasonable, rude, and downgrading if he tried to bring up his lowly opinions; as if he was tainting their genius by bringing his own stupidity into it. After all, he never finished college. He went straight to the police academy, deciding school just wasn’t for him.
“I just, Chung-hee doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to-to do such a petty thing.” He tried to explain his gut feeling.
“We don’t know what kind of person he is, yet, Hobi.” Jin narrowed his eyes, almost accusing him of colluding with the murderer.
Once again, Hoseok was reminded of his inferiority. Of course, of course. But then an angel sang and came to his defense.
“I have to agree with Hobi.” You said firmly. “My mind is saying ‘it’s obviously him’, but my gut is telling me no.”
Hoseok was...shocked. No one really defended him in these sorts of discussions. It felt out of character for you to do such a thing, often found laughing alongside the others.
“As much as I respect your gut, Y/N.” Taehyung began, a condescending tone dripping from his words, “This is our job. We can’t just not investigate people who are obviously linked to a crime.”
“But in what way? Because this poor man’s daughter was murdered two years ago? You think that’s enough to implicate him in a crime today?”
“No! But you’re missing the point!” Taehyung hissed, running a hand through his hair. “It wouldn’t be a big deal if the crime wasn’t exactly the same.”
You sighed, giving up your fight as your gut twisted. Poor Chung-hee, a farmer who probably just wanted to live his life and get far away from the law, was about to be dragged into another mess.
“Hoseok, go get Kookie and Hae-won. We leave tomorrow.” Namjoon’s eyes were cold, not a hint of emotion betrayed in his stance. “Dismissed.”
You turned away, taking Hoseok’s arm in yours.
“I hope you’re doing the right thing, Namjoon.” Venom fell from your lips. You turned away and followed Hoseok out the door.
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Life Update since I hadn't been on here in forever
The pandemic was/is wild! Lockdowns started literally around the time we were going to the fertility specialist to get her pregnant. I lost my job to COVID in March shortly before we did the procedure, but we decided there's never really a good time to have a kid. Why not during a global pandemic when one of us in unemployed? (BTW, I don't recommend having a kid during a pandemic. Not being able to go to all of the appointments and having to sit in the parking lot was brutal.)
Let's talk about May friends...it was rough. (TW for mention of suicide btw. I'll post a gif where it's safe to start again if you wanna skip over it.)
So May 1st is the anniversary of my father's suicide. It had been 4 years. I found his body and since he wasn't married, I had to handle his affairs and arrange his funeral. May 1st, 2020 my wife and I had a Zoom game night with our friends and I got drunk because everyone was drinking (except my wife because she was pregnant). After our game night at like 2am, I had a psychotic break. I threatened to kill myself numerous times. My wife tried to talk me down, but eventually called the cops to take me. I thank her for that because looking back, that was the moment I knew something needed to change. I was convinced the cops were gonna kill me because I'm a trans dude in rural West Texas. I legit took the phone out of my wife's hand, hung up on 911, and yeeted her phone across the backyard and tried to hop the fence. Eventually the cops came and talked me down. They took me to the hospital an hour away in handcuffs (for their protection I did nothing wrong). They took me to the religious hospital that I was born in. So when they looked up my info by my name and date of birth from my driver's license (I only changed my middle name) literally all my paperwork and my bracelet had my deadname and wrong gender despite all of my legal stuff saying male with my new middle name. I mentioned it to them and they didn't care. They misgendered me the entire time I was there. I had hit my head hella hard on the bath tub when my wife was trying to snap me out of it, did the hospital even check me for concussion? Nope. I had punched so many things and my hand and wrist were swollen and discolored. Did they check out my hand and wrist? Nope. I was there for over 10 hours before I was able to convince them I was okay and that it was just the alcohol. Did I mention during that 10 hours I was literally out in the hall on a gurney with no mask and this was when COVID was running rampant in Texas (the first time)? I heard people die that night. I had nothing to distract me because they took away all of my personal items and clothes. My wife picked me up and we went home and I have been sober ever since. It's not the first psychotic break I've had with alcohol in my system. Alcohol just doesn't agree with me, but I'm finding new things to replace it with.
TW has been lifted...it's safe now.
A couple of weeks after that I began teletherapy because I had been on the same mood stabilizer and anti-depressant for almost a decade. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense that I felt like it hadn't been working for at least a year. This is a reminder to check in with your doctor if you feel like your meds aren't working. You may just need a different dose or a new med. There's no shame in that. I bounced around on various medications trying to find the right combo, some side effects scarier than others, but we got there. Before this, I had been diagnosed with ADHD, Major Depressive Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, and Generalized Anxiety Disorder. My therapist threw out my Borderline diagnosis and said it was CPTSD instead, which made sense.
Fast forward to December because my wife was pregnant, I was unemployed still, and we did absolutely fuck-all because the global panini was still raging.
Our son was born on December 3, 2020. He weighed 5lbs 9oz and scared the ever loving shit out of us. He wasn't breathing when he was born so they called NICU in ASAP. I'm freaking out because I can hear and see what's going on while my wife was asking if he was okay as they put her guts back in place to sew her up. 5 or so minutes pass and a nurse asks if I want her to take some pictures. I'm like is he okay, he still hasn't cried. She's like "oh yeah, he's chillin." This goon was being held by a nurse and was just looking around not crying or anything. Chillest baby ever (he still is btw). I held him next to my wife's head until it was time to go back to the room. Little dude did have to spend 4 nights in the NICU because he couldn't keep his sugars or temperature regulated, but he was healthy otherwise. He's now 4 months old and is starting to sit up on his own a little bit and he's OBSESSED with standing. He's still a little guy, but very healthy and growing like a weed. He saves my life daily.
So after being unemployed for over 9 months, I started a new job working in a call center. I absolutely hate talking on the phone. It gives me anxiety and throws me into panic attacks, but I had been putting out hundreds of job applications since I lost my last job and this was the first offer I got. I wasn't really in a position to turn it down since my unemployment had ran out 2 months prior. It was 2 months of training, then we'd be on our own. I got thru the training and thought I could handle it...until they started putting us on live calls with someone helping us if we got stuck. My mental health hit the lowest point it had in a few years and my wife was terrified she was going to lose me. She convinced me to quit on February 28th (not because I didn't want to, but because I'm a stubborn ass who felt guilty). My meds got tweaked a little bit more dosage wise during this mess.
Starting about mid-February, I was experiencing severe shakiness, tremors, and spasms. I've always been a shaky person and never really thought too much about it, but at some points I could barely feed myself, or get a drink, or hold my son. On March 7th, I tried to make an appointment with my doctor about the weird symptoms I was experiencing, but she was out of town and her next opening wasn't until the 31st. My body said that won't work and my wife rushed me to the ER on the 9th...I had begun having seizures that day. I had no previous history of seizures. Got to the ER and had a seizure literally as I was walking thru the door, so they rushed me straight back. They took some blood and that was literally it. No MRI. No CT. They pumped me full of Ativan and said it was just a panic attack and to go home and chill.
Spoiler Alert: It wasn't just anxiety. I was having 20+ seizures a day. On the 10th, my wife rushed me to a different hospital...the good hospital over an hour away. First we had to drop off our gremlin with my mom to make things a little easier. Yet again, I had a seizure as I walked in the door and was taken back immediately. I don't really remember much because they kept pumping me full of Ativan and morphine because I had been in excruciating pain from the number of seizures I'd had. I do remember them doing a CT pretty quickly after I got there. Then they weren't happy with the results of the CT, so they took me to get an MRI, which showed possible signs of Multiple Sclerosis (but I didn't find that out until AFTER the notes showed up in my patient portal after being home a few days, so I raised hell...more on that later.) They did a 24 hour EEG on me and it showed nothing abnormal. Also, EEG glue is a bitch on your hair and scalp. After looking at everything and given my previous mental health history, they diagnosed me with Psychogenic Non-Epileptic Seizures, or PNES. It is a subset of Functional Neurologic Disorder, or FND. I couldn't walk well anymore and had to use a walker when I was discharged. I was in the hospital for 3 days.
When I had my follow-up appointment on the 23rd, I asked why the possibility of MS was never mentioned to me since it was very clearly in the notes. The doctor didn't have an explanation. He called in a referral to neurology so I could get a 2nd MRI to confirm MS and marked it as high priority. He also didn't take my pain seriously. My pain levels had been at a 5 or higher every single minute since they took me off of the morphine in the hospital. He told me to keep taking prescription strength doses of ibuprofen and Tylenol, which I had been. I let him know I had been and it didn't even take the edge off the pain. He ignored me. Leading up to this appointment, I had also added urinary incontinence to my growing list of symptoms and was forced to wear diapers so I didn't have to do laundry all the time. The doctor also took me off my ADHD meds because they were lowering my seizure threshold. He also took me off of my sleeping meds and nightmare meds for the same reason I'm assuming.
I kept my appointment on the 31st with my primary doctor because she's been my doctor for 5 years now and I knew she'd take my pain seriously. She did. She immediately wrote me prescriptions for a muscle relaxer and Tylenol 4. She also told me that my referral had been rejected by neuro. She said my case wasn't a good one for what she called a "wallet biopsy" and the doctors in neurology could be real assholes. She immediately sent the referral to other locations to get an approval. I am still waiting on that despite it being marked as high priority. She wrote me a prescription for a wheelchair because we both agreed my wheelchair was not enough for particular days.
Yesterday my wheelchair was finally ready for pickup, so my wife drove me to go get it. I'm still unable to drive due to my seizures and my tremors and twitches as it's predominantly in my legs and arms. I am an ambulatory wheelchair user now. Some days I can go short distances without my walker, some days I can't go without my walker, some days I can't even get out of bed, and some days I will be using my wheelchair. Don't judge a book by its cover, not all disabilities are visible. I have managed to keep my daily seizure count down in single digits and have even had a few seizure free days. They are still incredibly taxing on my body. I feel like I can't ever replenish my spoons fast enough to keep up with anything in my life.
So all in all, life has been chaotic. We are moving from Texas to New Mexico in the next few weeks, which should be interesting considering I can't overdo it without throwing myself into seizures. We will be closer to my mother-in-law so she can help us with our son and I can start resting a bit more on the more difficult days. Being a stay-at-home dad with an invisible illness has been one of the most challenging things I've done in my life, but I wouldn't change it for the world.
Sorry this is so long. I just wanted to update my followers since it's been over a year since I posted before a few days ago.
#actuallydisabled#transgender#physical disability#chronic fatigue#disabled#disability#pnes#Psychogenic Non-Epileptic Seizures#multiple sclerosis#trans#ftm#fatherhood#stayathomedad#lgbtq#seizure disorder#mobility aid#wheelchair#tw#spoonie#transparent#chronic illness#seizures#walker#anxiety#depression#cptsd#ptsd#cripplepunk#fnd#functional neurological disorder
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2x3 rewatch
I keep forgetting that Brach is still in S2. Oops. Also, I apparently went to check something in S6 last time I watched something, so it started at 6x2 instead of 2x3 and I yelled. But anyway, on with this mess. “Death Came in Like Thunder” apparently. It sure did.
Ah yes, let us not forget that Branch is MANLEH. This shall be proven to us by him murdering his cousin, Trunk, with big ax. Chop chop, Branch, kill Trunk. But oh no, must also show that he is People Smart, so must also lose because this makes him likable. And many white people clap. Yaaaay. But be sure to say, “I let him win, Ferg,” while your competitor is right next to you, so he almost surely heard you. Good good.
Oh Ferg. Could you look more gormless if you tried? (I mean, probably not, since presumably that was the goal of the actor, so he would have been trying. But still.) Bb.
Heh, nice thematic cut to Walt also chopping wood. And YAY, Henry’s gorgeous truck (and gorgeous self). I’m just going to take a moment to appreciate the fact that Henry rolls up and just helps himself to some of Walt’s thermos of coffee. Because of course he does. But I do so love these touches that they put in that do underline the fact that they are married have been besties for going on 40 years. Also, I love this jacket of Henry’s. The woven top, jean jacket sort of one? Yeah, top 5 costume pieces of his for me. (Also on that list, all basically tied with each other, basically any pants he wears. I am reminded, when they cut back out to a full body shot. Because I am very shallow, and he is very pretty.)
Haaaaaa. And of course Cady talked to Henry before she talked to Walt. Walt is a butthead. And, yeah yeah, she just found out that he’d been lying to her for over a year, but that just proves my point that Walt is a butthead. And we’re back to this whole idea that she left her phone, which just... ugh. No. But Henry’s face when he says that she said that she is safe, and he’s so worried, but still willing to respect her boundaries.
“She is an adult, Walt.” “She’s my daughter.” For fuck’s sake, you jackass, your ADULT daughter; that’s the whole flipping point! Also, that little emphasis on my daughter, pfft. If you didn’t want to feel like she preferred her cool dad to you, maybe try being less of an AAAAAAASSHOLE. And, like, respecting her. Even a weensy little bit.
“Etta Place” I don’t remember if we find out why that’s the ‘assumed name’ that Cady chose, but I’m intrigued. Wait, I just googled. Looooool. She spent years with Butch and Sundance. Nice.
Walt is such a soft touch with teens. *snack crackle pop* that kneecap back into place. Vic starts this scene saying, “The 911 operator,” though, which is interesting, because I was kind of under the impression that Ruby was the main dispatcher, so it would be kind of heartening if she actually had back up with that. ...Or maybe they’re just far enough out that a cell call made would be picked up by a tower farther out and have to be routed back in to the station/them. I have no idea how that actually works. Another rabbit hole for me to totally not go down. Hopefully. Shit. They’ve apparently upped the fine for trespass since the show, though, because it’s $750 (or 6 months in jail) now and Walt says it’s $500.
And once again, we see Vic actually wearing gloves while investigating a suspicious death, and Walt just squinting into the distance helpfully. I suppose “things got bad” in Basque country around WWII, but there has been friction there that dates back before the Spanish Civil War, or even the Carlist Wars the previous century. It did get gnarly with the dictatorship of Franco, and the formation of the ETA in retaliation, though, so yeah. (Francisco Franco is also on the list of people who anybody with a time machine should go back and beat the shit out of.)
Shit, I forgot about the animal death.
Knock knock, no answer. Better just wander in without a warrant. I know that the guy who they know lives there is dead, but still, no fricking warrant; I suppose the worry of a poisoning could count as probably cause?
