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fictionalstoryteller · 1 year

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How the Main Characters of LMK Would Babysit Your Kid

Fandom: Lego Monkie Kid

Characters: MK, Mei, Sandy, Tang, & Pigsy

TW: none at all! Just wholesome fluff here ^^

Hello there new people! Yes yes, welcome to my first post on Tumblr. These are just some personal head cannons of mine, so if you have any critiques or questions please ask me about them in the comments. I also plan to do this for the side characters and antagonists of the show, so be on the lookout for that! Now let’s get this show on the road 🚗💨

MK:

With all due respect, why would you let him babysit your kid?! He’s the main protagonist! Something bad is bound to happen, no matter how good of a job he does

Ok but in all seriousness he’s probably going to take his job super seriously. So seriously, in fact, that he’ll swear off any crazy adventures for the day I doubt that’ll stop the antagonists from messing with him though

Knowing MK he’ll get slightly freaked out by the notion of letting you down

When you finally drop your kid off MK has already set aside some crayons and paper on the counter

They both do some doodling, order some noodles, and talk about how cool Monkey king is

If it’s a good day for it then MK might even take the kid to visit Monkey King! He’s got good connections man

Mk gets distracted super easily so he definitely lost the kid at LEAST once

Overall I’d rate him a 6.8/10. He has an energetic and lovable personality, and he will definitely will give it his all. That being said he can’t focus to save his life. And he’s the main protagonist. So there’s a 50/50 chance that he’ll end up taking the kid on some wacky adventure of his on accident

Mei:

Yes this is definitely a good idea. The hyper green skittle themed teen with parent issues will totally make a good babysitter! What? No of course I’m not being sarcastic! Whatever gave you that idea? 🤭

Mei probably volunteered for the job because she likes your kid, after all she definitely isn’t in need of any money

You’ll have to drop your kid off at Pigsy’s Noodles since Mei wouldn’t want the kid to break anything at her parents place

She doesn’t really have a plan for the day, so they start off the babysitting session playing Monkey Mech, the arcade machine game in front of Pigsy’s noodles

Mei definitely offered to take the kid on a ride on her motorcycle. But don’t worry! I’m sure she had an extra helmet! Heh…

Ok let’s be honest, Mei gave your kid a crap ton of sugar. Like your kid is gonna need to brush their teeth at least three times before going to bed-

Luckily your kid ends up running all of the sugar out of their system before you pick them up thanks to Mei’s liveliness

No way your kids going to be bored. After all, Mei is super energetic and basically radiates cool older sister energy! But there are some negatives, especially because she does less then… responsible things at times. (Like letting a kid ride a motorcycle) she means well! She just doesn’t want to be as boring as her parents were. I’d give her a solid 6/10

Sandy:

Sandy couldn’t be happier that you chose HIM of all people to babysit your precious little angel.

This overgrown Smurf already bought a ton of stuff for your kid to use while at his place, even though they’re only going to be there for a couple of hours

You’ll have to drop your kid off at Sandy’s houseboat for babysitting time

If your kid is allergic to cats then your out of luck, because he has 28 cats besides Mo. (and yes… this is canon…) BUT if your kid loves cats they’ll practically be in heaven. Especially since they’re all technically therapy cats, so they’re bound to be nice! Heh- Right?

This man has the best type of snacks for your kid, a mixture of salty and savory stuff! And if you want him to he can also pull out some tea for the kid. No one’s going home hungry today. No one.

If Sandy ever got distracted Mo would be there to make sure your kid wouldn’t do anything dangerous

Since Sandy’s house radiates calm energy there’s a good chance that they end up falling asleep on his couch at some point

Sandy is a literal icon. He has so many activities for them to do, like painting, yoga, and crafts. (And don’t pretend like he wouldn’t play all game they asked him to play) He also has delicious food that’s healthy, and he has cats! But for some kids that’s just not their cup of tea, hence why I’m not giving him a perfect score. After all, kids can be absolute menaces when cooped up in one place for a long period of time. Therefore I’m giving papa Smurf here an 9.5/10!

Tang:

Just to be clear Tang ain’t doing this for free. He’s either asking for some moola, sacred texts, or ramen. Tsk tsk, Tang is so greedy 😔

Tang has so much experience dealing with MK, so he totally knows what type of stories your kid would love. Most of them are probably going to be about past legends and what-not

If he’s in a generous mood he might take your kid to see a museum! If your kid isn’t into that sort of stuff then he’ll consider some other fun activities. This could be exploring the town, visiting a library, things like that

Tang would totally take your kid out for some Pigsy’s Noodles when they got hungry, and he might even teach them a few tactics that’ll help them get some free food… (Pigsy would be LIVID)

If your kid is a bookworm Tang might share a few of his favorite books. And if he likes the kid enough he might even let them borrow the books until the next babysitting session

Tang is a simple man with simple needs, unlike most kids. He’s a bookworm who has a cool kid complex, clearly the most normal out of everyone in the gang. Because of this, your kid will be completely out of harms way! But that doesn’t change the fact that he might appear a bit boring… at least in the beginning of the babysitting session. But I have no doubt that as time goes on your kid will grow to appreciate his swindling ways and his logical thought processes! After all, MK practically idolizes him, and he’s practically just a kid in a teenagers body. That being said it’ll definitely cost you some pocket change to hire him. Anyways, Tang is getting a 7.5/10 from me!

Pigsy:

Pigsy probably has the most experience with kids out of anyone in the gang since he basically raised MK

I imagine Pigsy wouldn’t want to take a day off to babysit, and so he’d probably get MK to help work in the kitchen so he can focus on your kid without getting too distracted. And if MK is busy he’ll just ask someone else in the gang! Though, he probably won’t be happy about it-

After you drop your kid off at Pigsy’s restaurant he’ll have two options for them to choose from: Help out in the kitchen or hang out at a table

If your kid wants to help in the back he’ll teach them all the basics of noodle making! But if your kid is a slow learner he’ll probably just give ‘em some dough to play with while he works.

If your kid just wants to hang out at a table, Pigsy will bring them some of MK’s crayons and let them do some drawing. Don’t worry, he’ll occasionally peek out of the kitchen to check on them

Pigsy is kind but stern, so your kid should be prepared to get yelled at lectured at least once 😅 (I’m kidding ofc, I don’t think he’d really yell unless he was in a panic or REALLY upset. Something tells me he has a soft spot for kids)

Whoever is helping him work would also get to hang out with your kid during their breaks, so it’s like 2 babysitters for the cost of 1!

I love Pigsy, and I’m sure other people do as well! He has experience and is fairly responsible, he definitely wouldn’t let your kid get away with doing something bad. He can be tense at times, so if your kid is sensitive he might not be the best babysitter for them. But I’d like to point out HE DEFINITELY HAS A SOFT SPOT FOR KIDS which means he might be nicer than normal. Because of this I’m rating his babysitting services an 8/10!

#Lmk #lego monkie kid #kids #babysitting #reader insert #headcanon #lmk headcanon #mk lmk #tang lmk #pigsy lmk #mei lmk #sandy lmk

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agustdakasuga · 3 years

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Between The Bloodshed | Chapter 2

Genre: Mafia!AU, Angst, Romance, Fluff

Pairing: OT7 x Reader

Characters: Doctor!Reader, Gangster!Namjoon, Gangster!Seokjin, Gangster!Yoongi, Gangster!Hoseok, Gangster!Jimin, Gangster!Taehyung, Gangster!Jungkook

Summary: Being a freelance doctor, this was just supposed to be any other job, helping a private client and taking care of him through his recovery. But you were not expecting to get caught in something so much darker that would change your life entirely.

Already from day 1, this house seems to be more bustling than you expected. As you interact with each family member, you notice their different personalities and characters.

Warning: This story is fictional and has nothing to do with real life events or the actual members of BTS. It may contain depictions of violence, blood shed/ gore and mentions of abuse. Please read at your own discretion.

When you woke up the next morning, you took 5 minutes to stare at the ceiling. Despite being a person with your job, you still weren’t a morning person. You pulled yourself out of bed, opening the curtains and heading into your bathroom. You changed into a button up shirt and a skirt.

“Good morning, doctor. I’m here to take you down for breakfast.” A butler bowed as you opened the door.

“Morning. Thank you.” You forced a smile. You followed him downstairs, walking in the same dining room as the night before. Mentally, you groaned at the thought of the awkward meal.

“I think I’ll skip going to the dining room. Do you have a coffee machine around here?” You asked him. The butler seemed flustered by your words.

“But the masters request that you sit with them.” He said.

“I will... I just need my coffee first.” You rubbed the back of your neck. You really didn’t want to go in but at the same time, you weren’t going to make this man’s life difficult. The butler bowed, gesturing in another direction and you followed him. You saw the coffee machine and let out a sigh of relief. Walking over, you began to make coffee.

“Can I have a big glass? Filled with ice, please.” You requested. He nodded, scurrying away quickly to get you what you need. Anything to get you into that dining room as soon as possible.

“This is a nice machine.” You noted, pouring the espresso shots over the ice and filling the rest of it with water. You stuck your metal straw into it.

“I’ll go to the dining room. Thank you.” You told the butler, walking to the dining room yourself.

“Good morning, doc.” Jin waved as you entered.

“Morning.” You waved lazily, taking the same seat that you took last night. A breakfast tray was placed in front of you. There was some rice porridge and side dishes.

“How was your sleep?” Namjoon asked.

“It was okay.” You said with a small shrug, putting a small piece of kimchi into your mouth. You were never really a breakfast person because eating in the morning made your stomach feel weird. All you really needed was tons coffee to get you going.

“Good morning, (y/n).” Jimin came in with a yawn, his hair all messy up and clothes all wrinkled.

“Morning, Jimin.” You replied nonchalantly. The other boys looked at each other as you and Jimin called each other by first name. Jimin just sat down beside you, picking his chopsticks up.

“Uh, doc?” Jungkook’s head poked into the dining room. Stopping your chewing, you turned to see him.

“Have you started work?” He asked.

“Good morning to you too, Jungkook sshi. And yes, hold on a sec.” You wiped your mouth, grabbing your coffee and walked over to him. Once away from the others, Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck with a nervous smile. You raised an eyebrow and that was when your eyes trailed down to the end of his long sleeved shirt.

“Show me.” You said. Jungkook pulled his sleeves up, showing his bruised and bloodied knuckles.

“Can you patch them up?” You nodded over to your office and he followed behind you. As you pushed open the door, you turned the lights on and placed your coffee mug on the table. Jungkook stood there, blinking.

“Umm...”

“Sit there.” You told him as you went to wash your hands by the sink. Jungkook sat down on the chair and you grabbed your first aid kit.

“Hold still.” You told him as you placed the antiseptic on a cotton wool, dabbing it on the scabs. Jungkook winced in pain, letting out a few curses as you continued to clean the wounds.

“Can you be a little gentler?” He hissed.

“I’m sure you weren’t gentle when you got these either. If you can get this hurt, this pain should be nothing.” You replied, not looking up at him. Placing the bloodied cotton onto a tray, you threw it away and washed your hands again. Sitting back down, you took the bandages out.

“You’re done.” You fastened the gauze with metal clips.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what happened?” Jungkook asked as you retreated to keep the first aid kit.

“Do you want me to ask?” You asked back. Jungkook pursed his lips, scrunching his nose. You chuckled at his expression, he reminded you a child.

“Then let’s just say you have a bad temper, hmm?” You teased as you sat down at your desk. Jungkook scoffed at your words but stood up. he saluted at you before he left the office.

“I’m here.” The door slammed open. You looked up from your computer.

“Good morning, Yoongi sshi. You seem to be in a good mood.” You said as you got up from your seat. Yoongi stood by the doorway, rolling his eyes.

“I already told Namjoon I don’t need a babysitter.” Yoongi scowled.

“It’s not a babysitter, Yoongi sshi. I’m just helping you with your physiotherapy. The sooner you get that shoulder moving again, the sooner we can get this bulky cast off and you’ll be as good as new. Wouldn’t you like to wear normal shirts and pants again?” You sighed as you slowly helped him to unfasten his cast but he glared at you.

“Don’t speak like you know.”

“I’m simply hinting that this flannel and track pants combination doesn’t really work but hey, if you think it works, then you do you.” You shrugged. Yoongi growled in annoyance, obviously not liking your job.

“Okay, okay, calm down. Geez, tough crowd.” You shook your head. Yoongi rolled his eyes.

“You’ll need to remove your shirt so I can check your wound. If the stitches have not closed, we can’t start therapy or your wounds might reopen.” You told him.

“Fine.” You let him unbutton his shirt and lower it to see the incision. You hummed in approval at the condition of his post surgery shoulder.

“Alright. You’re good to start.” You said and he buttoned up his shirt again. You moved to stand in front of him and as you gently held his wrist, you could feel him stiffen. Obviously, you weren’t going to call him out on his nervousness. Patients were always guarded around injuries.

“Slowly. Relax.” You said softly and began to help him.

“Does this hurt?” You asked. He shook his head and you continued to slowly move him through his exercises. Slowly, Yoongi began to lose the sour look on his face and just did what you told him to do.

“That hurt!” Yoongi barked.

“Sorry, I guess that is your maximum movement for now. Hold on.” Taking a pen, you scribbled this down on your notepad.

“Good to continue?” You asked him. He looked away but nodded his head. You continued to do some small exercises with him. You smiled mentally as you felt him start to relax.

KNOCK KNOCK

“Who is it?” You called out.

“Jin!”

“I’m kind of busy at the moment. Is it important?” You said, still focused on Yoongi. Yoongi was quite surprised that you were able to focus on him even with Jin talking to you through the door but of course, he didn’t show it. You had a small frown on your face and you were biting your lower lip, showing how focused you were.

“I noticed you didn’t really touch your breakfast so I brought you a snack.” Jin continued.

“I’m good. Not a breakfast person. Thanks though.” You replied. After that, you heard Jin’s retreating footsteps. Your eyes moved to the clock and you saw how much time has passed.

“That’s all for today.” You gave a small smile and pulled away. Grabbing his sling, you began strapping him back.

“You may feel a little sore but it’s normal after your first session. If it’s unbearable, I’ll give you a light painkiller.” You told him. Yoongi just stared at you.

“Depending on how you feel after this session, we might have our next one in 5 days. If you’re too sore from today, we’ll just wait a week.” You told him as you walked him to the door. Yoongi nodded but didn’t spare you another glance before walking out.

“You’re welcome, I guess.” You mumbled before closing the door and sitting back down.

“(y/n)!” The door opened and Jimin came bounding in with Hoseok behind him. Hoseok placed down a tray of snacks with some drinks.

“Busy morning?” Hoseok asked.

“Nope.” You shook your head as you continued typing your notes for Yoongi’s physiotherapy session. Also, you had to plan the exercises for his next session with you.

“Still, you gotta eat. So we brought snacks. We can have you fainting on us, we don’t have another doctor on standby.” Hoseok said.

“Very funny.” You said sarcastically. There were some boiled eggs, fruit and kimbap pieces on the tray. You picked up a boiled egg, taking a bite as you continued reading your screen. Then you realised that Hoseok and Jimin were still there, taking the opportunity to explore your office. Hoseok laid down on the patient bed while Jimin sat on your stool.

“Don’t you guys have work to do?” You asked.

“Not us. We don’t actually work as much as you think we do.” Jimin said, spinning around on your stool.

“What about you?” Hoseok propped his head up, resting it on his palm.

“Do my own work. Unless someone needs my help.” You replied. Namjoon’s contract with you was simple, help the boys out when they needed it. Other than that, you were free to do whatever you wanted.

“I’m bored, let’s do something!” Jimin jumped up.

“Alright, have fun.” You replied, still looking at the screen and typing. The boys looked at each other before looking back at you.

“You’re coming with us.” Hoseok declared.

“No thanks.” You waved them off. They were going to protest when there was a knock on the door. Taehyung stood there, a slight frown on his face. You finally looked away from your screen and up at him. Taehyung cleared his throat, waving his phone around.

“Namjoon hyung has been trying to contact you guys! Don’t you know how to answer your phones?” He glared.

“What’s up, Tae?” Jimin asked.

“Issues.” Taehyung looked at you and you rolled your eyes. This was your office anyway, not like you were eavesdropping or anything. Taehyung grabbed Hoseok and Jimin, pulling them out of the room.

“Finally, some peace and quiet.” You sighed, standing up. You stretched your back and arms. Grabbing the stool that Jimin was previously sitting on, you sat in front of your medicine cabinet and began to check the drugs, as well as noting down what was missing from the list that you had given Namjoon. At the same time, you refilled the first aid kit.

“Back so soon?” You spoke as you heard the door open but didn’t turn around. There being no reply, you turned to see Namjoon there.

“Namjoon sshi? What can I help you with?” You stood up.

“There has been an emergency at one of our work places. Do you think you could... come with us?” He asked. You blinked at him for a second before nodding your head.

“You’re the boss.” You grabbed the first aid boxes. Slipping your white coat on, you followed him out and into the foyer.

“She’s going?” Yoongi asked, lounging on the couch.

“Yes.” Namjoon said, grabbed his car keys. Before you could follow, someone grabbed your wrist to stop you. You turned around to see Jin grabbing you. Namjoon stopped as well, turning to look at the oldest.

“No. Namjoon, not on her first day. Doc, go back to your office.” Jin said sternly. This was too much drama for day 1. You didn’t know who you should listen to. Suddenly, someone poked the space between your shoulder blades behind you to get you to start walking.

“Go.” Jungkook nodded to the hallway. You turned back to give him slight look for doing that but didn’t protest, walking back to your office.

You stayed in your office the entire day. The boys all left and Yoongi had returned to his room so you decided to do some reading alone. The door opened and someone came in, making you look up.

“Dinner?” Hoseok asked, a butler behind him with a tray.

“Sure.” You closed the book you were reading and went to wash your hands. Hoseok sat down as the butler placed the tray down.

“Leave us.” Hoseok waved him off. The butler bowed and left the office. You sat down and picked up your rice bowl in one hand with your chopsticks in another. Hoseok did the same.

“Coming in.” Taehyung burst open, trudging in with heavy footsteps. He sat down on the patient bed with his own bowl in his hand. You watched him and finally noticed something. You stood up and headed over to him, placing your hand over his. Taehyung stopped chewing, eyes casting up to stare at your through his fringe.

“What?”

“Your hand.” You spoke softly. Taehyung put his bowl down, resting his chopsticks over as he let you grab his hand. You turned it over, showing the blisters on the palm.

“Let me treat this?” You asked. Taehyung nodded and you grabbed your first aid kit. Squeezing some cream onto a q-tip, you dabbed it on his scabs.

“Oww...” He cringed.

“Sorry.” You placed small band aids over the more open wounds, letting the others heal on their own with the air.

“Keep your hands clean and you can remove the band aids tomorrow. Here, apply this too.” You handed him the tube of antiseptic cream. Taehyung held the small tube in his hands before slipping it into his pocket. He picked up his bowl to continue eating as you washed your hands.

“You are definitely an observant one, doc.” Hoseok grinned as you sat back down to finish your dinner.

“My job is to care for your health and wellbeing, I kinda have to be observant. If patients were always truthful with what was bothering them, a lot of people would be jobless now.” You laughed.

“Right. Also, call me Hoseok. Just like you do with Jimin.” Hoseok said and you nodded.

“Likewise.” You smiled. Taehyung didn’t say anything, jumping off the bed and heading out the door with his empty bowl in his hand.

“Ignore him. We’ve all had a long day. Hence the informal dinner.” Hoseok explained. You nodded your head. You weren’t really bothered by Taehyung’s attitude. Like you’ve mentioned when you came, you’re here as an employee to the family. What their mannerisms were or how they felt about you didn’t really affect you, as long as it doesn’t interfere with your work.

“What are you reading now?” Hoseok changed the subject.

“It’s reading to study, actually. I’m hoping to learn new physiotherapy techniques or osteopathy.” You explained.

“Wow, I’ll leave you to that then. Goodnight, (y/n).” Hoseok stood up, carrying the tray of empty dishes.

“Goodnight, Hoseok.” You smiled. He smiled at you and left the room. You stretched your arms up, turning off your computer and packed up your things. The door opened and Yoongi stood there.

“I need medicine.” He mumbled.

“Hmm, I’m guess that you have finished the medication the doctor gave you after the surgery?” You asked as you went to your medicine cabinet. Yoongi let out a grunt in reply as you looked through and found a mildly sedating painkiller for him to take.

“Here. It’s not as strong as the one the doctor gave but it’ll still make you a little sleepy.” You handed him the little dish with the pill and went to pour him a glass of water from the jug you had.

“Anything else?” You asked him. Yoongi shook his head and stood up, leaving the office.

“Goodnight, Yoongi sshi!” You called out with him with a smile on your face. Gathering the rest of the things, you turned off the lights and headed out.

“Hey, doc.” As soon as you walked out, you saw Namjoon standing there, a bottle of beer in his hand. He looked tired but forced a smile. You bowed your head slightly and gave a small wave.

“I should apologise for earlier. I’m not usually that... reckless.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“No worries, Namjoon sshi.” You shrugged.

“I hope I didn’t scare you.”

“It’s going to take quite a bit to scare me, unfortunately. So I wouldn’t sweat it.” You chuckled. Namjoon finally gave a genuine smile, laughing along with you as he nodded. You saluted to him and headed back to the direction of your room. You took a nice shower and called your mother to speak to her for a while, as well as seek some advice over some health concepts with her.