Gods, but there are moments when I do absolutely adore Vic, and they are usually when she’s taking the piss out of Walt. “Reclusive bachelor chic; you and Marco have the same decorator.” Looool. But also, sad, because Martha has only been gone for a little over a year, and Walt is not the kind of person who would, like, change stuff and get rid of her things, so that’s kind of odd. Maybe Henry and/or Cady went though and put away some of her things to try to help Walt move on? But damn, the ‘excuse you’ look on Walt’s face when she does say it, pffft.
AND AGAIN, Vic wearing gloves, Walt with his bare ass hands picking up the picture of Picasso’s Guernica; can you at least *pretend* you’re a cop, *some* of the time, buddy?
Lol at the barrabilak; they are pretty well by the Rocky Mountains, so it’s probably not all that surprising that Walt’s had some “Rocky Mountain oysters” before.
I had forgotten that Vic had four brothers. But her comment about Sal going off to look after the sheep and how if someone had told her that one of her brothers were dead she “wouldn’t care about any damn sheep,” I don’t know. It kind of annoys me. It’s totally in character for her, which is good, but I think it’s part of what can annoy me about her character. Different people grieve differently, but also, I know she’s only been in Wyoming for a year or two, tops, but how is it so hard to fathom that someone one would be concerned about their livelihood, even in the face of personal tragedy? Just, seeing beyond her own very narrow experience doesn’t seem like something she’s very good at. It would be one thing if she’d framed it as “this is suspicious, and here’s why I think so as a cop,” but it was, “I wouldn’t react that way personally, so it’s sus.”
Sure, be suspicious because there’s a suspicious death and family members are always suspects until ruled out, but approach it like a cop. Or at least think about it from more angles than just your own, not terribly similar experience. You’re a white city cop who can’t (or won’t) adjust to being in BF rural-ville, but these are immigrant shepherds whose family come from a homeland where the cops were just as likely to kill you as answer questions, and you’re side-eying a guy for going to make sure that their meal ticket doesn’t get obliterated?
I need to keep reminding myself that I really did want to like Vic. I really did. She just... they don’t make it easy for me. Maybe she’s serving as an avatar for audience who don’t know about some of the culture stuff, and the audience get answers from her ignorance? But honestly, I wish they’d picked a different way to handle that, if that’s what they were trying to do. Her response to Henry being salty about Thanksgiving still really pisses me off. Because it was shitty and racist, and... do we really need a character basically rolling their eyes and saying, “It was so long ago, why don’t you just get over it,” about something that is intrinsically tied to the genocide of so many people? Why are Indigenous people just supposed to “get over it” but “Remember the Alamo” and “Southern Pride,” and shit? Fuck’s sake. Honestly, that might have been the moment when they lost me on her character. She has moments where she’s awesome, but they never really address her being fucking racist or give her a chance to grow into a better person. Which sucks a lot. Fuck. Ok, that was a lot. Sorry. Back to the actual ep.
AH, nice of you to beam in from the campaign trail, Brancheroo!
Uh, so I paused it to look at pic in the newspaper, and then being me, started to look at the articles surrounding the pic. And the one with the headline “Fans Injured At Local Game” is actually about the Stewart case? From 1x3? I’m guessing that somebody went to the trouble of writing up an article for that for some S1 ep after it and they just plugged it in because when not paused, you might catch “Sheriff Longmire” there and that’s all they need. Especially since the text starts to repeat after the first paragraph. (I am the worst pedantic little shit.) Ooooor, maybe even though it’s S2, it’s hardly been any time since 1x3? The date on the newspaper is March 31, 2012, so there’s a timeline hint.
Awwwwww, once Walt points out the bird, Ferg knows exactly what it is. Occasional twitcher, are we, my lad? “A red-tip meadowlark,” indeed. Oh bb; Ferg’s face when he sees Walt looking at the pic of him with Branch in the paper.
“You go too fast, you miss the little things.” Every once in a while, he actually sort of mentors Ferg. I wish he did more of that, especially since we see later how capable Ferg can be.
Go suck an egg, Branch. Why does she get all the “good” assignments? Maybe because she was actually on the job when they found the body, not campaigning.
OPE. Lizzie’s gift. Yeah, I’d probably choke on that coffee if I were you, too, girl. Better hope that there wasn’t perishable food stuffs in that gift, because that has been in there for a whiiiiiile, hasn’t it. Wait, was Ferg in the office when Lizzie dropped off the gift? Because his face said more than just “Did somebody give Vic a present?” Suuuuper subtle with that whole pushing the drawer closed with your foot there, Vic. Pfffft.
“Cyrano Caballero” How daaaare that skeeve take Cyrano’s name in vain?!?! (I have a thing about Cyrano de Bergerac. It’s quite possibly my favourite play, and I adore the character, and have exactly 0 chill about it at all. I find Brian Hooker’s translation of “The Ballade of the duel at the Hotel Bourgogne Between de Bergerac and a Boeotian” with “Then, as I end the refrian, thrust home,” vastly superior to any other translation that I’ve heard or read, though for the rest of it, I will grant that there are others to be preferred. But that version of his Ballade is exquisite, and I will not be swayed. Holy shit, FOCUS. That is so very much not the point.) It’s not even a throw away line in this ep, it’s just a random, very well chosen, if utterly appallingly insulting, company name. It’s actually incredibly clever for what the business is, and if it didn’t make me so stomping mad, I would applaud whoever came up with it heartily.
Vic’s face listening to this jackass’ spiel is a thing of beauty. “A good woman goes a long way of easing the obvious stresses of your daily life,” the jackass says, cutting his eyes at Vic when he says “obvious stresses,” and I caaaackle.
What is it about this guys’ horrible glasses that just makes him so much more hate-able? I’m not entirely sure, but kudos to whatever costumer put those on him, because they are perfect. In the ‘I want to punch him’ way of perfection.
And after all of that about Walt’s “lady friend,” Vic brings Lizzie’s present. Womp womp. That went super well. Yuuuup, run while you can.
Poor Ferg. Branch manipulates him, Vic ignores him, Walt shuts him down... Poor guy just can’t get a break.
I actually kind of like this motel manager--the one who “doesn’t judge people” and is a stickler for warrants? At least somebody in this county cares about warrants. Also, those doors are actually really pretty. Nice colour, and the carved scrollwork designs are nice.
What an odd shot: the one when they’re coming out of Walt’s office after talking to Skeevy McGrossFace and Rosa. It’s a weird sort of shaky-cam stepping back, just preceding Branch walking, and then turns to follow him when he sit’s on his desk. But it’s a really different style of shot than I can remember, so much so that it’s a bit jarring, especially after the series of nearly stationary close ups that we just had. Weird. [18:42-18-50]
Cady! I haven’t made much note of her costuming before this, but it seems notable that’s she’s only in monocromatics. Especially next to Fales in muted tones, but still some colour, and surrounded by the colourful grafitti of the alley where her mother was stabbed. Nice way of setting her apart from everything.
SHEEPIES! Ooooo, that wagon is so cool. Ah dang, the way that Sal corrects Walt’s pronunciation of his brother’s name is so gloriously passive aggressive. Good for you, my dude. Names are important, and people should have the respect to make the effort to get them right.
Aaaaaand Walt, the definition of Do, Don’t Tell, just shoves the guy to keep him from drinking the possibly dangerous water, rather than, like, using his words. Walt’s gonna Walt.
Iiiiiiiii am a mess, truly. It cuts to an architectural model and I start giggling like a 6th grader, because I know it’s going to be a Jacob scene. He’s not even on screen yet, ffs. HANDS. I’m fine. Totally fine. (That’s totally a lie. I just rewound to the beginning of the scene because I kept giggling too much to pay attention. What the hell.) First time we’ve seen one of the chips, which at this point must be a marketing mock-up, since nothing is built yet. And he actually types, not just doing the hunt-and-peck thing that is sometimes easier on a tablet.
Looking at the weaving that is up on his wall (maybe a rug?) I’m hoping that the prop people actually did buy from Northern Cheyenne artisans. They apparently did most of their filming in New Mexico, so I hope they made the effort to get the patterns right, and buy from the actual tribe they’re supposed to be portraying, I guess? And now I’m distracted by the fact that the random hanging light behind Jacob is at a weird angle?
Look, ever since I realized that the “Hey,” that Jacob does is apparently just A (thanks to it also happening in That Damned Xmas Movie) I am endlessly amused (and charmed) whenever Jacob does it. I don’t know why it makes me so happy, but it does. (This is legitimately embarrassing. How much trouble I am having focusing. Beyond my normal focus issues, which, as shown above, are already impressive. Because thiiiiirst.)
“My boys at the lumber yard did just throw you a campaign rally.” I love how Jacob is basically apparently not just his secret angel-investor, but also a sneaky campaign manager. Did Branch just think shit like the rally just happened? He’s not fricking Ferris Bueller; somebody organizes those. And apparently it’s either Jacob himself, or someone who Jacob appointed to do so.
“I thought you were just a casino developer.” You have noooo clue, Brancheroo. “I prefer to remain a silent partner. White people get nervous when Indians start taking back their land.” Oooooope. Especially interesting because there are previsions for the Tribal Council to purchase land to be Tribal land (Section 6 of Article IX of the Tribal Constitution), but this seems more along the lines of personal acquisition. Though maybe not, because “on the board” doesn’t necessarily equate to being the owner.
The set up of Jacob’s office is so interesting. Functionally for the show, it’s probably for better shooting angles, so that we can see more of Jacob behind the desk while Branch is sitting in front of it, but from an in-the-verse decorating standpoint, bit’s fascinating. He has this focal wall with the gorgeous wall hanging, flanked by floor to ceiling window, but instead of having his desk centered on that wall and directly facing the bulk of the room, it’s at an almost 45 degree angle on a huge rug, and it’s so unexpected. I kind of love it, and want to analyze it for days. Also worth noting is that pride of place is given to the Hotamétaneo’o headdress which is on a stand centered in front of the wall hanging.
How fucking tired must Jacob be. He’s used to Walt... Walting, but then Branch comes in, who he is literally spending his own money to support in his bid for sheriff, and he pulls the same shit of assuming that he’s behind Bad Shit. And then Branch frames it as “bad P.R,” so he’s there to “discuss it with [him] privately.” And then basically threatens him with Walt. I swear. ...there is something a little amusing about Walt being used as the stick in the carrot and a stick method of negotiating. He certainly is enough of a blunt object most of the time.
Oh fuck you so much, Branch. Playing the “can’t give you details about an ongoing investigation” card as though you have some professional or moral leg to stand on after basically blackmailing Jacob with Walt’s vendetta is just such shit. You don’t get to look down your nose at Jacob’s quid pro quo pragmatism when you were the one who came to him for financial backing. You sanctimonious little shitheel. If you didn’t want to deal with Jacob, you shouldn’t have taken his $100k. He’s a business man, and you’re an investment, and not a quixotic one.
“He’s probably the only person to have died from [hemlock] since Socrates.” And then Walt’s incredulous look and her, “Alright, I googled it,” were subtle comedic gold.
Ooooooo, that was a nice little shot. Not quite foreshadowing, but showing Branch’s suspicions and sort of inviting the audience to share them. Walt says his bit about the Army poisoning “Indian wells” to kill them off and get their land, and then we see Branch fiddling with the Four Arrows chip and narrow his eyes considering and slip the chip into his pocket, looking suspicious. It’s a really neat little moment of visual storytelling, no lines, literally three seconds long, just sort of snuck in there, but super effective. Really nicely done.
And again, Cady is in monochromatics. And, shit, just gave Fales Henry’s name. Aaaaaand right after, she realizes that the junkie was killed and realizes that it had to have been one of her dads (or so she thinks).
Sal’s monologue in the cell is a good emotional payoff that plays off of Vic’s comments towards the beginning of the episode. I see the narrative worth of her making them, and how the structure of the episode benefits from it; but seeing those writing elements from the outside of the show doesn’t make me able to like her as a character who said them in-universe. And then the threat Sal makes of vengeance on someone who killed one he loves also underscores the stuff with Cady’s investigation into her mother’s death very well. As much as I gripe about the writing *cough S6 cough finale cough* there really is some damn good writing in this show, and I don’t show enough appreciation for it.
Huh, and now there’s a sort of inverse of that weird shot preceding Branch from earlier, but this one is much more effective and less off-putting. This one [33:00] precedes Walt as he walks back into his office, still a medium close up, but it’s much steadier, and the way it is framed, it does quite a bit to convey his mindset, and he walks out of the shot and we see the three deputies following him in like baffled ducklings, making the shot serve another purpose, too. Which honestly makes that earlier shaky follow shot of Branch even weirder, because this one was so much better.
And then Walt has his creepy little speech about how someone would want to watch the light go out of their eyes and not caring if you get caught. I do appreciate that when he’s talking about the psychology of killing with poison he doesn’t just call it a “woman’s method” which media so often does. It might have been the writers keeping who the killer was abstruse, but it was still more gender neutral. Especially since according to The U. S. Department of Justice's report on Homicide Trends in the United States (1980 to 2008) of all poison killers in that time period, 60.5 percent were male and 39.5 percent female. (Table 5 on page 10.) So that long held idea that even Sherlock Holmes was written to have that poison is “of course” a woman’s weapon is pretty crap.
Awwww, the good old days when Walt paid attention to animals. ...I am still bizarrely salty about the fact that he never named his horse. What a good pupper!
And then we have a classic example of Sneaky!Walt, which always takes people quite by surprise, because he’s usually as subtle as Miley Cyrus.
Also because when he does this, it tends to be pretty fucked up, in a Make Someone Think They’re About To Die way. And then he does His Thing, where he just lays out all of his suppositions, with no proof, only the terror of her thinking that she’s been poisoned and you’re withholding medical intervention to get her to confess. And is, irritatingly, correct about his theories. But I’m pretty sure this qualifies as coercing a confession? She thinks she’s fucking dying. Even Vic looks at him like it’s fucked up, and her moral compass where he’s concerned is... skewed.
They way this reveal was played out, (”How’d they find her so fast?” “Hard to say...”) is somewhat ambiguous as to whether it’s supposed to be that Branch went there to tell Jacob or not, but I kind of doubt it? I kind of figure that the meeting that Jacob was having when Branch rambled in was already with Rosa signing the paperwork. Jacob is smart. So, HAH. Little good your “can’t comment on an ongoing investigation” schtick did.
And then the news that someone in law enforcement has been asking after Henry.