“Are you sure you’re safe?”

“Don’t worry, omma. I’m fine.” You sighed as you sat on your bed.

“Alright, you’re old enough to make your own decisions. Goodnight, dear. I’ll speak to you soon.”

“Likewise.” You replied and hung up. Standing up, you went to the window to draw the curtains before you went to bed. You saw Jungkook pacing around the gazebo, talking to Jimin who seemed disinterested as he laid on the bench like the night before.

You hadn’t realised that they saw you staring as both stopped, meeting eyes with you. Jungkook just blinked while Jimin smirked, waving at you.

“Goodnight.” You scoffed, even though you knew they couldn’t hear you, and closed the curtains.

“It’s only day 1.” You massaged your temples, falling back down onto the bed. These boys were definitely going to be different from all the other families that you have worked with before.

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trillian-anders · 4 years

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the assistant

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

warnings: violence, angst, fluff, smut && SPOILERS

word count: 6.8k

description: part 1 of 5. CONTAINS MAJOR SPOILERS, PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE NOT WATCHED THE FILM. you’ve been working for the thrombeys for four years now, the last three years of your service being a glorified babysitter to the most annoying, self-absorbed, dickhead hugh ransom drysdale.

You wanted to smack that dumb smirk off his stupid dumb face.

Hugh Ransom Drysdale. The bane of your fucking existence. Standing there with that stupid fucking smirk on his face, he fucking loved this. Watching as you cleaned up his mess. A crying girl on his doorstep and you, his assistant (aka babysitter), trying to calm her down enough to get her to leave his house. This dumb contemporary floor to ceiling windowed, minimalist, empty souled house. The girl had been picked up at a bar last night. Charmed by his handsome face, the money he was careless to spend, the way he spoke to you like you were the most beautiful thing in the world.

It was a fucking joke. A trick. You’ve seen it a million times and you’d be willing you bet that you’d see it a million more.

The door blocked her view of him, your clear view of him from the side, sipping on a mug of coffee in his hands and fucking smirking.

“He won't even see me?” You hated when they cried. Like each of them had this idea that they’d go home with Ransom Drysdale and fuck him so good that he’d tie them to his bed and never let them leave or something.

You sighed heavily before replying, “Mr. Drysdale has business to attend to, he’s unavailable at the moment, but I can leave him a message if you’d like?” You did this maybe five or six times a week. In the early morning hours, after his sexual escapade and some rest, Ransom would wake early and leave for the gym. In that time you were supposed to ‘take out the trash’ as he described it. This morning, the girl left dazed and confused in the fog taking an uber back to her home, but returning an hour later trying to plead her case. It was giving you a migraine.

The girl stepped back from the porch, shoes crunching against the gravel as she searched the windows for his face. “FUCK YOU RANSOM.” She shouted, flipping the bird into the air. The man hiding to your right, choked on his coffee in laughter as you watched the girl get back into her car and disappear from sight.

“What's on the agenda today Ransom,” You shut the door quietly, turning to face him, “Because if I have to do that again tomorrow I’ll quit.” He scoffed in indignation.

“You’re not gonna quit,” He drained the rest of his mug, “You can’t even leave the house long as you got that.” He gestured towards your leg. Sitting firmly on your right ankle was a house arrest bracelet. One meant for him, but carefully bribed into being put on your own leg. The stupid son of a bitch got away with murder, after the death of his late Grandfather’s housekeeper by his own hand and the attempted murder of the girl that got the entire Thrombey fortune, he stayed the lucky son of a bitch he had been his entire life.

Evidence was mishandled, not enough proof. That whole, ‘beyond reasonable doubt’ thing. The rich asshole got fucking house arrest and court mandated therapy. Even after there were three fucking witnesses to him attempting to murder Marta Cabrera.

Money oiled the gears of the justice system, letting the trust fund baby slip through without consequence. That’s where you come in.

You worked for the Thrombey’s before. As a tutor to Meg when she began to fail her english class. For whatever reason, Lynda and Richard Drysdale liked you, assigned you a new task. Their sweet baby boy Hugh, called Ransom by everyone but the Help. You’ve worked for Ransom for three years now. The first year before the death of his Grandfather and Thrombey patriarch, and now two years after his death and wouldn’t you know it. Hugh Ransom Drysdale wrote a fucking bestseller.

Everyone wanted an insight into this family. Harlan Thrombey always said there was so much of him in Ransom. He wasn’t lying.

Ransom wrote the first of what you knew would be many new Thrombey family murder mystery novels. And he was reaping in the cash. He was two months away from his next big release. Something you’re sure would fly off the shelves just as quickly as the first.

“Don’t worry,” He said, “I’ve got a deadline to meet.” His coffee mug abandoned by the front door for you to clean up, he left you to officially start your day. He retreated into the study he created for himself to crank out the last four chapters he needed for his book, maybe.

Due to circumstances beyond your control, you were the one placed on house arrest. As long as no one was notified that Ransom left the perimeter of the house you were being paid well, and you being paid well meant your younger sister gets taken care of. You were able to send her money every month to help with the fact that she was staying with an estranged aunt. It hadn’t been easy once your mother died, but the Thrombey’s lighten the load so to say.

That’s why you were washing Ransom’s sheets that reeked of sex, picking up and disposing of torn panties and tossing used condoms the fucking dick couldn’t be bothered enough to toss two more feet into the trash can in his on-suite. You’d invested in rubber gloves.

On days that Ransom had to meet with his probation officer he would wear a dummy bracelet. It got him by and soon the fucker would be over and done with house arrest all together. You’d be able to move back home then. Hopefully.

“Ransom, you ever gonna eat today?” You knocked on the open door of his study, bringing his attention from his computer to you, who held a bowl of pasta in your one hand. He sighed, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his eyes. There were multicolored post-its surrounding his computer. Your mind made the connection with how similar it was to his Grandfather’s own workspace. You gently placed the bowl on his desk, turning to pour him a tumbler of whiskey from the small bar in the corner of the room.

“I don’t know how the old bastard ever cranked out two books a year,” His neck cracked. “How is that even possible?” He took a large bite of the pasta, squinting at the screen. His eyes quickly shifted to yours, watching you set down the glass of whiskey in front of him. He grabbed your wrist. “Stay.” It was an order. “Sit.” You took your place in a chair across from him.

“Harlan wrote every day,” You told him, “You write whenever you’re not off sticking your dick into anything that breathes.” He laughed at that.

“Not everything that breathes,” He typed a few more words into the word document, “I haven’t fucked you yet.” Your core pulsed, he said yet.

Audibly you scoffed, “I would never willingly fuck you Ransom.” You pulled your legs up onto the chair to make yourself comfortable. He smirked at that, eyes not leaving the computer screen.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” That stupid smirk. You hated that fucking smirk. So condescending.

When you first met Ransom you were probably very much like the girls that you now pry out of his bed at 8 am. You had been tutoring Meg at the family home, sitting at the kitchen table going over Othello when he sauntered in, digging through the cabinets for snacks. You could feel Meg tense up next to you and that’s when he turned. He was so fucking pretty. Blue eyes, well kept hair, cashmere sweater, those broad fucking shoulders, and on his face, stretching that full bottom lip you wanted to tug between your teeth, was a smirk.

That pulsing throb between your thighs soon was quickly forgotten as he opened his mouth and began to speak, “How’s it going Meg, trouble reading? Or do they not teach you how to read when you’re a liberal? Lord knows you guys never fucking understand anything anyway.” Meg snapped back at him, but you were stunned. You could tell he said that on purpose, knowing it would make her go off on the tangent he was now, finding a sick pleasure in it. That was the first time you’d seen the smirk. You’d lost count of how many times you’ve seen it since then.

“I really hate you Ransom.” You sighed, sinking further into your chair. He had almost finished off the bowl of pasta by now, whiskey long since emptied. He thinks it’s funny, you hating him because he responds looking you in your eyes, maintaining his smirk,

“I know you do baby.” He liked to do that. Call you pet names. Once he had even pretended you were his wife when you accidentally walked in on him and a girl he had been balls deep in, bent over the back of the couch. He fucking LOVED that one. The girl had cried, embarrassed, apologizing as she picked her bra up from the floor and slunk out the front door behind you. That was a while ago. Pre-Murder. You should have seen it then. How insane he actually was.

Ransom was incredibly smart and was a quick thinker. It was part of the reason that he had gotten away with murder in the first place. You knew that. It showed in his novel. He would have you read chapters, give him your opinion, before writing and rewriting. Showing you again. He’d ask you if you could figure out who was the murderer, a sinister glint in his eyes, arms crossed, standing above you waiting. He could only be satisfied if you didn’t have a clue.

It was a gift, you supposed, the ease in which he wrote to make every character a possible suspect in completely new and incredible scenarios. He had three books in various states of completion that he was chipping away at, the one he was currently working on seemingly better than the previous published.

His Mother, the one who gave him the silver spoon and cursed him for having it his whole life, was suddenly proud of him. His Father, now divorced from his Mother, would come by weekly asking for money. Ransom loved that too. His Dad got nothing due to the prenup, leaving him penniless. The cushy job he had at Lynda’s real estate empire was gone, and now Dad was working at local agency scraping by on low commission. Last week his Father came to the door while Ransom was writing and muscled his way not too kindly past you into the house.

“Ransom!” He called, finding his way into his son’s study. You quietly shut the door, returning to folding laundry. The door shut tightly behind him and sounds had been muffled. It’s only when their voices went from calm to a screaming match did the door wretch open and Ransom followed his Dad out, both red faced.

“We’ve given you everything in your fucking life and you can’t even give one iota back.” Ransom opened the front door, gesturing to the porch.

“Get the fuck out, and don’t come back.” His voice stern and commanding.

“Fuck you Ransom.” With that he was gone. The silence that had settled over the house was thick, Ransom’s hand still resting against the closed door before he took a breath and, without taking a glance in your direction, returned to his study. Closing the door.

The echo of that argument sat in the house for the rest of the day, Ransom leaving soon after to find a body to lose himself in. If the murder trial did anything, it made Ransom into a bad boy and girls fucking loved it. He wasn’t, technically, guilty after all.

You attempted to clear the bowl in front of him, but was stopped by his hand. His eyes never left the screen as he brought your hand to his lips, placing a kiss in your palm, before dragging your arm to his other shoulder, hugging himself with it awkwardly until you gave in and wrapped your other arm around him, holding him tightly for a moment.

He was soft sometimes. His Mom never held him when he was a kid. He was left alone a lot while she was building her empire. Babysitters never stayed long, nannies came and went. Sometimes you truly felt bad for him, other times you remember that he was a dick and that he loved to play tricks and torment anyone and everyone that was supposed to take care of him, including you. The only difference was you weren’t able to leave.

He let you go soon after that, letting you clean up the mess from dinner and stoke the fire place warming the house that always seemed too cold. As you stood by the fire, arms wrapped around yourself you could feel him behind you, coming to wrap his arms around your waist, leaning his head on your shoulder as you stared into the flames. There was a moment or two of silence as you both stood there.

If this were any other situation, if Ransom loved you, if this was someone who loved you, if this someone cared enough to care about the things you care about, this would be kind of romantic. But it’s Ransom, and he didn’t care about anyone but himself, he definitely didn’t care about you, and he one hundred percent didn’t care about anything you care about. “I’m going out.”

His arms left your waist and his chest left your back leaving you cold. “For fucks sake Ransom, I don’t feel like throwing out a girl tomorrow morning.” You turned to watch him throwing his coat on. He smirked. He fucking smirked.

“I’ll give you a break and throw her out myself then.” And he was gone.

Hours later you’re woken by the sound of Ransom coming home, sure enough he wasn’t alone. Soft giggles and a bang, he’s shoved her against the wall beside your room. There were muffled groans as you assumed she found her knees right there in the hallway. He got off on this shit, you knew. Often stopping somewhere outside your door to start his sexual escapades. Knowing you were mere feet away, like some half-assed exhibitionism. It wasn’t long after that the girl squealed and there was more muffled talking before they moved to his bedroom. To which you shared a wall.

Your bedroom, before you were a live-in, housed a bunch of items you believed graced a teen boy’s bedroom walls at one point. And still, shoved in the corner, were playboy model cardboard cutouts, “They’re vintage, mint condition, and worth a lot.” Sure, Ransom, sure they are. Arcade games, framed patriots jerseys, a lacrosse set from his high school days. You were shoved in the middle of it all, a single bed shoved against the wall surrounded by what once was a room full of teenage boy memorabilia. A shrine to his youth.

The headboard soon came knocking and hope for sleep was lost. The girl’s moans escalating to shrieks. Either he was as good as he says, or these girls really care about his ego. Either could be true when there’s more than one comma in your bank account.

The kitchen was much quieter. A steady rocking still came from upstairs, but thankfully it was muffled by the floor. As you made a cup of tea you figured you would see if he had printed off a new chapter ready for you to read. You hope he wouldn’t have gone out without finishing it anyway.

You were not sure why you cared to be honest. You had this love/hate for Ransom. He was an annoying prick who did something really fucking horrible, but he also made it very clear to everyone involved that you had nothing to do with it. There was a scary moment there, after his arrest, when you were brought to the station for interrogation. You hadn’t known he had even gotten up to any of these crimes. He kept you completely in the dark and he was sure to let his arresting officers know that. You hadn’t even seen him since the night Harlan died when he left the party stranding you at the estate.

Money does crazy things to people. The threat of his steady income leaving was enough to push him to do something crazy. He was lucky enough that the recorded confession magically was erased. He was lucky for dirty cops. He was lucky that even though his mother despised his lifestyle she didn’t want him to go to prison. He was so lucky. Now with his first novel sitting highly on the bestseller list, he seemed even more lucky than he did before.

His study was on the opposite side of the house from his bedroom, muffling the sounds enough for you to flip through the packet left on top of his keyboard. Three chapters away from completion you were following the detective through paces where things felt more confusing than ever, the clues were unclear and there was not much to go on, but the tension between the eldest son of the victim and his ex-wife were mounting and it was hard to believe that maybe this guy had nothing to do with it despite what was described as an ‘air-tight’ alibi. You read through the chapter twice, scribbling your thoughts in red pen along the margins.

“What do you think?” You jumped in your chair, looking up to see Ransom in the doorway.

“You scared the shit out of me,” Your hand still clutching your chest. He had a glass of water in his hand, chest bare, solid navy pajama pants slung low on his hips. His chest hair always got you, just a little bit. He tugged his bottom lip between his teeth and pushed off the door jam to walk into the room, taking a seat in the chair you occupied hours ago. “It’s good,” you cleared your throat, “I’m not sure how much longer I can wait for you to finish to be honest.” He chuckled softly.

“Let me see.” You handed him the packet and his eyes scanned the margins, reading your comments. They were mostly reactions, that’s what he liked. He wanted to know how you reacted to everything he put in front of you, did you like the romance, the tension, the lust he was trying to write between the ex-husband and wife? Or was it too distracting from the plot? Is the detective too unbelievable? He’s a character for sure. Can you figure out whodunnit yet?

“What are you doing out of bed?” You asked, spinning the chair side to side, waiting for him to put the packet down.

“I told you I was going to kick her out.” He took another sip from his water. You scoffed,

“And you couldn’t start doing this sooner?” A smile stretched his lips,

“I like how much it bothers you.”

“It’s annoying,” you said, “Worst way to start my day.” He laughed.

“That’s the only reason?” He asked, throwing the packet back on the desk, leaning back in his chair. Smirking.

“You’re such an asshole, you know that?” You pushed back from the desk, moving to exit the room. He quickly grabbed your wrist, tugging you over to his side where he looked up at you,

“If you wanna take their place, just let me know.” Your other hand came up to smack him on his shoulder, causing him to laugh as he released you, letting you take your exit.

“Dick.”

You found him the next morning at his desk, looking as though he had very little sleep. “Babe could you get me some coffee?” You yawned in the doorway,

“Sure.” It didn’t take long before you were setting the cup in front of him. “Your therapist is coming by at one.” He nodded, not looking up from his computer. “I’ll come get you when it’s time for you to get ready.”

He was focused. You weren’t sure where this focus came from. It was every once in a while that he would find this stroke of inspiration and write for a whole day straight. Hopefully he will be finished his book before schedule and be able to get ahead for the next one.

Soon he was washed, dressed, and ready for the one person he dreads the most. He hated therapy sessions. There were only ten more he needed to do before the court mandate was over. Ten more weeks until you were able to get this lovely ankle bracelet off when you would hopefully be able to go back to the routine you had with him before. Where you’d sleep in your own shitty apartment and show up to work a 9 to 9 five days a week.

After sessions he was always moody, quiet, and tended to need his favorite single malt restocked the next day. Not exactly in line with how he should be tending to whatever revelation the therapist has been streamlining him to, but that wasn’t any of your business. You could say though that during the last 42 weeks of sessions this refractory period was shortening to less and less time, maybe tonight you won't be peeling him off the floor of the study and dragging him up to his room drunk off his ass.

While in the session you were trying not to listen in on, you were sunk heavily on the living room couch, drinking coffee and reading the latest chapter he had slapped into your hands before entering back into his study. The book was so close to being finished, the last two chapters leading you to the big reveal and aftermath. The climax was steady taking hold and you were more sure than ever that the eldest son had something to do with it. You didn’t know what he did, but it was something.

He looked mad enough to kill as the Doctor left. Slamming the door, barely missing the Doctor’s jacket sleeve as he made his hasty retreat. Ransom stood seething for a moment by the front door, a chill running down your spine. He had murdered someone before, something you try to forget seeing as you are forced to spend so much time with him. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. It felt like an hour before he moved.

“I’m going out.” The words spoken sternly as he stomped his way up the stairs like a petulant child, returning moments later, cleaned up, eyes blank, before grabbing his coat and slamming the door loud enough to make you jump.

Aside from Ransom’s Mother never being around and aside from his Father’s string of extramarital affairs and aside from his Grandfather’s need to push him in every direction but close, you wish you could say that Ransom had a good childhood. But he didn’t. When he was little the kids picked on him for being rich, and when he was bigger they only became friends with him because he was rich. He was such a bully. At least, that’s what his Mother told you once drunk off chardonnay at his birthday dinner last year.

Disappointment.

That was a clear sentiment for the small family get together, and by small family get together you meant the dinner you cooked and Ransom looking like he’d rather be in prison than listen to his parents bicker over his Father’s new (Not so new seeing as he’d been caught kissing her by a PI before Harlan’s death) girlfriend. She was smart enough not to come.

This night was looking a lot like that one. Ransom, after his parents left and you began to tidy up, began to scream at you.

“What gave you the fucking right you dumb bitch?” He was spitting, face red as you cleared the dishes. “You’re only here for the money. The fucking money. How much is she paying you huh?” The bottle of expensive whiskey he had been drinking throughout the night was in his hand, swinging it around and taking pulls straight from the bottle. “Not enough obviously because you would have let me fuck you a long time ago.”

Your face flushed red as your own anger began to rise. He continued, “Never, ever, fucking again will you allow my parents in this house, do you understand me?” His unoccupied hand grabbed your arm tight enough to bruise, turning you to face him. His eyes wild and unfocused. “I said do you understand me?” You not so gently wretched your arm from his.

“Don’t touch me.” He always fucking did this. Blamed you for things you had no control over. Lynda approached you about a dinner for Ransom’s birthday. It was her name in your paystubs. You can’t say no.

“How dare you-” He began, but was cut short.

“No Ransom. No.” Like scolding a fucking dog who put his paws on the table. You threw the bowl you currently had in your hands into the sink, turning to fully face him. “I am only here for the money and I am only here because your Mother pays me a lot to be here.” His jaw clenched. “But I’m also here because I’m the only fucking person who even remotely cares about your ungrateful prissy spoiled ass and if it wasn’t for me you’d be sitting in this fucking glass house, alone, with only your own self-righteous attitude to keep you company. So don’t you ever touch me like that again. Do you understand?”

He loudly clunked the bottle onto the kitchen island, stumbling in your direction as you backed yourself into the sink. His trial had just concluded two weeks ago, Fran’s murder fresh on your mind and you wondered if you just made a terrible mistake. Over the course of this rant, the alcohol was sinking into his bloodstream, it turned his anger into a crippling depression. One that resulted in his hands softly grasping your shoulders, and tugging you into his body. His face found your neck and slowly started to grow damp with what you realized were his tears.

Your heart broke a bit, too much empathy, even for this asshole. Your arms came to wrap around his shoulders, letting him cry it out.

That was the first and only time you saw Ransom cry over anything. If he hadn’t been as drunk as he was you knew that moment would never have happened. The sweet little moment that made your heart ache was quickly gone the next morning when Ransom made you coffee and thought it would be hilarious that after you thanked him for being so sweet he joked that he poisoned it. You could still recall the cackles of laughter as you spit your coffee into the sink.

That was the day he began writing his first novel.

He came home alone tonight which was strange. And far earlier than normal. You usually were in bed, or holed up in his study by the time he arrived him after a night out. Staying out of his way as he drug a bubbly hopeful girl up to his bed to satisfy his own needs for the night. He found you tonight, sitting outside, watching Netflix on your tablet by the firepit you had decided to light, a hot cup of tea sitting on the end table next to you. Cozy and wrapped in a blanket.