“Lizzie was waiting for you here tonight. You should talk to her, Walt. She seems to think she is in a relationship with you.” ....omgs. The tone. I mean, yes, the blisteringly glorious SASS, but how does one not read that as incredibly shippy? Howwwww?
“You are an honest man, Walt. I would like you to stay that way.” Oh Henry. When did you decide that you weren’t? Was it when you hired Hector? Or was there something before? ...I feel like there were things before that. Hello darkness my old friend.
“It is not your job to protect me.” “It is my job...” THOSE WERE THE DAYS. Those were the fucking daaaaaays. And the emotions on Henry’s face after Walt says, “That was my right,” as though Henry cheated him of something. I am so deep in OT3 feels I cannot even see daylight here. The feels of them having been an OT3 and then Walt pulling this shit, and Henry having to defend his own “right” to avenge Martha? It wrecks me. “A good woman was murdered. A bad man is dead. End of story.”
#Longmire#Walt Longmire#Cady Longmire#Henry Standing Bear#Branch is such a tool#Jacob Nighthorse#The Ferg#Victoria Moretti#Episode commentary#How many tangents did I manage to go on this time?#so many#Martha Longmire#I ramble about shots and framing and narrative too.#It took me so long to do this.#I am such a mess.
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𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐔𝐓 — 𝐶𝐻𝐴𝑃𝑇𝐸𝑅 𝑂𝑁𝐸
HEART OUT in which an angel is sent down to earth to change the reckless ways of the boy she was assigned to protect before his time runs out. ( a kim taehyung au )
𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: foul language, toxic masculinity, mentions of hell, etc. . . .
𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: hello! uh, wattpad sucks and people on there don’t give a shit about my work, so i thought that i’d come back to tumblr just to give it a second try! hope you enjoy this little series :’)))
the moment God told eden her last mission before finally becoming one with the archangels she knew it would be almost impossible to accomplish it. the person she'd been assigned to guard didn't quite turn out the way she hoped. the little boy who always talked about becoming a lawyer to help his single-mother out disappointed her greatly when he turned into everything she feared. sure, he became successful in the educational and career fields and was the youngest CEO of a very rich and famous enterprise. but he was very empty inside.
drugs, the never ending one-night stands, the selfishness, his egotistical, conceited mind and personality. eden felt ashamed of herself because it was as if like she wasn't any good at her job. sure she sometimes made sure that the right people crossed his path and twisted things around so they'd go his way, but no matter what she did, he always made the wrong decisions.
so the angel gave her father a determined nod and furrowed her brows, attempting to look as serious as ever, but ended up mimicking a cute bunny trying to be mad. "you got it, dad." he sent her down to the earth and within his heart, he knew eden would be able to complete her mission; change the boy's heart.
the girl landed face first on a large, rural area.
"ow." came a muffled groan from her lips.
eden placed her palms on the ground and lifted the top half of her body up to look around at her surroundings. "you could've been a little nicer on the landing!" she called out to the sky, knowing her father could hear her. eden stood up and softly sighed when she looked down and saw her white dress covered in dirt.
all of a sudden, as she occupied herself in patting the brown particles off, a loud, startling rumble was heard in the sky, causing the girl to shriek and jump in surprise.
she lifted her hands up in surrender and looked back up at the dark sky. "dang, okay, my bad."
the angel's eyes scanned her surroundings. she could make out a large farm house on the other side of the field with a strip of wind turbines behind it. there was a dirt road in front of it as well.
"follow the road, eden." she nodded her head and obliged as white combat boots lead their owner across the grass to the road.
kim taehyung was at his favorite bar with the bad influences he's proud to call friends. he was on his eighth glass of the strongest whiskey the bar had to offer as he and his buddies listened intently to steven jeong's absurd mentality.
"i'm leaving areum." he announced all of a sudden. as the two other men beside him raised their eyebrows in curiosity, tae, in his expensive black & white suit and tie, leaned back to stretch his glass out towards the bartender for another drink. once he was given what he asked for, he settled back into his seat with eyes glued onto the talking man.
"i don't know, man. she just got annoying. being around her makes me feel. . . ." steven's mildly drunken mind tried to search for the right word to describe his feelings, but shrugged his shoulders when he received nothing. "i don't even know anymore. . . . she got fat. doesn't look like she did when we first met."
"i mean she did give birth three times." park jimin tried to defend the woman. steven ignored jimin's justification, but mentally told him off.
"the other day i was sitting on the couch, right? just watching t.v. and she walks in, telling me to go wash the dishes and sweep the kitchen. i get home after a long day from work. i want to relax. and she expects me to do her job? that shit doesn't fly with me."
tae and another friend of theirs began mumbling in response, nodding their heads, except for jimin, who could only shake his.
"so, you're throwing away two years of marriage over cleaning and because she's not "hot" anymore?" jimin scoffed. steven clenched his jaw as he abruptly turned to face him.
steven stood up from his seat. "hey, stop making it sound like i'm the asshole, alright?"
"i'm not gonna cover it up." jimin declared with his arms raised defense. "how else am i supposed to make it sound like?"
"not make me sound like an asshole!"
"you're a fucking piece of shit." jimin grumbled under his breath.
"hey, taehyung, why'd you invite this bum, anyway? i've told you hundreds of time i don't like him." steven turned to look at tae with his hand pointed towards jimin and an accusatory expression.
it was a first jimin heard something like this from him. of course, he's always noticed how uneasy and annoyed steven feels when he's around but he never said anything to his face. the alcohol triggered something in him.
"let it go, steven." taehyung groaned in response.
"always such a fucking buzzkill, man!"
off to the side, a random man turned around and pleaded steven to take it outside. "my night isn't about to be ruined by some punks."
long story short, after a few more rude exchanges, a large brawl broke out between greg mendel, the other friend, the annoyed man, and his friends. not wanting to be a part of this, a small smile spread across tae's face when he managed to slip out unnoticed without a single scratch.
the man sat back down in the back of the bar, making sure to take a seat significantly far from the large fight—which was now slowly coming to an end as big security men began to pull them apart from each other. taehyung chuckled and looked down at the floor with a shake of his head, shaking his head. once he was finally looking up again, his eyes landed on a beautiful brunette woman who danced the night away. he instantly become intrigued by her. his eyes roamed her body and moves, feeling a small shiver run down his spine at the sight of her in a tight black dress that stopped at mid-thigh.
the girl suddenly locked eyes with him. her eyes followed his hand, and she watched as his fingers wrap around the transparent cup, the golden watch on his wrist impossible not to notice. she sent him a shy smile as she pulled a strand of her hair behind her ear, and in return the side of tae's lips curled upwards.
eden was currently sitting in taehyung's living room after four hours of nonstop walking. she would've used her wings to fly and it definitely would've taken much shorter to arrive, but God rid her of her angelic powers before sending her down for some unknown reason to eden.
her eyes roamed around his expensive penthouse and she couldn't help but shake her head in disappointment.
kim taehyung had everything, but not everything.
the sound of keys desperately trying to unlock the door caught eden's attention as she leaned back on the couch with her head turned towards the door. she then decided to rest her arm on the top of the couch.
the sight of a familiar man and an unknown woman entered the room with their hands and lips all over each other.
nothing unusual for taehyung.
it wasn't long before eden made herself present when her chirpy voice spoke up in the dark, "hey, sweetie, do you want this to go anywhere?"
the engaged pair quickly pulled apart in shock and looked down at the sitting girl with confused expressions on their faces—but taehyung's was much worse.
"who the hell are you?!" he questioned in a panic, but his tone was more demanding.
"look," eden began and stood from the couch. "i know you want to wake up tomorrow with him by your side, and i know that you want this to go somewhere, but that's not gonna happen. you'll wake up alone with nothing but a note on the nightstand that reads 'hey, i had a fun time. let's meet up some other time. call me'. because this sir here," eden pointed her finger at tae. "left for work and he doesn't care about you. he used you."
"you'll be calling, and calling, but he won't pick up. ever. trust me, it happens every single time a girl walks in through that door. so, unless you want to waste your time, i suggest you go on your merry way." eden concluded with a grin.
the girl looked between the beautiful angel and taehyung, who had an uneasy smile plastered onto his face with raised brows. "um...." the girl nervously began. ".... i'll go on my merry way."
"have a good life." she waved goodbye before walking out the door.
"wise choice!" eden grinned once the door slammed shut and raised her arms out in front of her a tiny bit. "proud of you!"
taehyung turned to look at the stranger with the same confused and horrified expression from before. "again, who the hell are you?! i'm—i'm calling the police if you—"
"i, eden, am your guardian angel." she introduced herself as she took a small bow, leaving the boy a hundred times more confused.
"are you—are you serious? you're being serious right now?!"
"uh, yeah, man, i've been watching over you since december 30th, 1995." the nervous boy reached into his pocket for his phone, and shook his head as his long fingers shakily pressed the green icon at the bottom of the screen.
"you're crazy!" he laughed. "i'm—" before taehyung had the chance to dial the police, the phone suddenly exploded and flew across the room. "wha—"
eden looked up at the roof of the house and pressed her hands on the side of her mouth, giving the impression of a megaphone. "thanks, dad! i really appreciate it!"
"okay, that was weird." he stated with furrowed brows, finger pointing at the shattered phone on the floor.
"here's the deal, tae. . . . your time is running out. you’re gonna die in a few years." taehyung's eyes widened at the words being thrown around like nothing.
"wait, wha—"
"and you exactly didn't turn out the way i expected you to turn out. you see, God created the Ten Commandments for you humans to follow, and go to heaven. you've broken every single one of them. even murder because although you didn't kill anyone physically, the things you say to others are not exactly the nicest."
"like the girl who asked you out a few weeks ago, and you laughed in her face, and said no because she looks like a cow...." taehyung's lips formed an o shaped when he realized she was telling the truth about being a guardian angel.
"yeah, you killed her self esteem. and that girl is now starving herself because of you."
an awkward silence followed soon after as tae's eyes fell to the ground in shame. he began to regret his words.
"also didn't expect you to commit adultry." eden inquired as she placed on her arms on either side of her waist. this made taehyung wish she'd stop rubbing his mistakes in his face already. "shame on you and that—at the time—married lady."
eden placed the palm of her hand on her forehead as she rested the other on her hip in disappointment. she sighed before looking up at the roof of the penthouse. "God, what did i do wrong?" she questioned helplessly.
"anyways," she waved her hand in front of taehyung, dismissively. "um, so you need to change before you die, because you're gonna go down...."
the girl stepped closer to the boy and placed a hand on his shoulder as the other occupied itself by pointing down at the ground. "there." she whispered, slowly nodding.
a lump formed in the back of tae's throat. he cautiously watched as eden took a few steps back and he couldn't help but feel a bit frightened when memories of a few of his sins began to linger into his mind.
"i've known you your whole life. it kills me to see you do all these things. the drugs, the one-night stands, how highly you think of yourself. you need to be humble. i don't know what i'm going to do with myself if i'm not able to help you save yourself from your possible fate."
eden once again walked up to tae and placed both of her hands on his shoulders, raising her head up a bit to meet eyes with the frightened boy.
she smiled up at him with the most humble eyes he'd ever seen. "i'm going to figure your heart out."
masterlist
#kim seokjin#kim namjoon#kim taehyung#taehyung smut#taehyung scenarios#taehyung x reader#taehyung imagine#bts taehyung#taehyung#kim taehyung x reader#kim taehyung imagines#kim taehyung imagine#kim taehyung smut#jeongguk#jeon jungkook#jung hoseok#park jimin#min yoongi#bts#bts smut
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The Englishman JACK - CHAP 3
< Chap 2 | Chap 3 Cocks And Guns | Chap 4 >
Summary: Jack finds himself in a crossfire between friends, foes and silent admirers.
Author’s note: To the handful of people reading this: I hope you’ll enjoy this one! Have a good weekend my lovelies. ❤️
Word count: 5.105 (18 min. read)
Disclaimers: NSFW - Strong language, misogyny, lots of cigarettes, alcohol abuse, extortion, WWII PTSD, (gun) violence, mobsters
–
Cocks and Guns
--
The woolen uniform itched and Jack was eager for the night shift to be over. With sweat running down his back, he peered into the darkness that surrounded the makeshift war camp. Everything seemed so calm and quiet; it was near strange to think that a few miles from here the Germans lurked. The enemy.
A few months ago he had seen their faces for the first time, the mood grim in the dead land between bloody trenches. It had rained for weeks on end and Jack could have sworn it had been God himself crying for the travesty that was this war. In that moment he had also wondered if these Germans before him truly wanted to fight. He, for one, surely didn’t. He felt the same dread he saw in them. Cheekbones fallen in, eyes wide.
That day the battlefield had remained calm. And not many days later Jack was reassigned, one general impressed with his good eye for detail and sharp mind. It was why he now was here, belly flat on the earth as he peered out into the distance, eyes sharp and back soaking wet with sweat. Behind him he could hear the occasional male voice or thump of sturdy boots. But before him the land was unreadable. All scraggly bushes, haunting tree shapes and the song of hidden cicadas. Jack felt the sound irked him, even though he couldn’t quite explain to himself why. The creatures were perfectly harmless and he had learned that the locals were terribly fond of them.
At first this new job hadn’t seemed so bad. They got more rest than in the trenches, and the men seemed a tad more cheerful. On the odd occasion they had even slept in real beds, made music, met women. And these women, French women, were utterly divine. Jack had never been outside of English territory, so he was near shocked to find how very different the French were from his usual English birds. In a hash he thought that maybe, if ever he’d get out of here, he’d marry one of those pretty brown eyed mademoiselles. Start a life here in the rural lands that usually harvested wine. What a life that would be. Besides, it wasn’t like he missed England all that much. Especially not when that same England sent him out to fight like this.
Scratching at some sweat that was drying on his jaw, he lost focus for just half a second. And though the cicadas continued to sing and the stars to shine, Jack knew something was amiss straight away. The male voices were no longer solely behind him. They were before him. Hushed and part of the darkness that stared back. Had he imagined it? Swallowing harshly he focused on the black lines of branches and bushes. With the wind quiet, any movement would indicate unfriendly visitors. But none moved. None sighed. Indeed, perhaps he had just imagined it. With a coded click of the tongue he signalled the other scout whom lay a few meters up ahead.
The man shot up disturbed, helmet crooked on his head, followed by a thump of lead hitting flesh. Jack’s heart was racing in an instant, eyes noting his dead fellow scout, shortly followed by then a blitz of stars in the bushes. Bullets were being fired and even ducking low he could swear he would be hit. That this would be it. That he would...