You could feel his eyes on you from the doorway. You tapped the screen, pausing your show and turned to look at him. His hair was slightly mussed, face flushed, and socked toes curling from the chill. He was looking at you strangely.

“You’re home early.” You placed the tablet down on the end table, turning to face him. He nodded, crossing his arms and leaning against the door jam.

“I just needed a drive.” There was a soft smile on his face, well that’s new.

“Is everything okay?” He never tells you anything, but the sentiment matters. He looked to his feet, nodding.

“I’m probably going to try to stay up and finish the book tonight.” He shifted himself back into the house, your voice calling out to him,

“Come sit out here for a bit. It’s calming, just take a break from thinking for a minute.” He sighed and looked at you again, debating something in his head.

“I need to be alone.” You tried anyway. He disappeared from sight. And that was that.

The next day Ransom began acting even more strangely. The book was finished, the last two chapters handed wordlessly to you as he left for the gym on what you’re assuming was no sleep. That wasn’t the strange part. The strange part was when he returned three hours later bearing a box of donuts from your favorite bakery and two lattes, on his face was a smile.

“What did you do?” You accused, “Did you poison this?” You gestured towards the latte he placed in your hand.

“No.” He laughed, sliding the box of donuts to you. You stared at him skeptically before taking a sip. Tastes normal.

“Are you sick?” Your wrist coming to lay across his forehead, temperature feels fine.

“No.” He laughed again, pulling your wrist from his forehead and kissing your palm before opening the box of donuts, pulling a cinnamon sugar donut to his lips. “You just told me the other day how you missed these and I figured since I passed the shop on the way back it wouldn’t hurt to go pick some up.” It was suspicious. You continued to look at him skeptically. He sighed, placing the donut on the counter, grabbing the latte from your hand he took a large sip of it. “I didn’t fucking poison you Y/N.”

Okay.

Okay. You examined the box of donuts, pulling out the bear claw that was begging to be eaten. Still warm. You moaned in delight as soon as the warm pastry hit your taste buds. You really had missed these. Opening your eyes, you saw Ransom staring blankly at you before his eyes shifted to the packet by your side.

“All finished?” You swallowed and nodded, sliding the packet marked with red over to him and as he began to study your notes you tried to think about what could have possibly gotten him in such a good mood. The Doctor’s visit was odd enough. Yes he was angry when the Doctor left, but then just a drive? Not a blackout drunk, bringing two girls home to pleasure himself with and accidentally falling into a line or two of coke night, but a drive?

Maybe therapy had been working? Maybe he had a breakthrough? He finished the novel. The eldest son had something to do with it, his airtight alibi just that, a cover for the crime having been committed at a different time than the coroner’s estimated time frame due to him freezing the body and allowing it to thaw in the house.

You had asked Harlan how he came up with such incredible stories once. He said they just popped into his head fully formed, his brain moving faster than his fingers. He kept a little notebook with good ideas and would simmer in them as long as it took for a stroke of inspiration. The rest was just typing.

He smirked at some of your comments, ‘what a fucking joke’ you wrote next to the eldest son’s monologue about being passed over, his whining, annoying, self centered crying about how life wasn’t fair.

“What’s the smirk for?” You asked, removing the lid of your latte and dipping part of the bear claw in it.

“The lack of sympathy for Greg.” You scoffed and rolled your eyes.

“He’s a fucking loser.” Ransom’s eyes met yours, “I bet you see a lot of yourself in him.” That made him laugh.

“What? You don’t like spoiled rich men?” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of his chest. You rolled your eyes, taking another sip from the milky sweet latte you didn’t know would feel like your life’s blood right now.

“I think you know the answer to that.”

“I think you find me endearing.” Ransom smirked. Your neck flushed.

“I find you annoying,” You admitted. “I only put up with you because of my paycheck.” He licked his lips.

“Sure,” He closed the packet, pushing it aside to take another bite of the donut, cinnamon sugar dusting his lips. “You put up with me because you’re secretly in love with me, but you know that I would never get with The Help.” This made you laugh.

“If you want me to be the Help I’ll gladly call you Hugh if it means you leave me alone.” He placed his paper cup on the counter, circling around to you.

“I like when you call me Hugh.” His hands came to rest on your upper arms, grinning.

“You’re disgusting.” He laughed at the clear displeasure on your face, spinning your stool around to him, and you leaned back, creating some distance as he came to stand between your legs.

“You don’t mean that do you baby?” His fingers toying with the ends of your hair. You could feel your nipples harden in excitement, body betraying you. A wet growing between your legs.

“Ransom what are you doing?” You said in exasperation. You weren’t blind. Ransom was gorgeous. You’d maybe, possibly, gotten off to the thought of him once or twice or maybe more than that in the four years you’ve known him. But he was also a scumbag who fucks and then throws girls out hours later. His moods were hot and cold. He had major Mommy issues and he’s not technically guilty of murder, but he’s a fucking murderer. But also… he’s been going to therapy and after that fight on his birthday last year he’s never laid a hand on you in anger again, there’s been some arguments sure, but he’s mostly nice to you. Caring even.

“Why don’t you love me Y/N?” His voice almost came out as a whine. He was playing with you.

“Ransom stop.” You pushed him away gently. He was fucking smirking.

“Usually there’s a ‘don’t’ in front of that.” Cocky bastard.

“You’re the worst person I know. And I hate that fucking smirk.” You picked at your now cold bear claw, trying to turn from him.

“Why don’t you wipe it off my face then?” Your eyes met his and you glared.

“What’s gotten into you today? Maybe you should go out early. Find some girl to satisfy whatever you’re going through right now.” His hands met your hips, spinning your stool back around to face him.

“What if I want you to satisfy whatever I’m going through right now.” His groin fit right up against your core and you could feel his throbbing heat between your legs. Fuck.

“Don’t make this mistake Ransom.” You placed one hand gently on his chest, attempting (but not really) to push him back. His forehead coming to rest against yours. “You don’t want this.”

“This is the only thing I’ve ever really wanted.” His breath mingled with yours, sweet, cinnamon and coffee.

“You’re not thinking straight.” His lips brushed against yours, tongue coming out to wet his lips, his eyes locked with yours. Why weren’t you pushing him away? Your breath hitched as his tongue accidentally grazed your bottom lip.

“The only clarity I’ve ever had in my life has been when I’m with you.”

His lips pressed heavily against yours, pushing you back against your bedroom door as his hand came to tangle in your hair. He was all consuming, body hot and heavy against yours. Your core was thrumming with want, moisture pooling in the crotch of your yoga pants. His hips were rolling into yours and you could feel the hard length of him against your belly. His lips quickly moved across your jaw to your neck and you could hear yourself moaning softly as he licked, sucked, and nibbled on the sensitive skin below your ear. Your hands clenching the soft material of the t-shirt by his hips, dipping your fingers slowly into the waistband of his shorts.

His lips parted from your neck, hand tilting your head back so he could look into your eyes before taking your mouth once more. His mouth moved down this time to the tops of your breasts, hands leaving to shift the thick wool cardigan off your shoulders and onto the floor before dropping the straps of your camisole and exposing them to the air, nipples already pebbled in excitement.

You hadn’t dated in a while, unable to because of your paid house arrest and before that the way Ransom had worked you to the bone picking up after him. And the touch from someone else always felt better than your own. His hands felt huge on you, protecting.

Your head met the door as he enveloped your right nipple in his mouth, rolling the sensitive bud on his tongue until he felt the left neglected, and switched, beginning to toy with your right nipple between his finger tips. Moans and heavy breaths were the only sounds in the hallway as Ransom made his way down your body, slipping your yoga pants and panties off your hips as he found his knees before you.

“Ransom-”

“Shhhhh,” He pressed his lips against your naval, working his way to your trembling core. His hand lifted your right thigh, draping it over his shoulder as his eyes focused in on your, what you knew must be soaking, wet pussy. His eyes met yours from his knees, your legs trembling with anticipation, eyes locked as his pink tongue came to meet your pussy for the first time, a shuddering breath being released from you urged him on further.

His thick fingers spread your lips open, exposing your clit to his gentle assault. A building pleasure in your core as his tongue began to skillfully work, pulling moans from your mouth. How was he so good at this? Experimenting with different strokes, different pressure, finding what you like.

“Just like that, oh my god.” He rolled his tongue against your clit, eyes finding yours once more, keeping pace. You could see the corner of his mouth pull up in a smirk as he began to work you up to climax. “You’re such a fucking asshole, I hate that fucking smirk.” Head hitting back against the door as he used his fingers to tease your opening. “Oh my god.” Your hips bucked against his face, causing him to use the arm currently wrapped around your thigh to splay open on your abdomen, holding your hips still. The wet noises and soft grunts from the man between your thighs only caused you to grow closer to your release.

“You taste so fucking good baby,” moaned between your thighs.

“Don’t fucking stop.” You scolded. So close. So fucking close. He obeyed, continuing his assault on your dripping pussy, fingers entering your tight channel to stroke against your sensitive walls. He buried his face further into your pussy, nose coming to rest in the soft curls there as he watched you come undone. Your moans escalating in volume as you felt your body tighten with pleasure, hips begging to buck against his face as he rode you through it. He continued to lick and suck on your clit until your hands found his head, pushing him away, legs shaking as you dropped against the door, knees coming to rest around his body.

That fucking smirk, “How was that?” He asked, face glistening with your cum.

“Fuck you Ransom.” And he fucking laughed the bastard. What a fucking dick. He brought his face back to yours, gently claiming your lips. The tang of your pussy ever present as you felt him consume you. Your heart was still racing as he picked you up from the floor, bringing you into his bedroom and ever so gently laying you down on the sheets you had just changed two hours ago.

His eyes were shifting between yours, a strange expression on his face.

“You can’t kick me out tomorrow Ransom,” Your breathing was heavy as he began to work at your neck, his hands going to remove his gym shorts. “I can’t leave.” He pressed his lips back to yours as you felt him rub the tip of his dick against your clit, your body shaking with over-stimulation. It felt so intimate. Before, his eyes on yours as he brought you over with his tongue and now as he slowly enters you, stretching your walls with his thick cock, eyes not breaking contact he sighs,

“I think you’re the only person I’ve ever loved.”

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale #knives out #chris evans

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emile-hides · 3 years

Note

If it is! I really want to hear your thoughts on hog 🥺🥺

Gabe I know you care very little for my Junker men so thankyou for taking the time to ask about the one you hate less that also I adore.

Ask from Here

First Impression

As a Junkrat kinnie of course my first impression of Hog mostly consisted of hot damn oh shit oh fuck holy shit hot damn wowzers hot damn and the like. He’s very sexy and I cannot deny this.

I’ve liked Junkrat for so long, loving Hog just came with it, and I honestly cannot remember when I first started liking either of them.

Impression Now

Same shit, different day. He’s still very sexy. But also now with the added bonus of he’s also very soft, and loving, and baby. He likes pachimari dolls and cute piggy designs and he says silly things and just is living his best life post-trauma. I adore him.

Favorite Moment

Not to get all gay here, but the way he just yoinks up Jamie by the Rip-Tire in Going Legit, page 6, kills me every time. I love just the yoink. The pluck. The gentle lift. Like come on your scrawny rat bastard we got more important shit to do.

Oh to be yoinked by a hog man...

Idea for a Story

I’ve written Hog and Rat too much to justify more ideas. Only about 23% I’ve posted.

My favorite draft, at the moment, of course involves Zenyatta, but more prominently, Zarya. It’s a post joined Overwatch ficlet where Zarya and Roadhog kinda sit in the same space. They don’t like Omnics, for very valid reasons they hate Omnics. But Zenyatta is not a bad Omnic. Lynx17 is not a bad Omnic. There are Omnics that are good, and understanding, and patient.

90% of this fic right now is built on the concept of Zarya and Mako sharing their love of stuffed animals with one another, and it eventually, somehow, turns to therapy as they both get over trauma and are also the buff but soft on the inside MLM/WLW solidarity friendship I deserve.

Unpopular Opinion

Roadhog is NOT Junkrat’s impulse control! Roadhog is NOT Junkrat’s dad! He’s not a babysitter!! He’s unhinged as all hell and it’s 76% his fault they do shitty petty crimes!

Jamies after the big scores! The gold, the glits, the money! Mako’s here for HIM! The ice cream truck? His idea. The Arcade? He needed that Pachimari. The Crown Jewels was a scheme hatched from Roadhog half muttering in passing, “Nice crown...”

This man is just as, if not more, unhinged and self-serving as Junkrat, and we as a fandom need to stop treating him like a babysitter. He’s wild and dumb and takes shit cause he just kinda maybe wanted it a little bit.

No job too big, No score too small.

Favorite Relationship

Not to be completely self-serving on main but Roadrat is my ideal relationship and I will never let it go. Be Gay Do Crime in it’s purest form and I physically will never let it go.

HOWever. I have, for many years, thought about the possibility of Reinhardt and Roadhog being giant gay men just chilling on a couch together with their rowdy child-figures and it does make me happy.

On top of that someone, once upon a time, said to me “What if Roadhog and Mercy dated?” and my brain has been stuck on that what if for years. Because like... yeah.... When pigs fly... would be their ship name....

Favorite Headcanon

Let’s talk about Roadhog’s SELECTIVE MUTISM. Let’s talk about Roadhog’s Autism. Let’s talk about Roadhog’s dissociations and hearing disorders and Regression. Let’s. Talk. About. Mako’s. Asthma.

Aight but actually let’s get into my biggest favorite; The concept that Mako, before Australia went to shit, was some kind of parental-figure.

I love this one. I’ve seen some people give him a little sibling, or just a big family, or a sickly mother he tended to on his own, and these are all fine.

But my biggest Heartbreak and constant canon was the he was, actually, a father. I like to say he had a daughter, cause it makes the cute pink pig aesthetic of life just that much more depressing.

I like to say if she was alive, she’d be Jamie’s age. So she was around 3-5 when she died. This is also my go to because it makes his attachment to Jamison just that much more heartbreaking, even if he doesn’t full realize that’s why he’s so attached to this kid in the first place.

My entire heart aches for a post-parent Mako, struggling with deep rooted mental illnesses, 78% of which he doesn’t even realize he has, just going wild with a boy he just met for unintentional self-harm purposes.

#Overwatch #Long post #TW self harm #TW Mental illness #Thankyou for asking #This is called I'm depressed over Mako literally all of the time #My man is mentally regressed into his early 20s and he is not doing okay #He's a busted and lovely man I am thurowly obessed with #Gabe spends all his time thinking about the mental state of Gabriel Reyes #I spend all mine obsessed with the regressed broken mind of Mako Rutledge #We all have our depressed comfort character #Excuse me while I push everything onto Mako I physically can #He is a sexy man and I cry every day thinking about him #Sexy and sad #Ideal relationship is whatever the fuck is going on with the Junkers from Overwatch

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writingsbychlo · 4 years

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💭 Mitch x single mom reader? If you don’t want to do it bc it’s too specific that’s ok!

oof single mom headcanons and mitch? that’s gonna be some cute shit.

let’s start with the fact that he wouldn’t know she’s a mom at first

in fact, he just thinks she’s really pretty and funny because they keep bumping into one another at his therapy place

he’s always there for his mandatory sessions to make sure his asssignemtnd go okay and he’s signed off to have a firearm

she’s there because her sons playgroup rents one of the group therapy halls once a week for toddler playtime

she’s always gone by the time he comes out though

they always chat though, and he’s definitely developed a little crush on her

one day, she’s not there though, and he’s kinda sad, but he goes to get his regular after-session coffee from the café across the street, and there she is!

it’s filled with parents and babies and older kids, as it always is, but she’s at the counter getting a fresh drink

he shoots his shot, and asks if he can buy her a drink and sit with her

they have a really great chat before he asks her for her number

when she’s leaving, she says she has to go and pick her son up

and he kinda chokes on his breath

“uh, what? you- you have a son? like a kid? your kid, you made it?”

goes from badass assassin to stiles stilinski real quick

she just kinda shrugs and nods

“thought you knew that, the therapy building rents one of the rooms to a toddler playgroup once a week. thought you knew I was a mom.”

he’s just sorta staring at her with a deer in headlights look, and she sighs

internally he is screaming at himself to say or do something but his mind has kinda short circuited

“guess I won’t be expecting a call from you anytime soon then, huh? see you around Mitch, thanks for the coffee.”

you’re gone before he can even get his mind to catch up and he feels like a fucking idiot

of course, he’s curious. you said there was a guy but you didn’t go much into it, said you’d been single for a few years since the guy you’d been living with had cheated on you and walked out

he does a lot of research online, definitely finds you on Facebook and Instagram, and kinda falls a bit in love with your kid

he’s the CUTEST kid he’s ever seen, for starters. the photo that actually makes him feel a little soft and fuzzy is your latest one

your son is holding your face in his hands, and kissing the tip of your nose, and your face is all screwed up as you laugh

it was only posted a few hours ago, and he recognises the therapy building, so he figures it was right after you left

he’s never really seen himself as a dad, but then again, he’d never really seen himself as an assassin either, so

he does want to call you, but he hasn’t quite worked out what to do

he also goes to the farm to talk to Stan, and he’s all prepared for being laughed at and teased, but it doesn’t happen

Stan tells him he doesn’t have experience with little kids, but mitch did throw a lot of tantrums, and he kinda feels like he raised mitch

that makes the pair of them laugh

Stan warns him that dating a mom isn’t like dating a regular girl, he can’t just get bored and leave her, he’d break a kids heart if he gets them invested too

but he really likes you

so stan tells him to go for it. Stan even says, he’ll clear out the recruits for day if he wants to bring them to the farm to see the animals

because Stan DEFINITELY has animals. the man is a farmer in his free time. sometimes when mitch is stressed, he holds a sheep. don’t challenge me.

so, he waits til a week later, and he arrives early to therapy just to see you.

when he gets in, you give him a polite smile like always, and he’s really nervous, and now the thinks he should have brought flowers

“I’m really sorry about last week.”

“you really don’t have to be. it’s not the first time guys have run for the hills, and it won’t be the last time. kids aren’t for everyone, especially when it isn’t your own kid. guys want their kids.”

he sits down next to you, he’s a little jittery, and is forcing himself to meet your eye, and he hates that he’s been put into that category of men

“I never really thought about myself as a dad. even when I was engaged, I just pictured me and her, y’know? never crossed my mind. she died, a few years ago, but I think she would’ve wanted to be a mom.”

you reached out then, your hand placed on top of his as you whispered that you were sorry, and he flipped his hand over to hold yours instead, telling you it’s okay, it didn’t hurt anymore

“look, what I’m trying to say, is that I really like you. and I make no promises that I’m good with kids, I’ll need a lot of help, but I’d like to try.”

you were a bit shocked then, and finally you were the one crumbling a little while he remained steady, and he smoothed his thumb over the back of your hand

“how does a picnic sound for a first date?”

“I’d have to find a babysitter, so it’d be best as a weekend.”

“or, you can bring them along?”

now you kinda looked like you were going to cry, and you pressed your forehead agaisnt his, letting out a breathless little laugh

“I’ve never had a guy invite my kid with us on a date before. you’re already better at this than you think, Mitch.”

he hummed, leaning up to press a sweet kiss to your forehead, and the other parents were beginning to get back from the coffee shop, he figured the session must be coming to an end

“your kid like animals? my friend owns a farm, we can go for a picnic and feed baby cows.”

“he would love that. he’d love you after that.”

“will his mom, too?” he felt like he was gonna throw up just from the nerves after saying the line, but your seeet smile put him at ease

“keep it up, and she definitely will. now, cmon, do you wanna meet him?”

“I’d love to.”

so, I got carried away. this is LONG. my bad. it’s just so cute 🥺

#election sleepover

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painted-crow · 4 years

Note

Do you think house pets can have primaries and secondaries too? If so, do you think they might reflect what their owners have?

They definitely have Sortings! This is an excellent ask 😂

I don't think the owner has a whole lot to do with it, though. They influence the way their pet's Sorting shows up in behavior, but the animal's personality itself is their personality, you can make them more or less stable and confident but I don't think they mold themselves after you.

Sorting my family's pets

My folks have eight animals in the house. Eight. My mom is “slowly” turning into a crazy cat lady and I’m absolutely fine with this. However, this post is actually long (and silly) enough that I’m switching to my laptop to put it under a cut.

Lots of cat and dog stories incoming :D

Tesla (my cat)

Double Slytherin, easy. He's ridiculously sweet towards me and mostly ignores everyone else unless they have food. (He's warming up to my mom though.) He's also a great actor. He's tricked everyone else into thinking he isn't cute and affectionate because he only acts needy and adorable when he's alone with me.

Funny story: he badly pulled a muscle in his back leg from a missed jump the year before last, and he REALLY liked the attention he got from me while I was nursing him back to health. I had a kind of kitty painkiller/anti-inflammatory stuff that came as a paste and could be mixed into wet food, which he normally only gets as a treat because too much upsets his stomach, but he was getting it every day for the medication. I also set up a special bed for him with a heating pad and kept checking on him and giving him attention.

He took a long time to heal, and the vet said I was doing the right thing, but I think I might have made it worse by being so nice to him because he really didn't want to get up and move around! He kept up the "I'm completely helpless, keep babying me" act for a year.