Gasping, Jack shot up from the bed. A sheen of sweat stuck to his brow and it took a good few moments before he realised he was no longer in France. The room surrounding him was dark, but he recognised it well enough. He was at the Maniari’s, having just awoken from a bad dream. Sighing, he let himself fall back on the comfortable mattress. Even years after the war, he was haunted by his days in the army. And he felt it only got worse when he was alone, the cold sheets a cocoon that trapped him in the most frightening of memories. Staring out at the ceiling he waited for his heartbeat to calm and breath to steady. But that was not going to happen.
Gunshots fired in the night outside. And before he even realised it himself, Jack had thrown himself off the bed and onto the floor, arms tiger crawling up to the window sill, eyes peering over the edge. The window was cracked open slightly, letting in the cool nightly Tuscan air to relieve the heat after a sunny day. That same heat still remained in the stone ledge he pressed his cheek into, bewildered eyes finding the cause of all this ruckus: Augusto and his men.
Down on the patio on the far end of the house there stood a group of swaggering, loud men. Thick cigar smoke curled up in the air and from the way they had to steady their every move, it was obvious they were well into their cups. In total there were four, faces hard to discern in the low moonlight. It didn’t however refrain the men from clearing their identities with loud laughter and booming voices. With a shotgun in hand, Augusto stood at the front, a cigar hanging over his lip as he looked over his shoulder, hinting at the other men to watch.
‘Watch and learn!’ He growled, body starting to jerk as he cleared a few shots in the dark. Jack noticed that he wasn’t just shooting at nothing; from a tree hung a white ribbon that stood out just enough for even the drunk men to see. Not knowing whether Augusto hit anything at all, Jack flinched as the men started to cheer even more loudly.
Next up was one of the more slender looking men. Perhaps one of the bodyguards. Holding a handgun he outstretched an arm, aim more pure than that of Augusto. With a Hollywood-esque exaggeration he blew the heat from the gun’s barrel, laughing as one of the other men clapped his back.
Like this the nightly banter outside continued. It felt like hours upon hours, and though Jack had forced himself to lay back down in bed, he could no longer catch any sleep. Staring out at the ceiling he watched and waited, and dozed and mulled on thoughts that mixed reality and dream until finally he saw the first rays of sun crawl over the wooden beams above him. The sheer lace curtains drew pretty patterns there, reminding him of his first acid trip. How relieving that moment had been after months of struggling to deal with his post traumatic shock disorder.
You’ve got it bad boy, Lucia had whispered, brushing away his hair when he would wake bathing in sweat.
She was gone now.
Sighing, Jack pushed himself off the bed, head feeling dazed. He hoped that this wouldn’t occur every night, but something told him that he shouldn’t keep his hopes up. This family was mad and he knew it. Stretching himself out, hands above his head, he cracked a few joints before returning to the window sill, eyes finding that a butler had moved out to the bullet shell covered terrace on his left. The man was placing a whole collection of glasses, half finished liquor bottles and crowded ash trays onto a larger tray, face stern and focused.
Then Jack realised there was another person up and about. Just beneath his window, seated at the long end of a table, chair covered in a black and white striped cotton, sat the only daughter of the Maniari’s. Bunny. She was all dressed up to the nines, hair neatly coiffed and body clad in a blue knee length dress.
From his position, Jack could see everything perfectly. The way her cigarette smudged with lipstick, the way her eyes sometimes moved to the butler who was cleaning up the mess on the other terrace. And he also noted that her fashion magazine was a bit peculiar; either they had started to include an accounting segment, or Bunny dear was holding a secret. The pages looked off. Reaching a little further, Jack tried to figure out what it was she was hiding, but that move betrayed him. The window creaked and with a hurried scowl Bunny looked up, hand closing her magazine.
‘Good morning,’ Jack chimed, smiling warmly. Bunny sucked on her cigarette and stared up at Jack. A moment passed.
‘If you say so.’ She sighed, pressing the half-finished cigarette into a glass ashtray before walking back inside.
Jack contemplated how he had wronged her, but as his eyes wandered over the curves of the misty hills, his mind bleaked. In the far distance, behind the neatly kept gardens, he could see the vineyards, stretching for miles. Most of it owned by the Maniaris, small houses dotted over the landscape, all rented by locals or used by family members. Today was the day he would meet some of them. He wondered if they would be just as mad.
--
‘Too expensive.’ The old nan flared an aggravated hand in the direction of the suit clad man who had come to gather the rent. Her eyes spoke poison, but also intrigue when she noted Jack. For a short moment her trembling jaw quieted, wrinkly features studying the unknown man before her.
‘YOU, you do something about it!’ Her finger directed back at Big. ‘The protection is shit! Last week one of my goats was shot and look at what you do. NOTHING. No-thing. You scum! You..-’
One of the men pushed Jack outside of the small cottage and closed the door, leaving Jack alone. The sun was starting to sink down and with a quick check on his peculiar sundial watch he noted the time. 4.30, just about. And violence..? He listened and heard the muffled whines of the woman inside. Yes. Biting his tongue he started his way to the end of the small garden that stretched around the cottage. Vegetables were growing in long rows of green. Cabbages, leaks and the like; nothing spectacular. But he also noted feet. Or feet marks to be exact. Dragging in the mud and too large to fit the small woman that lived here, alone. Had she had a visitor? Clicking his tongue he turned heel, hearing the front door re-open, men pouring out.
‘Fucking nuthouse.’ One of the bodyguards muttered, lips glueing to a cigarette that was lit with a bloodied hand. Jack noted that too, but said nothing. It was not why he was here.
‘Found some footsteps over there.’ Jack nodded, and the men looked up.
‘So?’
‘Male. Large male. Old, most likely, or wounded. Hard to see through the red stain of this darn mud.’ Jack pointed at the garden and two of the men stepped in, one of them taking notes and photographs of the measurements and findings. They nearly looked professional - were it not for them to be stinking like a brown pub in the wind.
‘Unlikely to be Alfi.’ Big stepped forward, still distrusting of Jack. Luigi hadn’t come along, though he had offered; it was Jack who had refused. At first the idea of having Luigi with him seemed pleasing, but seeing Luigi’s slightly particular behaviour yesterday made him rethink. Perhaps it was better to find the brother’s motivations and relations one by one; in the end they both had been in Paris at the time of Lucia’s demise.
So far though, the young Maniari mostly just seemed like a spoiled brat, who, unfortunately, wasn’t all that clever. Big scowled at Jack, who smiled a fair laugh.
‘Alfonso can’t get hurt, you say?’
‘It can’t be him because why the fuck would he be in some old hag’s shitty garden? He’d come home if that’d be the case. Pfft.’ Big shook his head in disbelief and regarded one of the men who had walked to a nearby tree to take a leak, hand brushing down the pee on his pants before he let out a relieved sigh.
‘Fwoa. You just keep on pissing from that stuff.’ He laughed.
Big smirked. ‘That’s what you do. Drink like a god? Piss like a god.’
The rest of the men laughed, but Jack didn’t. He turned around, watching the distrustful woman who peaked at him through the lacy veil of her curtains. Perhaps he’d return to her later.
--
The sun was sinking fast, but apparently there was one more job to be done. After a short stop at the villa, a small garrison of three sleek cars drove up the ruby red roads. At the front was Augusto’s car, a silver Mercedes, it’s lacquer shining in the last drops of honey hued sunlight. In the far back was the brandless black beast that carried Jack and four square shouldered men. These men were new to Jack, and for a moment Jack wondered if he was brought along so Augusto could keep an eye on him. Of course he had hoped that he would have been just allowed to lumber around alone, but reality was different. In reality even family friends had to join in on the dirty work. Whatever the dirty work would be right now.
After a short drive the cars halted before a small winery, long rows of vines weaving in patterns behind the tall cypresses that stood at either side of the muddy road. The sun was close to disappearing now, leaving long and tall shadows at the men’s feet. The Maniari crew had nine men in total, which seemed excessive for a visit. But then again; perhaps it wasn’t enough. Jack noticed how they all kept a hand close to the insides of their jackets, buttons undone. He was no fool. There were weapons held disguised, ready to be used at will.
Turning on his heel, Augusto was surrounded by his trusty bodyguard number One - a surprisingly small and slender man - and the four jarheads.
‘No words English. Just watch. I need your eyes alone. No funny business.’
Jack nodded, not sure what was about to happen. With confident strides the men walked up to the near abandoned looking winery, an old tractor parked near the door. The yard was muddy, leaving hundreds of tracks of cars, feet and what looked to be dog paws.
‘Nando!!’ Augusto called at a man who stepped out of the front door. The leather faced man was obviously not eager to see Augusto, eyes skittish and hand holding onto the door knob.
‘Good eve.’ Nando watched the many men that surrounded Augusto, eyes narrowing. ‘I don’t want no trouble sir.’
‘Then there won’t be any trouble.’ Augusto smiled broadly - too broadly, his cheeks drawing menacing shadows in the light of the sinking sun. ‘Just business talk.’
‘Right now? I was just about to eat sup--’
One of Augusto’s men pushed Nando back inside, pushing through the narrow hallway until all men were indoors. It was there where yet more visitors were found. More tough looking men in suits, hands staying nervously close to their pockets.
Jack barely got a chance at properly looking at these other men before the situation escalated. Augusto voice boomed with some insult about ‘crooked investors’ and then all hell broke loose. Or, so it seemed. Being pushed back against the opposing wall of the narrow hallway, Jack lost track of movements. Men were rushing back and forth, commands being yelled. The house was too small and it didn’t help that Jack had hurt his head, his vision swimming.
It was seconds later when the calm returned. Jack found himself leaning into the wall. On the ground in the small living room red stains leaked into the carpet. And watching Augusto, he saw those same red stains on his blouse. Had the mobster been wounded? Gasping in horror, Jack blinked, memories flooding him.
RUN JACK. RUN! Harry’s bloody teeth gulped the words, eyes wide.
The memory faded.
Hold! Hold! Hold for the king! Rain clattered on poorly made helmets, the dark night icy cold. Are you soldiers? Or are you weak? Right there the enemy awaits us, but we are ready. Squadron 2, line 4. Get ready to climb!
Jack felt sick, feet stumbling. The whole hallway seemed to tilt a few degrees, like he were on a ship filled with cute picture frames and handmade doilies.
‘Let’s get outta here.’ Big pushed Jack back out of the door, the rest of the men following.
‘What a fucking mess.’ Augusto growled. He didn’t sound as wounded as he seemed. Jack inhaled sharply, the evening air biting into his lungs. Panic and trauma washed over him and he had to try his best to stay afoot. Around him the other men walked out, reminding him of the soldiers in the trenches. The same mud that slipped beneath his unsteady feet had been there in France. Day in day out. Everything had been so wet, all the freaking time. At some point he hadn’t even known anymore whether it was the rain, blood or both. With blinking eyes Jack focused on his shoes, red splatters climbing up his leather shoes. He knew he wasn’t in France. He knew he wasn’t hurt - yet. And yet the ache in his heart seemed to seep in every corner of his limbs, turning his usually sharp mind to muddle.
‘Such a waste of wine.’ Augusto clicked his teeth. ‘And to you.’ He reared his head and looked at the man who looked at him through the small doorway. Jack didn’t know the man, but he seemed like a boos of sorts. His smug face raised a challenging chin, but said nothing.
‘Shame on your pitiful blood.’ Augusto spat on the ground. ‘This was once my father’s land. And now what?! Look at this! The moment some poor man comes up and tries to rebuild it, you take it from him.’
Jack frowned. Before him he saw the same Augusto that had beaten his daughter and threatened his family with the worst of repercussions. And yet that same man now wanted to protect this poor winemaker. Really? It almost seemed absurd.
‘There’s much waste, old friend. But this? I see potential. You see flaws. You hold onto the old. I embrace..the new!’ The smug looking man laughed. ‘And you see, Nando here.’ He turned and squeezed the terrified looking farmer into the door frame. ‘Has become a very, very good friend of mine. Haven’t you Nando? Hmm?’
The poor man swallowed and nodded quickly. ‘Y-yes sir.’
‘No no. We’re friends. Call me Gio, please.’
‘Yes..Gio.’ The man nodded, terror clear in his eyes.
Augusto sighed dramatically. ‘Well, dear Gio, you ruined my shirt!’
‘Oh curse you old friend. Buy yourself a new one. And kiss your wife for me, will you!’
‘Watch your words!’ Augusto wanted to step in and all men were back to grabbing for their pockets, but Big was there to hush his father.
‘Father, let us deal with this another--’
‘Another time? Would you look at that smug bastard with his..’ Augusto waved his hand in the air with disgust, his pretentiously friendly tone gone.
Gio laughed and waved, his skin lighting up with the last rays of sunshine. ‘Let us have proper wine soon my friend. We’ll discuss business, like the old days!’
Augusto spat on the ground and shot one last poisonous glance at the boisterous man in the doorway. It was obvious the two had a history. And Augusto was pulling the short end of the string tonight. With dragging feet he let himself be guided back to the cars. Even now Jack wasn’t quite sure why they had come with so many. Was it to show off? Or had they really been ready for a war? Still feeling a little wheezy, he walked to the last car and got in, his body soon squeezed in the middle of the bench between the two large men.
--
‘You’re hurt!’ Luigi exclaimed. With hasted feet he worked his way through the men who had started to scatter in the large hallway. Some went to the lounge for a drink, others to their quarters for sleep. None were rueful enough to deal with their boss Augusto right now.
The man groaned. ‘It’s nothing.’
‘Oh why look at you father.’ Luigi tutted, peeling at the winesoaked blouse of his father. His father swatted his hand away.
Luigi hesitated. ‘Ehh.. I must warn you, father.’ Luigi licked his thin lip. ‘Mom has one of her...moments.’
Augusto turned heel, eyes wild. ‘She..what? Why didn’t you do something?!’
Luigi shrugged in defeat and pointed outside. In a flurry of curse words his father ran out, feet thundering on the loud marble floor.
‘You alright?’ Luigi stepped in next to Jack. The other men had dispersed, leaving the two men standing here alone.
Jack nodded quietly. France still ringed in his ears. Or perhaps it was a mild concussion. Either way he could do with some rest and a meal.
‘Quite a day it was.’
‘Indeed. I heard Mrs. Tuscesi got another beating. What a woman. What. A. Woman.’