My mom finally took him to the chiropractor, who clicked his tail back into place and gave us some kitty physical therapy stretches for his leg... which he did NOT like, and unless someone was petting him at the same time to distract him, he'd scream like we were murdering him.

So, yes. Slytherin secondary 😂

Aardman (my brother's cat #1)

Huffleclaw. Loves everyone, including kids and babies--he's not only very patient with them, he's really enthusiastic and affectionate with them.

Knows EXACTLY how to get into mischief. Will grab your butt as you pass on purpose to get your attention. Often found in weird places, looking proud of himself: "look, I figured out how to get on top of the kitchen cabinets! I'm gonna knock stuff over now."

Thaddeus (my brother's cat #2)

Double Gryff. He's got big jock energy. This cat actually greets people with a loud meow and that upwards "sup" nod. If he wants attention he isn't subtle about it, and if you don't give it to him he'll play attack your toes. Very charismatic and friendly. He's also kind of an idiot who will fall off of things if he gets distracted while lounging.

He's a Gryff primary because when strangers come into the house, he'll vibe check them and decide if he's going to hide from them or smother them in love and cat hair. My mom was talking to a few different contractors about fixing something in the house, and Thaddeus was totally spooked by one and loved the other. I'm not saying that's why we chose the one he liked, but...

Gracie (my mom's cat)

Slytherin primary. Definitely my mom's cat, reluctant to interact with anyone else but very possessive of Mom's lap.

Possibly a Gryff secondary, or neutral state Slytherin. This house has a lot of cats in it and Gracie is tiny, but she takes zero crap and will smack the others in the face if they think they can push her around.

Isador / Izzy (pack mama cat, doesn't have a favorite human?)

You could make arguments for both Slytherin and Hufflepuff primary for Izzy. She loves all her humans and will yell at any of us for pets. We don't know how old she actually is (all our cats are rescues) but she looks and sounds like a prim old lady, which is appropriate since she's the matriarch of the house.

She does have favorites among the other pets, though. The dogs are her babies, she's known them since they were puppies and is very protective of them (which is pretty silly, since they're 65lbs apiece). She does NOT like Tesla, who is the biggest cat and full of ego, and doesn't really respect her lol 😂

She also didn't like the kittens at first. Gracie and Thaddeus were both kittens, only a few weeks old, that were abandoned in our neighborhood a year ago. Gracie showed up in the back yard, mewling, and Thaddeus was brought over by a neighbor who had found him but wasn't prepared to get up several times a night to bottle feed a kitten. My mom took both of them and we ended up keeping them. Izzy was a little bit hostile towards them at first, but she came around and now they’re part of her pack.

Hufflepuff secondary. If any of the other cats talks back to her, she hisses at them and the dogs come running over to check on her.

Maybe she's a Ravenclaw with a very Loyalist looking system? She cares a lot about keeping the peace. Yeah, you know what, Ravenpuff Izzy sounds about right.

Shawn (my mom's cat #2)

Slytherin primary, I think. My mom was visiting the shelter for dog tags or something basic like that, went back into the cat room to give the strays some love, and this gorgeous gray-and-white long-haired kitten climbed up her shoulder and wrapped himself around her neck and wouldn't let go. She had been Chosen.*

Shawn is also kind of a status hound within the house! The boys keep score of who's top cat... well, I don't know if Thaddeus cares (and Izzy knows it's actually her). Shawn likes to play dominance games with the other cats. He'll pick on Aardman and play wrestle with Tesla (who is twice his weight, but Shawn is very fluffy and he clearly thinks they're the same size, which is hilarious).

One of the Improvisational secondaries. I think he's a Gryffindor.

*Tesla also did this. The shelter lady took him out of the crate and within minutes he'd stretched out on my lap, belly-up, so relaxed he almost fell off. This is how you get a cat. I was actually looking to adopt on purpose, though, which my mom wasn't 😂

Rowan (my dad's dog)

This idiot dog. This absolute buffoon of an animal.

Actually, my mom is convinced he's not all that dumb, and he's tricking us all into believing he is so he doesn't have to be an obedient dog. If so, he's a VERY good actor. Slytherin secondary. (He also weaponizes the 🥺 eyes and my dad falls for it every time.)

Slytherin primary. Every time he misbehaves, my dad insists he's my mom's dog, but we all know better: he waits for my dad to come home and runs up and wags his entire body. He's SO affectionate with my dad and doesn't really care about anyone else's opinion. My dad lets this 65 pound, made-of-elbows idiot creature sit on his lap in the least comfortable positions possible, and baby talks to him.

Alex (my mom's actual dog)

Double Ravenclaw. I know, right? I haven't been Sorting many Ravenclaws in this list.

Alex is a very smart and fairly obedient dog. He is also a border collie (both he and Rowan are). He has also decided that Tesla needs a babysitter, and will follow him EVERYWHERE, doing that border collie staredown thing they normally use to herd sheep.

Yes. This dog tries to herd cats. He's very good at it, actually. All of our cats are indoor only animals (it's dangerous for them outside) but Shawn used to be a real escape artist. I'm not sure how we discovered that the dogs could do this, but we can call the dogs and tell them "get the kitty!!!" and they will work as a team to literally herd the cat back into the house. We didn't train them to do this. They're purebred border collies and they just know.

Anyway, Tesla and Alex get into drama. If I'm holding Tesla, Alex is ALWAYS staring at him. I think it's that, although he likes Tesla, he doesn't trust him and he's trying to make sure Tesla doesn't hurt me. Tesla is Very Dramatic and will yell or pretend like he's going to bite me if he's stuck in a position he doesn't like on my lap or he thinks another cat is going to try to steal my attention, and Alex Does Not Like That. Tesla won't actually hurt me on purpose, but he puts up a front in public that he's only tolerating me.

Alex doesn't care if I tell him to go lay down somewhere else. He is going to stare at this cat no matter what. Sometimes, the thing Tesla is yelling about is that the dog is staring at him and he's not in the mood for that nonsense (or, he also just likes when I scold the dog on his behalf), and this doesn't help matters. Alex has decided he Must Protect, and that dog code is more important to him than my opinion 😂

Alex is a Ravenclaw secondary. He's put in the effort to learn to communicate with humans, and he's very expressive with his body language and pointing with his eyes/nose. I think if we got him a set of those word buttons people give dogs so they can "talk," Alex would pick up on it right away and use it a lot.

That’s all the animals for now! Will update next time my mom finds a cat xD

#sortinghatchats #meta #asks #paint speaks #q

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letmetellyouaboutmyfeels · 4 years

Note

ok i've been reading your shannon posts (because your opinions are so good and well-written thanks for sharing btw) and i thought you brought up some really interesting points about eddie's parents and how they might 'mean well' but were obviously pretty hurtful. if you have the time and/or are interested, would you mind elaborating a bit on that? hope you have a nice day :)

Hello dear nonny, I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long to respond to this. I was taking a short break from fandom and didn’t really go on tumblr much, and I wanted to be sure to give this ask the time it deserved. Thank you for your patience and I hope this lives up to your expectations.

Now, first and foremost, I would deeply welcome any thoughts by Latinx and mixed-race Latinx people such as @extasiswings or Hispanic people such as @michaelgrantnash if they would like to add them, since Eddie’s Latinx background does play a role in his upbringing. I personally will not be talking about that, for obvious reasons. I’ll simply be addressing this from the position of someone who has experienced and is educated on abuse and unhealthy relationships.

I’m going to make some quick bullet points and then I’ll elaborate on them. Eddie’s parents are hurtful because they:

do not believe in him

belittle him

belittle Shannon, exacerbating an already tough situation between Shannon and Eddie

declare him an unfit father and try to take Christopher away from him

Obviously some of these are more glaring than others. I’ll work up to the big things. Let’s start with the belittling.

One of the best examples of this is in 3x15, when we flashback to Eddie after he’s been home for a short bit after his helicopter crash overseas. His mother criticizes how he make his son’s drink, and then mockingly refers to him as a “big war hero” - saying that he might have been all that and a bag of chips but he can’t make a drink for his son right, a supposedly small and easy thing to do.

Eddie then mentions it to Shannon a few moments later, and Shannon replies that she’s had to deal with a lot of that, too, showing us (the audience) that comments like this are a pattern with Eddie’s mother.

Small things build up. Little comments like that might not seem like a lot, but think about how the last time someone said something like that to you, it stuck with you. I know it sticks with me. But to hear something like that repeatedly from someone you care about? That has to really hurt. And Eddie and Shannon treat this as a normal, every day issue. Eddie’s probably had to deal with something like this his entire life. That wears down a person’s self-esteem and explains a) Eddie’s low self-esteem issues and b) his reluctance to open up emotionally. He’s scared he’ll be dismissed. His mother literally mocks the medal and event that have given her son trauma. That’s really not okay.

Not to mention, all of this belittling undoubtedly contributed to Shannon leaving. Shannon says that she’s raising Christopher all alone, and that is patently untrue and I will physically fight her over it but the fact is she probably didn’t feel welcomed by her husband’s family if those were the kind of comments she was used to. Eddie literally says, half joking, but really hurt, that “I can’t even give my son a drink properly,” to which Shannon replies that she knows how that feels.

This tells us that Shannon’s head to deal with this the entire time. Eddie’s parents later say that Christopher was with them nearly every day of his life since he was born. That means Shannon was with them nearly every day in some capacity until she left, so she had to deal with a lot of comments. While it doesn’t excuse her abandoning her four-year-old son (no, I’m not over it, I will never be over it), all those comments definitely built up and contributed to her feelings of abandonment and hurt.

And of course, it’s never just belittling. Abusive behavior is never just the small things (although the small things add up and they matter). It leads to bigger issues, too. And we see this spectacularly in 3x15, in the flashback after Shannon’s left.

Eddie’s parents try to take his son away from them.

Let that sink in. We have spent nearly two full seasons watching Eddie be a loving, dedicated, soft, adoring father to Christopher. We’ve seen him move heaven and earth to take care of his son - and now we see that his open affection and devotion to his child is something he obviously taught himself and worked hard on, and was not the result of a good example by his parents. Eddie builds Christopher up, tells Christopher that he can do anything, protects Christopher ferociously. Eddie’s parents, on the other hand, see their son being a single parent working three jobs and tell him it’s not good enough.

What the fuck.

They literally say, in 3x15, that Christopher should be raised by them, not Eddie. And reinforce this when they say Eddie should move back home to Texas post-Shannon’s funeral. This is actually the first time we (the audience) see them, even though this takes place post-3x15 since in that episode they’re showing up in flashbacks.

Their very first appearance and they’re telling Eddie, “You should bring Christopher back to us. He doesn’t belong here.” They’re ignoring the entire life that Eddie has built for his son here and once again implying that Eddie isn’t good enough to be a parent. Furthermore, they’re making Eddie’s move to LA all about Shannon, and how now that she’s dead they should move back to Texas, rather than realizing that while Shannon was a big part of the reason for the move, getting Christopher a better educational situation and Eddie a better job were also part of it.