Jack nodded, allowing Luigi to guide him up the stairs like he had yesterday. Again that fleshy warm hand found his lower back, but Jack didn’t object. Stepping in turn with Luigi, he told his friend about the little situation with Gio. Luigi sighed.
‘My papa never learns.’
They halted amidst the stairs, where a window gave a lookout over the shadowy gardens. Little torch lights cast a mysterious hue over the greens, where the signora danced, a little 3-legged dog by her side. Meanwhile Augusto was storming through the long lane between sky high cypresses, right at her.
‘Didn’t know you had a dog.’ Jack said. He didn’t want to question what was the matter with Luigi’s mother - it seemed a touchy subject, especially now he was living here with the Maniari’s. For a moment they watched as she waved her expressive arms in the air, before throwing a shoe for the dog toe catch. It hobbled awkwardly on its three tiny stilts.
‘My mother has a dog.’ Luigi corrected, then returned his warm hand to Jack’s back. Jack again, didn’t object and followed as they continued their way up the stairs. This time Luigi got a little further before he halted amidst the hallway, feet quiet on the stone floor.
Jack smiled, knowing exactly what Luigi wished to ask. It seemed near inappropriate, but in a way Jack could use some friendly company at the moment. Besides, he still needed to find out what Luigi’s true motivation was in life. He had changed so much since last they met in person. Not only had he grown in size, also his manners had changed. The Luigi he had met in Paris was not quite the man before him. That Luigi had been an oversized boy who liked to play. This was a man who made the game.
Turning on his heel, Jack looked over his shoulder. With a single nod the affirmation was given; join me. And so Luigi joined.
--
With most of the men gone on their nightly mission, the house was left quiet. Bunny peaked through her cracked bedroom door. On either side of the hallway the lights were dimly lit. But no guards were there to keep watch. No brothers were there to call onto her. All she could hear was her mother on the phone and her brother’s record player downstairs. From the looks of it both were preoccupied and so Bunny took her chance, feet slipping out of the door frame.
The heavy creak of her door made her flinch. Fuck. Holding tight onto the door knob she waited. Perhaps there soon would be footsteps, guns cocking, knuckles cracking. But no, there was nobody here.
Continuing her quiet pitter patter, Bunny made her way to one of the doors on the right. Not far from here her mother was babbling into the phone. Or worse yet; crying into the phone. Bunny again halted her steps.
‘But I need you! I..I need you!’
Her mother sounded positively desperate. But then again, so were all women who lived in this household. Her mother would drink herself to death. Bunny would run herself to death. Pick your poison, they say, right?
Gritting her teeth, Bunny turned her attention to one of the doors on her right. It’s where Alfonso’s study was located. A bunch of mystery rooms that she had rarely been allowed to visit. And the attraction to visit became even stronger when Alfi disappeared. The brother’s had looked inside for a bit, but decided there were no clues worth mentioning to the Englishman. All seemed as it should be, they said.
But Bunny didn’t believe it could be that easy. Alfi always had been a weird brother. Being the oldest of the bunch, he had always felt terribly important with his books and administrational work and numbers. He had always been the precise one, the easily ignited one. One thing out of place would send him into fury, and so it was here where Bunny decided to do some of her own research. Here in his study. Where all her brothers seemed too busy with their gun fights and extortion, Bunny knew that it was unlikely to be just a regular kidnapping. There had to be clues. There just had to be.
With a click of the door knob she opened the study room. And it was exactly what she expected to find. A simple desk set amidst ceiling high bookshelves filled with administration and books. It was kept so orderly it was hard to think this may just be the start of a crime scene. But Bunny had read books herself, too. Agatha Christie had taught her one thing: death is in the details. And patterns are always there. The only difference was that this was no oriental train or desolate island, but home. The home she had lived in with people that could very well star in one of Christie’s books. For they were characters, each and every one of them.
Behind her, Bunny could still hear her mother’s wails, followed by a sharp click of the door. Was her mother going out? Oh no. Oh shit. Quickly closing the door behind her, Bunny pressed her ear against the door, listening to the footsteps in the hallway. It was definitely her mother, and from the way her heels tapped the floor in an uneven rhythm, it was clear that she was drunk. Not that this was such a surprise; each time her mother suffered a setback, she’d fall back into the dirty old habit of binge drinking.
‘Zazoooo. BABYYY where are you sweetieeee.’ Her mother’s shrill voice called as she clambered down the stairs, footsteps fading.
Zazoo hadn’t been able to climb the stairs ever since the incident. A shooting incident. And though all said it had been the Luchesse’s, or perhaps even Gio himself, Bunny knew better. She always knew better. And she was sure that it had been one of the family who had shot the dog’s leg during one of the many drinking fests. One night the dog had four legs, the next just three.
Poor dog.
Turning back around, Bunny let out a sigh. Again her eyes fell on the many small details around her. Having learned from her mystery books, she tried to find clues. The burned candles, the disturbed dust on the shelves, the…Hmm. She walked to one of the shelves that had obviously been disturbed quite recently. With a tug she pulled out some of the folders that were tucked tightly together. She wasn’t sure what exactly she was looking for, the numbers all unfamiliar. But there were names here too. Many names, though unfamiliar in most cases. Only the Luchesse named immediately rung a bell, but then the numbers didn’t clarify much either.
Flitting through the pages, Bunny let her eyes slide over the neatly noted numbers. Prices, codes, phone numbers. They could be anything. Continuing her research, her eyes stopped on one page. A blood stain had poured into the thin paper, dark red, though also still slightly slimy. An unusual type of blood stain when at best you’d suspect a paper cut.
Noises in the hallway made her turn on her heel again. More people. Male. Fuck. Hurrying to get the folder closed and back on the shelf, Bunny nearly let it slip from her hands. Her heart was thundering and fingers slippery. She knew that if she was caught red handed now, this would be last day she ever saw daylight. Her father would not have this. He didn’t like unsubordinate little women. He wanted them meek and mild, not curious and self established.
Rushing towards the door, Bunny already tried to find excuses to tell. Perhaps she had heard a faint noise and since she couldn’t find the guards, went to see for it herself. Perhaps she thought she heard Alfi. Perhaps she..
‘My mother has a dog.’ Luigi’s chuckle reverberated up the stairwell. Bunny sighed and relaxed a little. Luigi didn’t give a crap about these administrational books. He cared more about appearances, self pampering and other slightly dubious male activities. Pressing her ear back against the door she listened, but no further words came. It were two pairs of feet, moving in the same direction. Towards the Englishman’s room, or hers. Oh no. Oh no! You can’t be saying they were looking for her!
Making sure the footsteps were far enough away, Bunny unclicked the door and rushed into the hallway. The men were gone. Though their voices returned, chuckling through Jack’s door.
Bunny knew at that moment that she would be better off if she just went back to her room. She was putting her nose in things she didn’t understand. In things she wasn’t supposed to understand.
‘Oh Jack!’ Luigi exclaimed, followed by a bit of laughter. Bunny quietly moved in closer, ears peaking to pick up the sounds. But no more sounds came.
Then Bunny made another mistake. She watched. Women weren’t supposed to see these things. But here she was, bending over and peeking in through the keyhole. Inside the well-lit room stood the two men. Jackets removed, embracing. But it wasn’t the type of embrace she knew. This was..different. Long lasting. Luigi’s hands were on the Englishman’s buttocks. And it lasted too long. This was..this was. Bunny watched in shock and awe through the tiny keyhole. And then Jack’s blue eyes found hers.
Fuck.
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Chap 4 >
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General tagsquad: @harrysthiccthighss @tumblnewby @magdelen69 @thereisa8ella @darkbooksarwin @summersong69 @madbaddic7ed @luclittlepond @maroonmolly @just-a-normal-fangirl18 @hell1129-blog @agniavateira @tillthelandslide @elinesama @maddyreads14
#henry cavill fanfiction#henry as jack#the englishman jack#mobster mystery fic#original story#multichap
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After The Flood - pt.1
@opalpower13 thank you for sending me a suggestion that inspired this!! There will be a part two :)
It has been 10 years since the famous British boyband, The Ark, disbanded for personal reasons. Jimmy and Lister have been a couple for a long time now, and as the trio of friends starts their small revival tour, they both realize there are things they need to say - to each other, to the fanbase, and to the world.
Characters: Jimmy, Lister, Rowan, Angel/Feresteh, OC Abby (Rowan’s wife)
Tags: Bicci, Older Ark, Proposal, Coming out ... no Frowan this time sorry
Length: 3.6k words
JIMMY
It’s often impossible to pinpoint what exactly set off an event – or perhaps multiple – that changed your life as you knew it.
That was not Jimmy’s case, however. He remembered that Barbecue Saturday very well.
This time, it was Rowan and his spouse Abby who hosted. The two couples took turns and Jimmy was oh so grateful for it; the idea of managing Lister’s chaotic culinary experiments more than twice in one summer filled him with dread.
On Saturday morning, Jimmy and Lister packed up and drove all the way to the suburbs of London where Rowan and Abby lived. The sun was bright, everything gleamed buttery yellow, and Jimmy managed to talk Abby into letting him set the table and carry in all the food instead of her, which was quite an accomplishment. She was about as stubborn as her husband.
They rarely invited more than three extra people though. Being in the public eye in your formative years made you appreciate small gatherings of trustworthy people. And one of those proved to be Angel. Or, you know, Feresteh, but her nickname really stuck with them. From that time Jimmy nearly quit the band and Lister impaled himself and almost drowned in mud… yeah, call that a wild youth.
Over ten years later, they were hardly the same people.
After they decided to quit being The Ark for their own wellbeing and safety, Rowan kept his place in the music industry as a songwriter, producer and a solo artist. He went with the name Le Monde, a play on his surname as well as French for “the world”. It suited him. He was the world, never small, never just one thing.
Lister stopped being involved in music after a few collabs. While he was figuring out what to do next, he took a few modelling jobs, acted in music videos and got a small part in a sitcom. Jimmy used that time to get a college degree, but found he just wouldn’t be able to get the usual “college experience” he yearned for, and only got his diploma after doing classes long-distance.
Jimmy and Lister also got together. After many failed attempts at courtship and pretending being friends with benefits was enough… they got together. To Jimmy, it felt like it was inevitable; they have acted like partners long before it was official, they just needed to clean up their own messes before they could be a couple. It wouldn’t have felt right back then, but it did now.
Rowan was already at the grill preparing meat and grilling camembert in shiny aluminium foil when Angel marched in, tall, elegant, beaming. Jimmy loved to see her again. Each time, she seemed a little more confident, more expressive, more… just more. She really did find her calling in the music industry, just as much as he found his tucked away in rural England with his boyfriend.
Yet, he was to be “tucked away” no longer. At a certain point during their cook-out, their group fell momentarily silent; everyone was chewing their meal and soaking in the sun. Then Angel said, in an unfamiliar, cautious tone: “You see, I was talking to a couple of people…”
Rowan exchanged a quick look with Jimmy. “Go on,” he said.
“It’s gonna be ten years since you guys disbanded, you know.”
“I know,” Jimmy echoed.
“So. I was thinking. Hear me out, even if you think it’s bollocks…” Angel shot them a look, and then made a motion with her hand as if she was presenting them with something. “Have you ever thought of doing a revival concert?”
As Rowan did a theatrical “errrm”, Jimmy saw straight through his best friend’s bullshit: the two of them rehearsed this conversation. He knew Ro for most of his life, who did he think he was fooling?
His mind offered the answer quickly: Abby, perhaps. He wants to see how she would react, doesn’t he? Rowan would love to do a revival show like that, no doubt, but he valued his wife’s opinion too much to make a decision without her.
He felt movement on his left, and looked Lister in the eyes.
“Well,” said Lister, looking at him. “Wow, okay,” said Jimmy. Both were considering.
Angel swiftly picked up, “Just wanted to run this idea by you. Not because it’s me who would love to see you play once more – I mean, of course I would – but it’s expected to have an amazing turn-out.”
“Obviously, they’re The Ark,” Abby commented matter-of-factly.
“You’re right, Abby. So, guys? How are we feeling about this?”
It was bizzare. Normally, Jimmy would have expected to say he wasn’t at all interested – the boyband life was not for him anymore, tough luck – but recently, he felt a strong sense of nostalgia surge through him as the ten year mark got closer. He found himself reaching for his old guitar way more often, strumming at it, looking for something between the strings he could not reach.
Maybe he could do it just once.
What eventually came out of his mouth was… “I haven’t sung like that for a long time though.”
“You sing to me,” Lister contradicted him, his fingers intertwining with his. “All the time.”
Jimmy felt his face get hotter. “That’s hardly… Are you thousands of people?” He turned to Angel. “How many are we talking, anyway?”
She smiled a kind smile. “I don’t know, Jimmy, that depends on whether you three are up to it or not.”
Rowan cleared his throat. “Personally speaking, I think I wouldn’t mind, as long as we are just doing it once, and not trying for a comeback. I wouldn’t go there.”
“Same,” Lister nodded. “I love you guys, but I’m fine the way things are.”
“Right,” said Rowan firmly. “But… just this once, I mean, why not? We could use some extra money.” With this, he gently let his palm rest on Abby’s belly that swelled under her summer dress like a balloon. (Jimmy fought the urge to aww at them.)
Abby immediately assured him they were more than fine financially, but Rowan barely listened, clearly waiting for his former bandmates to say something. Jimmy felt Lister looking at him, unwavering. So he turned to him and asked, “What do you think? Cool or not?”
“I’m waiting for you to say.”
“Why?”
“Don’t want you to feel pressured or anything.”
“You shouldn’t… Just say what your opinion is!”
“You express your opinion,” Lister retorted, pretending to square his shoulders as a threat. Jimmy lovingly nudged him, and to stop being annoying to the remaining three people at the table, he shrugged, “It doesn’t sound so bad. One concert. I mean, we are still friends after all this time, so why not?”
“In that case, I would love to be the centre of attention again!” Lister exclaimed and gave Jimmy a boyish grin. “The crowd was deprived of my looks for too long.”
“Buddy, you were the drummer,” Rowan said. “Bold of you to assume anyone even looked at you with me and Jimmy jumping at the front.”
Jimmy snorted with laughter, but Lister was quick to defend himself. “Google all Lister Bird slash Reader fanfic and then we can talk about who got noticed, buddy.”
“Oi, you’re not even properly revived yet, stop fighting!” Angel called out, but laughter started bubbling from every direction before she even finished the sentence.
They had a proper business meeting about it in two weeks. And then another and another. When they announced the first date, the sales went through the roof. Jimmy had to get off of social media because the internet exploded with their names and faces. But he sort of found it a bit sweet, that so many people stuck around for them, like old friends that he never had the chance to talk to. One concert became three and then five, which was, honestly, more like a small tour at that point. Jimmy fought to call it After The Flood and won.
LISTER
“You really shouldn’t do that, you know. This bitch is hard to get rid of.”
Rowan tried to hide a small cough and put out his cigarette on the metal window sill next to him. “Hey,” he greeted Lister. “Didn’t expect you to come out here.”
“Yeah.” Lister found it hard to hang around smokers, and unfortunately, he met quite the number of them while they were in the process of rehearsing. “I wanted to talk to you.”
“What’s up?”
“Can we walk, like, over there? So… nobody can hear us through the door?”
Rowan eyed him suspiciously, but he followed him to the railing on the edge of the roof. There, he turned to him, seeming to fight himself.
“I’m really looking for a less shitty way to ask this,” he admitted eventually. “But… What have you done now, Lister?”
Lister felt a sort of numbed cramp seize his stomach for a second. It took a lot not to let anger overcome him. They were well over thirty, how the hell was Rowan still treating him like a fuck up?
But no. This was more important than old grudges.
“Nothing! As of yet,” he assured his bandmate.
“Okay…?”
“Right. So. Erm. Nobody is here, right? Fine. I had this idea… you know, Jimmy and I have been together for a long time and I obviously care about him a lot, I always have, you kind of know that…”
“Yes, go on,” he pushed on gently.
“Fuck it. I want to fucking propose!”
A giant weight fell off his shoulders when he spoke those words aloud. It was like coming out all over again, god.
Rowan’s eyes twinkled. “Oooh,” he almost whispered, “and you need my help with that? I’m your man, tell me the plan!”
“There is none right now.”
“Oh, okay. I can still help if you want.”
This was another part Lister dreaded discussing.
“I… okay, so, I was thinking of… doing it on stage?”
His friend’s face changed rapidly.
Lister’s dream of a grand proposal to the love of his life in brilliant stage lights and the roars of the audience faded away. “That’s a no? That’s a no. Shit, forget it then.” He felt sick.
“Lister, I’m absolutely positive you mean well,” Rowan started. “But Jimmy would-“
Speak of the devil.
The door opened and out of it peaked Jimmy’s unshaven face. “Oh! There you both are.”
Rowan froze for a second. Lister was ready to improvise. “Alright, so how about I come by yours after practice and you transfer the files to me?” He smiled, but impaled Rowan with a meaningful look.
Fortunately, he caught on. “Oh yeah, yeah, that could work.”
“What files?” Jimmy inquired as he joined them, oblivious.
“Rowan has some of our old drafts still saved. I was thinking of squeezing in a drum solo somewhere, maybe with spoken word over it?”
“Sounds cool,” Jimmy smiled at him and slightly brushed the back of his hand with Lister’s. “Anyway, Dick the Sound Guy wants us all in there immediately.”
“Stop calling him that or I’ll have a Freudian slip at some point,” Lister laughed and guided Jimmy back into the building. Him and Rowan managed to exchange a subtle nod over the shorter man’s head.
JIMMY
As they were packing up that day, Jimmy tried incredibly hard to catch Rowan alone. Just like the old times when he needed to discuss something personal. And yet again, it involved Lister. Jimmy felt young and stupid again, but not really in a good way.
Finally, he managed to stop him while he was putting away the equipment. Lister was meanwhile in the office of their temporary new manager. “Ro, I need advice!” he whispered to his best friend.
“What about?”
“It’s Lister.”
“Oh dear Jesus, I’m having flashbacks.”
“Don’t be a dick, it’s important.”
“Okay then, spill.”
“It kind of involves you too. Just… tell me if it’s a good idea.”
“Go on!”
“I want to, uh… I want to tell people Lister and I are a couple…” He took a breath. “Which means I would be coming out as gay as well, probably. I know that’s, like, a huge pile of drama, so if you don’t want me to complicate the tour, just say it, it’s honestly kind of irresponsible when I’m thinking about it now…”
“Jimbob. Easy.” Rowan waited for a second for Jimmy to wind down, leaning on a stack of five chairs, and then asked, “Are you really sure about it? Do you want people to know?”
Jimmy felt his thoughts humming in his head. He forced himself to say exactly how he felt.
“I know it’s gonna sound super dramatic, but I don’t want to die not saying it,” he explained slowly. “It became really important to me… I don’t know when. But it did. Talking about this part of me, too. I’m just worried about what Lister might say.”
“So I take it that you didn’t discuss this?”
“No way. I don’t even know how to start!” Jimmy exploded in loud whispering. “I should have talked to him a long time ago, but I just didn’t have the balls.”
“I get that, but… just bring it up. Like, theoretically. What if. I think he’s going to support you through it.”
“How could he?”
“What are you even saying at this point?
“You think he would like people sticking their nose in our personal business? I feel like it’s so unfair to him and his privacy… And I feel terrible about still wanting to do it… even though it’s inconsiderate. It’s all a fucking mess.”
“Okay, okay.” Rowan massaged his nose. He looked like he was trying incredibly hard not to snap at Jimmy and be at least somewhat encouraging. “Look, no spoilers, but I am going to say this. Lister absolutely will notbe mad and he will want to talk about the two of you if you give him the chance. That is all.”
“Wait, what? Ro, did he tell you something?”
“I am not talking!”
“Is that how you treat your best friend in a life crisis?!”
“You’re putting me in a life crisis, don’t you dare play the pity card! I swear, the two of you are a nightmare.”
“Rowan! Come back!”
LISTER
His visit to Rowan’s place was very brief, but it was enough for him to understand Rowan’s concerns. Eventually.
Lister explained that it didn’t feel appropriate for him to just whip out a ring in a restaurant: Jimmy was his love, his dream boy, as cliché as it sounded, and he wanted to do something that would measure up to all he was feeling. Which was… well, a whole lot. Like a “get down on one knee in front of thousands of people” lot.
And yet.
“It’s all great, and I’m sure there are people in the world that would love it, but we are talking about Jimmy.”
“Come on. I know, he’s private about… well, everything, but…”
“That, yes,” Rowan pointed at him while holding a can of coke, “but don’t you think this proposal on stage would be an anxiety-inducing situation? Because to me, that sounds like a lot of pressure and nerves.”
“He hasn’t had attacks since we moved and he went on those meds.”
“That doesn’t really –“
“Matter. Yeah. Yeah, I get your point, mate, he would die of shock. And everybody watching him. Fuck, I’m stupid.”
“No, you’re not,” Rowan grinned. “The two of you are just different… in some aspects. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”
Will I? Lister asked himself as he was driving back to the hotel that Jimmy and him were staying at for the time being. This was the only thing I came up with, like, ever.
When he swept his key card over the sensor and the door to their suite opened, he was greeted by the smell of dinner. He took a look into their little kitchen and found his boyfriend sitting at the table with his laptop. He didn’t notice him for a second, so Lister came up behind him and hugged him tightly.
Jimmy yelped.
“Where’s the food?!” Lister shook him a little, imitating Batman.
“Your hands are so cold!” Jimmy protested, but there was a trace of laughter in his voice. “On the stove, you bully!”
Lister almost flew over there, looking under the lid on the pot.
“Pasta,” Jimmy shrugged. “I needed my comfort food, so that’s that for you.” Lister smiled and thanked him, because yes, he was starving. Pasta was Jimmy’s go-to meal to cook, as it was quick to make and he was a pasta-sauce prodigy.
While his dinner was heating up in the microwave, Jimmy made small-talk about the supposed unused lyrics Rowan and him exchanged. Lister found it hard to lie to him, so he just turned to playful teasing, telling Jimmy to stop sniffing around, he’ll hear it when the time comes.
“Oh come on,” Jimmy huffed. “I’m just asking! And it’s my show, too.”
“Sorry. Totally gonna steal your spotlight.”
“Lister, just tell me what it is.”
“A song.”
“What song?”
“A song that you have to wait for.”
“Babe, what song?!”
Lister took him by the waist and pulled him against his body. “Are you trying to ‘babe’ me into telling you right now? Is that what’s happening? Right in front of my pasta?” He went in for a kiss, and Jimmy tried to murmur something against his lips… but then he gave up. They leaned into each other and kept kissing until Lister pulled away to open the microwave. He got himself a fork and went to sit down after the long day, but Jimmy stayed there, right next to the sink. Looking a bit like he was going to hurl.
Before Lister could ask if he’s okay, Jimmy sat down on the other chair with a determined look on his face.
“There is something I need to discuss!” he blurted out.
Lister cautiously dropped the fork back into the bowl. “Okay…? And it’s something to do with me, yeah?”
“Yep. A lot to do with you.” He was visibly nervous. He clasped his hands together, as if Lister would have not noticed. “I… I was thinking about this one thing, and I need your opinion about it.”
“Cool. Go for it.”
“It’s about our relationship.”
“Are you aware you sound very sinister right now?”
He wildly shook his hands as if he wanted to dry them off. “Sorry, didn’t mean to,” he apologized in a strained voice. Then he cleared his throat, sharply lifted his eyes towards Lister’s and exclaimed, “I would like to reveal that we’re together.”
Lister felt everything about his face go lax in shock. He opened his eyes round and wide, his mouth followed, and Jimmy looked like he would faint.
“I, er. I just. I thought about it and I think it’s a decent idea and – please say something, Lister, before I get a fucking heart attack right now.”
It must have been so hard for him to speak up. Lister thought of his proposal plans and felt his mouth slowly form a smile. “I think it’s… brilliant! Yes, I would really like to do that!”
“Wait, really?”
“This is – I didn’t think you would want to, when did you change your mind?”
Jimmy shrugged, grinning in a sheepish way that made him look much younger. And cuter. “I thought I just… wanted to be open about this part of my life. Figured it’s time to say we are together. But if you, like, don’t feel like it, then…”
Lister beamed. “I feel like it. If you do, I do, trust me.” He walked around the table and lifted Jimmy into a hug. He laughed, relieved.
This was when it dawned on Lister… it was not such an easy matter. Exciting, yes, but it would gather all kinds of attention. He leaned onto the table, grabbed his dinner and him and Jimmy started talking about the situation it would put them in. If both are truly okay with it, how much would they reveal, when is the best time to do it. They kept talking through the bathroom door and while they were changing into pajamas in their bedroom.
As they were laying down and Lister gestured Jimmy to crawl into his arms, they became quieter. “You know why I also want to say it?” Jimmy mumbled, lying on the soft linen with one eye open.
“I’m all ears.”
“If I have to see one more article about which model or actress you’re screwing, I’m gonna lose the remaining marbles that I have.” Lister started chuckling as Jimmy awkwardly added, “Which is, admittedly, not many. Most have been lost in my youth.”
“Oh no,” Lister laughed and turned Jimmy’s face upwards to his. “So this just in: my boyfriend is possessive. Fancy that.”
“I’m not, it’s… I am… Oh, you hated Jowan, stop being smug.”
“I know I did, we both know. But jealous Jimmy? That’s a rare sight.”
“It’s just super uncomfortable. It’s all women, as well.”
“Heteronormativity is a bitch,” Lister nodded. He snuggled closer and let out a breath, “Don’t worry though. I am exclusively your problem.”
Jimmy kissed him, smiling. Lister felt lightheaded. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against Jimmy’s. He loved this – he loved how much he felt for him after so long they have been together. It never ceased or faded away… because it was Jimmy.
Lister was pretty sure he would love him until his last day on Earth.
It was time to start looking for a ring.
#bicci#rowan omondi#jimmy gaga ricci#lister bird#iwbft#i was born for this#fanfiction#osemanverse fanfiction#osemanverse#alice oseman#proposal#request
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Fingerprint of Midas, Trace My Reflection
Dialogue of parent’s crystal and Gortez’ monologue are direct from Pirate101. I based the end fight off of my own experiences solo-ing this dungeon. Warnings for graphic depictions of violence and blood.
(read it on Ao3!)
Darling Alexander Dove was a young captain of just seventeen when he earned what little was left of the legendary Captain Gunn’s treasure. The meager pile atop a volcano was followed by a very contrite Ratbeard. As first adventures go, it was pretty damn good, especially with the freedom he now had to explore the Skull Island Skyways.
Avery gave him another task as a reward- to present a treaty to the Monquistan governor of Puerto Mico, an almost adorably small city of white limestone, full of stuck up little idiots. Alexander was only held back from punting them off their little dollhouse town by Bonnie Anne, his right hand, and a pretty good straight man for his ideas, considering she was a lesbian.
Now, leaving the ancient ruins, and entering the ex-monquistan governor Gortez’ realm, Alexander was excited yet again. His crew followed him as he walked across the village of wild monquistans and rebellious water moles. The thrill of battle was humming in his veins, ready to be set loose, perfect plans coming together and adapting. The exciting conclusion for another adventure.
How would this end? An exciting chase for treasure, for the golden monkey? More volcano battles, more crew mates gained, even if it is to the chagrin of the ever serious and practical Sarah Steele, his fellow Swashbuckler?
Alexander was challenged to fight the greatest warrior of the Valley by the wild monquistan leader, one on one. His crew looked at him funny. Lucky Jack Russel, a friend of his parents’, even offered to take his place, as if he stood a better chance just by raw muscle.
While many other captains would be insulted, Alexander knew what he presented himself as. He was young, barely growing a beard, and rather childish at times. He liked having fun, he liked sparkly, pretty clothes, especially in pink and black, his flag’s colors. He liked to drink his fair share of yum, liked to do daring things, and anyone who looked at him easily assumed he was a vain, vapid idiot. And, to be fair, they weren’t completely wrong.
But Alexander was a swashbuckler, learning from the best of Skull Island. He was the favorite of Avery, and had some of the finest up and coming pirates in his crew. He had a silver tongue, according to Bonnie Anne, even if he always preferred gold aesthetically.
Ordaz was large, sure. The huge warrior held intimidation in spades, throwing around barrels of dynamite as soon as Alexander hid himself from sight. The blinding squeeze of feathers and scales for one moment, and then even in broad daylight no one could spot him. It was easy to wait, watching as Ordaz worked himself up into an exhausting rage.
Then came Alexander's first and final strike, blades held aloft as he kicked off of a barrier of sandbags, knocking the large man down, and keeping him there. The gleaming black void of the warriors eyes, and the pulse he could feel rioting against his blades, reverberating up into his fingers, was invigorating. When the wild monquistan stared at him, startled at the sight of the first human to pass the trial, Alexander just smirked, twirling his shorter blade of the pair, and shrugged.
“Big guy must’ve been tired, it is quite hot out, y’know.” Alexander drawled in his Skull Island accent, plain in comparison to the soft musical rolls of the Monquistans’ speech.
His crew stayed in the small town as he went and got spider eggs, trying to prove himself a provider akin to Gortez in order to please the small taskmaster. This, too, was simple. After all, his cloaking abilities were not limited to battle, and the spiders crawling the area were not exactly attentative to their broods.
He returned easily, nose scrunched as he complained about the spider webs on his boots and stuck in his hair, causing Bonnie Anne to scoff and roll her eyes. He tossed a few extra eggs to Fan Flanders, who grinned a cute froggy smile in thanks for the snack, and gave the rest to the monquistan, eyebrows raised as the little ex-conquistador tried not to act flustered.
“Go into the Cave of Many Voices, and touch the glowing stones. Return to me when you have heard the spirit voices.” He ordered as a final task before finally meeting Gortez.
“Does it matter if my crew joins me this time?” Alexander was getting bored of being alone.
“It shouldn’t” The monkey frowned.
With another cavalier shrug, Alexander led his crew up to a cave entrance. Bonnie Anne and Sarah Steele flanked him, Ratbeard and Subodai behind them, Jack Russel and Fan Flanders trailing. Old Scratch was left on the ship, keeping The Bronze Hunter from being ransacked by cowards who would rather steal than fight for their prize.
The cave was far more spacious than Alexander would have guessed. Smooth, well trodden stone was under their feet, large glowing magenta crystals jutting out of every wall, down from the ceiling as well. A large bouquet of crystals stood out in the middle of the chamber, small offerings of feathers and bananas at the crystals’ base.
“Not exactly my color, but I’ll take it.” Alexander muttered, causing Bonnie Anne to huff and roll her eyes, Sarah and Fan snickering. “Stay back y’all, some amazing spirit listenin’ is about to go on, don’t want anyone caught in the crossfire.”
Bonnie Anne snorted this time. “Yes Captain.” She said, nudging him with an elbow before stepping back, nodding at the rest of the crew to do the same.
Alexander walked up close to the largest crystal, wider than him, scraping the stone ceiling. He saw his own reflection, a slightly stubbly young man, obvious Mooshu features, pierced ears, long black hair. The golden buttons on his coat and boots shone in the light emanating from the crystals, the blades at his hips sending small beams of purple light onto the walls.
He casually took off his gloves, stuffing them on the inside of his jacket pocket. He examined his nails, painted black and slightly chipped, for a moment, before continuing on.
Alexander placed his palms flat against the large crystal, head bowed, and was startled to hear an echoing, familiar voice.
“Son… hear me!” Rang out in the small cavern, feminine, with a hint of a rural Mooshu accent.
When Alexander looked back up, his reflection showed a strange, flickering vision of his mother. Her soft, round cheeks, the crows feet around her eyes, the intricate braid cluttered with small charms from her husband, her crimson tricorne with a deep black feather, all the same as the day she left, seven years ago.
A masculine voice, thick with emotion and a strong Grizzleheim trader’s accent, joined the first voice.
“Find us! Find our grave! We are waiting for you!”
The reflections showed a different person, taller, closer to Alexander’s height, with his nose, and long braided blonde hair, bright, mischievous eyes, now full of sorrow, tears streaking into the bushy beard that Alexander would complain about because of how it itches during hugs. Alexander leaned closer to the crystal, stunned.
“I’d know those voices anywhere.” Jack Russel mutters, not helping at all, just wanting to say something, anything.
“Shining city…” The voices of his parents warbled, echoing strangely again, “El Dorado! The Key to El Dorado! Find us! We are waiting… Go to the-”
The crystals dimmed, the reflections leaving without Alexander noticing- as if they hadn’t been there in the first place- and his hands fell to his sides, cold as ice. His soft features turned harsh, his usually smirking mouth twisting into a sneer, the tan skin of his face wrinkling in the same flash of a moment where his left hand moved, punching at the flat crystalline face of the gem.
“CAPTAIN!” Bonnie Anne dragged him back, her taller frame taking advantage as she yanked him off his now kicking feet, heavy heels digging into her stocking covered shins, before Jack Russel darted in front of Alexander, hands on the young captain’s shoulders.
“Captain. Captain- we have a job to do. You can’t let this stop you, you can’t-”
Alexander continued swearing and snarling, hands curling into fists.
Bonnie Anne stepped back, leaving room as she dropped him on his ass.
“Now is not the time to act like a fucking child, Dove. Don’t start acting like those stupid monquistans and go rogue on us.” Bonnie Anne’s accent sunk into her tirade, and though Alexander had years of experience understanding Bonnie Anne, he really knew he was in deep shit when she called him Dove.
Not Captain, not Alexander, but Dove, the little boy she met on the streets, the brat who couldn’t even hold a knife right.
Alexander stopped, hands scraped and bruised now, his knuckles purple with potential breaks. He carded his right hand through his hair, letting the tie come loose so he could fix it into some semblance of order as he calmed himself.
“Sorry Annie.” Alexander’s voice was hoarse now.
Bonnie Anne motioned the rest of the crew out of the cave, kneeling down and leaning on the sturdy Scaramanga musket Alexander fetched for her months ago, the black walnut, dark steel, and gold bands all gleaming with her meticulous weapon maintenance. Her pointed face of russet and white fur faced him, dark and clever eyes piercing him to the bone as always.
“It’s been years since you’ve lost it like that, Alexander.” Bonnie’s matter-of-fact tone cut him down even more.
“It’s also been years since I’ve heard my parents’ voices, Bonnie Anne.”
“I know better than anyone else, but Alexander, you can’t just break down like that. Not while we’re in the middle of a mission, especially not if lives are on the line. Imagine if that happened mid-battle, if you couldn’t direct us? The thing that separates us from every other amateur crew is direction is you, and your brilliant mind.” She poked his temple, careful of her short claws, and then held his hands. “You lead us, Alexander. You aren’t just an orphan street rat, not anymore, and I'm not either. We will find your parents. We’ll figure out this whole El Dorado thing, but not today. Today we bring Gortez to Puerto Mico, whether he wants to go or not.”
Alexander nodded, and roughly dragged on his pink gloves.
“There’s my captain.” Bonnie Anne grinned, small, sharp teeth on display, and Alexander hyped himself up internally, until he could smirk just like always.
“Onward, Right Hand Bonnie Anne.” He finally said, his Rs rough, enunciated like a proper pirate.
“Aye aye, Captain Alexander.” She stood, offering a hand, which he grabbed, letting her pull him back onto his feet.
They shared a nod, a resolve, and continued on. No one else in the crew spoke as they walked back to the monquistan giving the trials. The pair of Monquistans at the gate simply looked at Alexander and opened the gate, not even having to speak a word. The gate, a simple construction of reeds and long grass, whistled faintly as it opened, an ominous, low tone.
Fan, Jack Russel, and Subodai rested at the foot of the stairs, following Alexander’s earlier laid plans. A four person battle, just Alexander, Sarah, Bonnie Anne, and Ratbeard.
The gold of the temple’s head shone in the sunlight, clean and resplendent against dirtied, carved stone. Vines played at being tripwires, cracked steps and damp moss added to the hazards as they climbed ever upwards, stopping only once they reached the top, staring deep into the shadowed entrance, shielded now from the hot jungle sun.
It was no wonder this island drove these men mad, Alexander thought.
The jungle breathed humidity into your lungs as if you had just been saved from drowning. The bugs chittered and watched for weakness like vultures. The flowers were sickly sweet with death, be it a poison of touch, fragrance, or taste. The indigenous to this land were rightfully angry, knowing the island better than any conquistador. The Isle of Doom was a frightful place, it stared at you from every shadow and when it struck it was with an inhuman intelligence.
Alexander led the way into Gortez’ home, hands at his hips, fingers twitching with the urge to clutch his blades like a child would a teddy bear.
The dim lighting was annoying, and made it harder to get a proper layout of the large chamber. Alexander squinted and adjusted his tricorne hat, his gaze caught by the large figure in the room. The Gorilla was draped in pieces of Monquistan finery and armor, as well as painted with abstract yellow lines in his dark fur.
“Gortez, I take it?” Alexander called out, only to be ignored. That sent a sharp blade of anger through his mind, but he still smiled. After all, those who ignored Darling Alexander Dove one day learn to regret it.
“You’re here. Are you an assassin? No. I’ll tell you what you are. You’re an organ grinder, sent by circus clowns, to make me do a dance. I refuse.” Gortez’ deep timbre rumbled around the spacious room, from his roost atop a pedestal, lounging on a pile of treasure. The gorilla shifted, before speaking again.
“Those simpering fools at home, those tamed lapdogs- they’ve no right to judge me. They have no idea what I’ve found here. They’d refuse to see it. Look around you. The creatures that built these temples shattered mountains to raise their perfect pyramids. They drew gold down from the stars. They lived like Titans, and now they’re gone. But the trees remain. The jungle beat them- it will destroy us all, unless we become one with it.”
Gortez leaned forward, as if he were a mere inch away and not meters of distance, as well as a throne. His golden attire gleamed in the light, his form basking in the sun from the skylight above him. Already Alexander’s mind whirled with possibilities as Gortez continued his dramatics.
“The trees spoke to me and showed me the way. When I saw this place, shining gold burning like fire, I knew who I was. I found the Gold Monkey.” Gortez smiled now, tusklike teeth spreading his face unnaturally wide, unsettling, by how Bonnie Anne and Sarah both grumbled behind Alexander.
“The fools in Puerto Mico think the Gold Monkey is another priceless toy for them to steal. They are wrong- the Gold Monkey is me!” The wild man began to work himself up into a fervor, eyes shining with a feral intelligence, his smile ever widening. “They want to stop me- but they are too good to make the trip themselves. Cowards! I will send them an answer- your broken bones! Children!”
At his last, sharp bark of words, more small Monquistans came to attention, prepared for battle.
Alexander led his small crew to the front left corner as he moved away from the entrance, mind racing as the battle began a. He used a skill his trainer taught him, crossing his blades, readying himself to take a shot if it was intended for his allies. Sarah, as he always planned, cloaked herself in the shadows. Ratbeard moved forward, putting himself between the small group of Monquistans and the crew. Bonnie Anne loaded a round into her musket, growling faintly.
As Gortez watched on, like an Aquilan emperor of old at a gladiator game, Ratbeard yelled, swarmed by Gortez’ ‘children’.
“You bleedin’ coward! Gonna stay up on your throne?!” His gruff voice echoed, as well as a grunt of pain as he took another shot from the small crossbow carrying monkeys.
“The mechanisms-” Bonnie Anne started.
“-Like the troggie temple.” Alexander nodded, then cloaked himself in shadows, directing Sarah to the back left mechanism, Ratbeard to the one right of the door, and Bonnie Anne to the one in their starting corner, as he cloaked himself to sneak around the tall pedestal, to take the farthest carved totem.
Bonnie Anne backed up from the fray, taking a potshot at one of the small spearmen before using the butt of her Scaramanga to jolt the mechanism, making it spin and clunk.
Sarah Steele raced under the cover of her shadows, hugging the wall, and when she reached the mechanism she sheathed her swords for a moment, turning her back and pushing with her shoulder until she too heard a satisfying clunk.
Alexander took longer getting to his place, constantly turning to look at the others, to ensure their safety. However, he too got to his mechanism, and he kicked it viciously, only to turn around at yet another cry of pain from Ratbeard.
Ratbeard pushed through the small crowd of Monquistans, kicking and cursing them and slashing with his large sword, pulling no punches for the annoying buggers. His rough slash sent his own mechanism clunking into place, but as he turned to fight again, the gang of monkeys began to overwhelm him.
Alexander gestured Ratbeard towards him, frantically preparing a small healing spell, from his privateer-made amulet, stolen from the Maria Celestia, a ghost infested ship, months ago.
The mechanisms finally clicked and aligned, all of them revealing carved statues carrying reflective plates. The reflection sent beams of harsh sunlight towards Gortez, burning him with the intensity, causing him to finally move with the pain of it all.
Gortez himself jumped from his mighty throne, down to fight alongside his children. His large one-handed battleaxe sliced deadly arcs through the air, with all the grace of a prima ballerina. He was still trained from childhood to become a conqueror and murderer, and will never forget those lessons, paid in blood thousandfold. His massive, muscled body rippled with his rage as he pounded his chest, directing his rage towards those closest to him, the now gathered Sarah Steele and Bonnie Anne standing strong next to each other.
“I trained my warriors to set villages on fire, but the Bishops won’t let them throw bananas because it is unseemly!” Gortez roared, living to his reputation of a warrior poet once again.
As Gortez made yet another journey where the path would only be eased with the viscera of his enemies, Alexander tried to get within range of Ratbeard, to heal him. But he was far too late, and Ratbeard passed out at his feet, unconscious from multiple wounds, which turned the remaining children of Gortez’ anger to Alexander.
With a helpless shrug, Alexander hopped over a majority of the Monquistans, to their impotent rage. As he neared Gortez and his remaining crew members, he watched the gorilla fight back, and was astounded.
Gortez was a large man, but moved easily, slamming the flat side of his axe into Bonnie Anne’s chest, pushing her back, before turning to Sarah Steele, and slashing at her until she fell down, unconscious.</p>
<p>With a growl, Bonnie Anne shot Gortez point blank, the sparks of her musket blinding him, allowing Alexander to sneak behind him. As Gortez turned towards the new sound he swung, hitting Alexander and causing many of his golden buttons to go flying to the stone floor as the axe cleaved from side to side. In return, Alexander stabbed him in the belly, flipping off of the mountain of a man before stabbing him with both blades yet again, blood flying and painting his pink coat red as he raked downwards, fur and skin flying until he hit the floor again, and kicked off of the gorilla, leaving his monkey children to tend to him now that the battle was decidedly won.
Bonnie Anne supported Ratbeard on her shoulder, and Alexander helped Sarah Steele, with her much more lithe and lighter body. A musketeer used to carrying a mini cannon is much better suited to carrying Ratbeard, rather than Alexander’s much more acrobatic trained muscles.
Gortez stood near the entrance, woozy and leaning against it. “Do not take my children- just me. You only wish to bring me to justice, right?”
Alexander nodded, still scowling.
One of the feather adorned Monquistans approached him, his crossbow unstrung and on his back now.
“Let me join your crew, captain. I will prove helpful, and my loyalty is undying.”
“Let’s not hope so, we do have a witchdoctor in our numbers.” Bonnie Anne’s snout wrinkled with the thought of an undead monkey, and the smell accompanying that.
“You’re on the crew.” Alexander said curtly, Sarah Steele coming to, and slowly standing on her own at his side. “But, little man, if you ever betray my crew, I will make this jungle seem like a haven of mercy.”
The crazed Monquistan nodded, eyes reverent, still glazed with something, either a true malady of the mind, or a hallucinogenic substance, like Alexander privately hypothesized, to Bonnie Anne's never ending amusement.
“Welcome to the crew of the Darling Captain Alexander Dove, Monquistan.” Bonnie Anne said, smiling now. “You’re in for a wild ride.”
#Pirate101#Pitty101#P101#my ocs#Writing#Darling Alexander Dove#Bonnie Anne Pirate101#Fan Flanders Pirate101#Sarah Steele Pirate101#ratbeard pirate101#Lucky Jack Russel Pirate101#Gortez Pirate101#my oc#oc#Subodai Pirate101
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Ménage (2/13ish)
SWF, backstory, personal hurts, connection
He listened to Molly move through her kitchen, hoping to hear her talk to herself for some more info on her. That wasn't eavesdropping, not really, he told himself; she knew he was there. But she was quiet, and quickly returned with another glass, sinking down beside him again.
He accepted the refill of this not-pink-at-all-drink, raised it properly in a toast, and liked very much that she took his hand as she settled in this time.
"So, you sound like you have a lot of experience with celestials. Is it just angels? What are they like?"
"Celestials?" he asked. "You really wanna hear about them? Pompous, jealous, dickwads? It's not just angels, either . . . anything that didn't turn away from the Light calls itself a celestial, and they're all busy jerking off to their own superiority. Sometimes they like to try and herd lesser beings back to what they think is the Way. Gets 'em brownie points or some horseshit."
He took a swig.
"Is that what you were hoping to call here?" he asked, barely keeping the distain out of his voice. "They're like Jehovah's Witnesses or fucking ringworm -- you can't get rid of them once they're here."
He extracted his hand from hers and drew his blackened fingernails through her palm and to her wrist.
"I think you'll find getting me was a much better choice, baby."
Rapt, she listened, her thumb idly brushing the side of his hand; his disdain was easy to perceive, but she was fascinated nonetheless. How many humans got an opportunity like this, to hear about the afterlife, to know even tiny details about the ever-looming What Comes Next?
"You know, I don't doubt you. I'm not exactly the religious type anyway."
The scrape of his blunt, dark nails across her palm to the delicate inner face of her wrist made her heart stutter in her chest, and goosebumps immediately raised on her arm all the way up to her shoulder. Oh. That had felt far too good.
She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks again, wondering how many times this ghost had made her blush in the half hour or so he'd been in her home. Oh well. In for a penny, in for a pound. She flipped her hand over, lying it palm up on her knee, and took a long sip of her drink, draining half in one swallow.
"Do that again?"
He raised an eyebrow at her, half a smile lifting the corner of his mouth.
"This, baby?" he asked to confirm, even as he repeated the motion, first and second fingers circling in her palm, following the creases there like he was divining before dragging them to her wrist and the soft skin of her inner arm. He pulled his fingers backwards to her hand and did it again.
Without permission but with the same smirk on his face, his fingers skipped from her arm to her thigh. They were even lighter there, dragging slowly upward, even as he watched for her reaction.
If his smile wasn't enough to make her heart begin to race, the slow, deliberate drag of his fingertips across her palm certainly did the trick. There were calluses on her fingers from working in her gardens, but her palms remained soft, sensitive, and she couldn't help pinching her lower lip between her teeth to hold back a sigh. Who knew such a simple touch could have such a physical effect on her?
When his fingers migrated to her thigh, bare beneath a thin pair of cotton pajama shorts, she couldn't keep a soft moan back, shivering at the more intimate touch, sliding slowly inward. This . . . oh, it was nice but she couldn't . . . he needed to know what he would be signing up for.
"Hey," she whispered, placing her hand over his to still his progress. "This . . . look, I like you touching me. I like it a lot. But if you . . . if you want more . . . there's a few things you should know about me first."
She sighed, feeling embarrassment and anxiety creeping icy tendrils around her ribcage. "I don't . . . I . . . um, I haven’t done this. I haven't even been kissed. This is all fresh territory for me, and there's a really big reason why."
At the hesitation in her voice and her physically stopping his hand, he cocked his head. She had let the softest moan ever escape. There was the faintest tremble to the fingers atop his. Her breath had come more quickly, and that same pretty blush had darkened her cheeks again.
He didn't want to care about her reason; she was responsive and just the fact she'd called him was arousing. He sported a bit of a tent pole behind his fly, but he wasn't all demon. He knew pain. He'd caused pain gladly, sometimes. But Molly, this woman who may had inadvertently summoned him hadn't immediately banished him, so he wasn't going to do that to her.
So he stopped.
"Everyone starts somewhere, baby," he told her, hoping it sounded more philosophical and less smarmy, and then he waited.
She was grateful that he stopped, that he didnt press his hand forward, only cocked his head in response. He even spoke gently, assuring her that everyone started somewhere, and she was grateful for that too.
"I know. If it was just the virginity thing, your hand would already be in my shorts. I wouldn’t have stopped you just for that." She took a deep breath, let it out, realizing just how long it had been since she had spoken to another person about this.
"I . . . I lost my whole family when I was fifteen. All of them. My older sister was graduating high school and my parents threw a huge party for her. Everyone came, aunts, grandparents, cousins. Everyone. I was being a shitty teenager and didn't figure they'd miss me, so I took a walk, just wanting to be away from so many people asking if I was gonna graduate valedictorian like my sister. And . . . well, I grew up in a small town in the rural midwest, which means half the town made cooking meth their day job. Our neighbors happened to be cooking that day and it...went wrong. The explosion took out half the block, including the house behind it. My house." She paused. She could get through this. "No one got out but me.
"After that, it was foster homes until I could legally be on my own. I had a small fortune in inheritance, since I was the only living relative of anyone with a will. I got a shitty apartment and stewed in a delicious mix of PTSD and survivor's guilt until I turned twenty and started putting my life back together. Got my GED and a BA in journalism. Even got a girlfriend."
A short smile curled on her mouth, but it was joyless.
"Met on an online literary forum. She lived two states away, so we were long distance for a year. She was gonna drive down to spend Christmas with me, and her car . . . hit some black ice. She was killed on impact. She was still in the closet back at home, so I only found out because her best friend found my Facebook. I couldn't even go to her funeral."
"After that, I . . .I just couldn't do it. Everyone I ever loved had died, and not peacefully. I couldn't let myself be around people. I felt cursed. I still feel cursed. I bought this house and I . . . I don't leave it. That's why you're the first person I've spoken to face to face in nearly two years." Her head hung, ashamed at her own weakness, thoughts dark with the horrible memories she has dredged up from the murk.
"Still think I'm worth the trouble?"
Oh, he had some stories about his past that would rival hers, but this wasn't the time or place for one-upmanship. He could bitterly tell her that shitty things happen to everyone, and that's life: just a series of falling down to claw yourself back up again, over and over. You did it or you didn’t, and no one’s path was the right one for anybody else.
But the deep pain he’d experienced that should’ve made him calloused and sour wasn’t quite there. Hers was different, nothing like his, and that didn’t make the deep-seated anger flare.
“So you thought calling up a spirit would give you some companionship,” he said. It was a statement, not a question. His voice dropped. “And you got me instead.”
Slowly, his fingers curled in on themselves, towards his own palm, until he was no longer touching her. Gently he extracted his hand out from under hers.
He tried to chuckle, but it came out a little strained. “Second best again.”
His smile didn’t reach his eyes, and his gaze flicked downward, away from her for a moment, until he collected himself. When he did, straightening and leaving his hand on his own knee, he was able to look at her again.
“Tell me again what you wanted from the spirit you were trying to call up. I’m no good at conversation, I cheat at cards and Monopoly, I’ve eaten my fair share of puzzle pieces. TV is okay, so long as it’s reruns of the Jerry Springer Show. I’m not really suited for the quiet life that it seems like you’ve got going here--I’m more an inappropriately physical specter, if you hadn’t noticed.
“I’ve liked being here, baby, and the drinks were nice, but you might be better sending me on my way and trying your ritual again.”
For a moment, though his eyes were downcast and his posture already shrinking back from her, Molly could see something in his eyes. Something fractured and irreparable. Raw and pained on a level she couldn't possibly begin to fathom. Then the veil dropped, the veneer smoothly tugged back into place, his voice carefully measured and cold.
"What?" It was her turn to cock her head, brow furrowing. "I don't understand, second best to who? I called a spirit and you answered. Haven't I said more than once that I'm happy you're here?"
Reining herself in before her voice got too shrill, Molly took a deep breath.
"Just like I wasn't sure what kind of spirit would answer, I wasn't sure what I'd want if they did. Different spirits have different rules." She bit harshly at her lip, tugging threads of skin loose until the spot began to bleed. "I hoped maybe we could figure it out together, but I guess I just ruined that. I want you to stay, Beej, but I won't make you. Everyone else left, so I shouldn't have assumed you wouldn't leave, too."
She shrank back against the arm of the couch, tugging her knees up protectively to her chest.
People tended to dismiss him, so that wasn't totally unexpected; it was a familiar ache. But people didn't tend to be upset that he offered to go, didn't tend to try and tuck the blame back in on themselves, and didn't tend to tell him repeatedly they wanted him to stay.
In the silence that stretched between them, he considered what she'd said. Seeing her worry her lip till the red on it wasn't lipstick, he dug around in a pocket till he found a scrap of cloth that may have been a handkerchief at one time.
"Here," he told her, shaking it out. He looked it over, reading the monogram, before offering it to her. "I can't imagine old HPL is going to mind you using this. Why the hell anyone would be buried with a snotrag is beyond me."
He left it on the cushion between them, and sighed.
"Molly, I'm sorry I'm not what you expected when you wanted someone here. But . . ." He paused and made sure she was looking at him before continuing. "None of those people in your life left you. Not voluntarily, and that's a big difference than someone choosing to go."
Now the hard part, because it was dangerous being honest; in his experience, people used it against him. "You've said you'd like me to stay. I'd like to stay too, baby. A little company and comfort? Who in their right mind would turn that down?"
His own gaze had flicked to one side, a little, but he forced it back up to hers.
Out of her peripherals, she could see him moving, and assumed he was getting off the couch to leave. So when he produced an off white square of fabric and placed it in the neutral space between them, her brow knitted in confusion. Molly reached for it; there was probably more bacteria on this handkerchief than in a public restroom, but the gesture was kind, and she held it to her bleeding lip anyway.
Hope leapt in her chest like a flame when he admitted that he'd like to stay. Unfurling from her position on the couch, she sat closer to him, and hardly believing her daring, she lifted her hand to cup her palm against his cheek, touch light in case she needed to pull away quickly.
"I was expecting at most some kind of poltergeist, something I could feel but couldn't see. Something to make the place feel less empty. But you came through, and I can talk to you and touch you . . . honey, don't apologize because you weren't what I was expecting. This is better."
Her thumb swept over the ridge of his cheekbone, secretly hoping no moss had rubbed off on her hand. "I would . . . I would really like you to stay. You're fascinating, and fun to talk to, and cute . . ." She bit her lips out of habit, wincing as her teeth raked the tender spot. "Please."
Her feather light touch made his eyelids flutter closed. It was something he could never get enough of, something he'd never tire of. He had to actively prevent himself from pushing into her like a damn cat.
When she relayed what she'd been hoping for and at her quiet admission that she'd like him to stay, he opened his eyes again and caught her gaze. He also couldn't help drop his eyes to her grabbing her lip between her teeth again. A smile grew on his face, and he hoped it distracted enough from what was growing in his pants.
Beetlejuice twisted his head under her hand a little, planting a kiss into her palm.
"I'd like to stay too, baby," he murmured against her skin, before he lifted his amber eyes to hers again. "You expected a poltergeist, but I can go bump in the night too, you know.
"If you're interested . . ."
There was something about the way his eyes fluttered shut, lashes brushing his cheeks as her palm brushed his cheek, that made her insides tremble; odd how such a minuscule gesture could affect her entire body, could make her breath catch. And oh, when his eyes opened again, intense and pinned to her, missing not a single move she made, and he smiled. Molly wondered if she was supposed to feel this way, if it was the isolation talking or if it was normal to have your heart try to hammer through your ribcage.
His lips were cool, colder than the rest of his skin from the chilled liquor, but they left a spot of warmth behind, ticking her palm as he spoke softly against it. Her stomach did a somersault, then another when he caught her gaze again, that playful flicker alight in his eyes. How could she possibly say no?
"I am interested," she breathed, her hand pressing just a bit more firmly to his cheek, leaning closer. Her drink was set aside, her other hand mirroring its twin, cradling his face between them. Her hands ached with the need to bestow gentleness on him; he seemed to be in desperate need of it. "You . . . you can touch me again . . . if you want."
He didn't need any further invitation. The hand he'd teased her with before went back to her thigh, using light pressure to draw a line up it. He made it to the hem of her shorts, then eased his fingers under it before stopping.
He shifted his head in her palm, and put his teeth on the fleshy mound below her thumb even more lightly than his lips had been.
When she moved closer in, he finally moved out of her hand again.
"Never been kissed, you said?" he confirmed, his voice a tad lower than before. "That's a crime. You bit your lip, and I don't wanna hurt you, baby, but I do want a taste . . ."
He left that hanging in the air as he tilted his head and his mouth covered hers.
The skin beneath his fingers seemed to tremble at their passage, a soft rush of breath leaving her as those gentle fingertips slipped under the hem of her shorts, caressing her inner thigh but venturing no further. A hot flush crept down her neck at the sight of his teeth, the soft scrape of the sharp edges making her lips part. Such subtle touches, but God, the effect they had on her.
Like a peal of passing thunder, the last parting rumbles at the end of a clearing storm, his question was asked, and Molly shook her head to confirm that no, she had never been kissed, head tilted back slightly to bare a throat that bobbed in a heavy swallow. Her hands slid to his shoulders, digging slightly into the material of his suit to ground herself as he crooned to her, leaning closer, closer . . .
tbc
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