All of this leads to the first bullet point: that Eddie’s parents do not believe in him. And possibly never have. We only see this in relation to his being a father and husband but I doubt it just stops there.

No wonder Eddie wanted to move to LA. It wasn’t just about Shannon. In fact it wasn’t all that much about her, seeing as he didn’t try to contact her when he got there and didn’t seem all that happy to see her when she first showed up, despite his later attempts to try and make things work. It was about his parents. Eddie’s parents tried to take his son from him, so he packed his bags and got the hell out of dodge.

Honestly, I wonder if he talked to his abuela about it. “Hey, they’re trying to take Chris from me, I need help.” Eddie’s clearly close with her, closer than he is to his parents. Just a thought.

And what about Christopher? He has to be overhearing what the adults are saying. His grandparents never hid how much they hated Shannon, so it’s likely they discussed Eddie’s supposed failures where Christopher could hear it, too. What does that do to a child? It hurts and wounds them deeply, I can tell you that.

Compare the behavior of Eddie’s parents to the 118, and specifically Buck. When Eddie was working three jobs to support his son post-military, his parents told him he wasn’t doing good enough and tried to take his child away. Buck sees Eddie struggle with a babysitter and so quietly and without judgment gets Eddie a service worker who can help Eddie go over options for his childcare. The 118 welcomes Christopher into the fire station and Bobby tells Eddie that he, and Christopher, have a safe place there.

When Eddie’s hurting post-Shannon, Bobby doesn’t tell him he made a mistake or did anything wrong. He asks if Eddie is okay. He supports Eddie and tries to get him therapy.

When Christopher’s struggling because of the skateboard incident, Carla and Buck support Eddie. They don’t tell him he’s raising his son wrong, or that it’s not okay for him to be upset.

Karen and Hen have playdates for Denny and Christopher. They talk with Eddie and build a friendship with him.

From day one, Buck has been there for Christopher, and the one time Buck fucked up (with the lawsuit), he apologized and admitted he was wrong to leave Christopher’s and Eddie’s lives without a word of warning. Buck is there for Eddie, ready to lend a helping hand, but also cheering him on.

How much must it have meant to Eddie, to have his best friend (and love interest, fight me) literally bleeding to death and not caring because he was desperate to find his son? To have that best friend devastated at the very idea of failing Christopher, and saying he would understand if Eddie didn’t trust him with his son again, because how could he? After his parents told Eddie he wasn’t good enough, to have someone so fucking dedicated to his child looking at Eddie and saying no, no you’re a great father, I’m not good enough... that must have meant more than Eddie could’ve found the words for.

Eddie telling Buck, “There’s nobody in the world I trust with my son more than you,” wasn’t just for Buck. It was for Eddie, too. Because he’s finally found someone he can trust with his child, who won’t try to take that child away from him, who won’t tell Eddie he’s not good enough. He’s found someone to help him be a father rather than steal that role from him.

Buck and the 118 have respected Eddie’s authority as a father, his love for his son, and his dedication to Christopher the entire time. And their only attempts to step in are attempts to give Eddie support since nobody can do it alone, and everyone needs help sometimes. The 118 are a better family to Eddie than his parents have been in every canonical interaction we see. They don’t tell Eddie all the ways he’s doing it wrong. They praise what he’s doing right and catch him when he stumbles.

Emotional abuse is not always big. In fact it’s often harder to catch than sexual or physical abuse. And it can be small and subtle. Eddie’s parents aren’t straight up bullying him in the way we’re raised to recognize. But they criticize him constantly. Tell him everything he’s doing wrong. And most importantly they tell him that he can’t do anything without their help, without being around them. It shows they don’t believe in him and that they want to make him dependent on them - and it means Eddie doesn’t believe in himself.

That’s not okay. I’m sure that they’re well-intentioned people who don’t realize how much they’re hurting their son. They might even be good people, by other definitions. But to paraphrase Maddie Buckley, you can be a good person, just not a good parent. And Eddie’s parents are, from what we’ve seen, not good parents. And they don’t give Eddie what he needs.

#mads answers things #eddie diaz #911 fox #911 meta #eddie diaz meta #I hope that I answered your question anon #and explained myself well #tumblr for the love of god please don't fuck up this formatting #anyway if others would like to add onto this please do #I welcome more thoughtful meta on Eddie and his family #edited to properly credit mgn's background #my deep apologies!

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thefandomlesbian · 4 years

Note

I wanna hear some future fic ideas!!!!

Okay, heeeeeere we go! *Revs engine*

-I've got a dozen Jemily prompts from @thestrawberrygirl and I think first on the agenda is going to be the quadruplex neighbors AU fic. Jemily have just married and move into the lower corner of a quadruplex. At first glance, this is the idyllic life. There's a young man and an older man playing chess under the tree, two men playing ball with a little boy in the parking lot picking him up to help him sink a basket, an older gentleman smoking a cigar, and a friendly blonde woman carrying a platter of baked goods out to all of them and they all circle up to her and thank her. Jemily think they have found their place, until late one Friday night when the shrieking and booming above them rattle them from their sleep. They decide to try to say something nicely, and they wind up invited to the quadruplex DND tournament, all while getting know their new neighbors better and becoming a found family. (Jemily, HotchReid, Morcia, Gideon/Rossi ships)

-Multichapter HotchReid fic, set in S7. Spencer receives a diagnosis regarding his headaches and learns he has to have his eyes and ocular nerves removed to stop a tumor from metastasizing to his brain. He quietly makes arrangements with Strauss to retire and tells no one on the team, leaving it to her to inform them after he has made his leave. Upon receiving the news, Aaron goes after him, finding he has packed up lots of his things and is trying to sell his car. Spencer balks at giving him answers, but Aaron is persuasive, and Spencer eventually caves to tell him the truth. Aaron convinces Spencer of his worth and does not finalize his retirement, insistent that he can still serve the bureau as a blind man, that legally they have to provide him accommodations. Cue slow romance and falling in love pre- and post-procedure, slow adjustment period, lots of frustration, moving in together, and an eventual case. Lots of BAU family moments supporting Spencer. (HotchReid, probably Jemily ships)

-HotchReid multichapter, they connect in S4 after Foyet escapes custody. Bonding and romance and all that, Spencer becomes friends with Haley, then follow HotchReid through the Foyet arc in the beginning of S5 with a different ending. This is the place where I will shamelessly dump all of my Haley Hotchner fan material and I won't apologize for that (HotchReid, maybe Jemily ships)

-Short HotchReid multichapter where Aaron encounters Spencer at the park while training for his triathlon instead of Beth. Spencer lost a bet with Morgan and now has to do the triathlon. Aaron decides to help him train. (HotchReid, Jemily ships)

-HotchReid Dharma&Greg AU. Federal prosecutor Aaron Hotchner encounters an attractive man on the subway and looks after him, thinking he should say something, but the doors to the train close and he thinks he lost his opportunity, only to find Spencer waiting for him at work. "I saw your picture in the newspaper on September 13 last year. You successfully prosecuted one of the most devastating killers of the decade. I remember everything I read. I'm Spencer. Nice to meet you." On a whim, they decide to elope, putting the pressure on their very different families and friends (Aaron: mother Erin, father Dave, friends Emily and Derek; Spencer: mother Diana, stepfather Jason, friends JJ and Penelope) to learn how to get along for the couple, who believes they're soulmates. (HotchReid, Jemily, maybe Morcia ships)

-post-S12 AU. Aaron has retired from the BAU and encounters Spencer at a convention where he speaks about the nature of parenting and how best to psychologically support children. Aaron catches up to him after the lecture. "It's nice to see you again." Spencer returns the sentiment. "I—I could use your help. In theory, I'm a Harvard law graduate who spent years outsmarting criminals, but in practice... Seventh grade math has me stymied. Will you teach me how I can help Jack with his homework?" Spencer agrees to help, if only because he finds it very amusing, but he finds himself drawn into a world of drama where Jack and Aaron are constantly butting heads. Both are twisted by their traumas and they live at each other's throats, Jack always antagonizing Aaron to try to get attention from him, refusing to go to therapy or take his medications or anything else. It's clear that Haley's death and everything after has fragmented this relationship, and Spencer thinks they need a lot more help than he can provide with math tutoring, but as they come together, he helps them mend their broken relationship and teaches them how much they love each other. (HotchReid ship)

-Either a long one-shot or a short multichapter focusing on Erin Strauss and her recovery from her alcoholism. A scene with her and each member of the BAU and how they contribute to her healing. Morgan takes her to rehab, Spencer takes her to AA, Aaron picks her up from the side of the road when she has a flat and her ex-husband refuses to come pick her up, Alex makes amends with her, JJ uses her as an impromptu babysitter (and Henry calls her Grandma), Penelope has baking fun with her, and she manages her feelings for Dave as they grow and grow. She fights the Replicator under the table to try to keep from putting the BAU in danger, and ultimately, she saves them as much as they save her. (Strauss/Rossi, HotchReid, Jemily for ships)

I've probably got more than that but these are the ones at the forefront of my mind 😌😌😌 I'm chomping at the bit to get started on some of these.

#sav tag #spencer speaks #spencer's writing

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calypsoff · 3 years

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Eighty Two. Part 6

The drive to the airport was quiet, so quiet because I wasn’t going to speak to him and he’s not going to speak to me when he said what he said about my dad, he had no right too. He’s in the wrong in this situation and he went out of his way to bring up my dad, like it makes his case any better “shall I take Rylee?” Now he asks about her, the driver opened the car door for me, and I just got out. It’s me that packed the suitcases, it’s me looking after our daughter, it’s all me doing everything. Holding Rylee close, she’s got her ear defenders on but asleep so she’s not fussing like she would usually do. She’s exhausted and so am I, this is a mess, and the worst part is that drake is playing in his face, but he doesn’t see it. Part of me wants me to say go, just do what you want because it makes no sense on why I am here saving this ass, let him fuck up because he wants too “afternoon Miss Fenty” I love how I am miss Fenty still “afternoon” I smiled at the flight attendant, he can also sit away from me because I don’t want to hear it. He will hear it from me when we get home, I will get him when he’s alone because he has nobody to bounce off at all. Part of me really does want to say go and do it but I am fearful of what would happen, but why should I keep trying to protect him, but I just need to gather myself and deal with it. He’s ruining my Christmas, I am sick of him doing it too, but I am ready for him to bring up Rocky and that I lied to him, he’s going to make out I am in wrong because that is just Chris all over, I am in the wrong. As much as I love him, he can be a real dickhead and it takes a slight inconvenience for him to switch, and it’s just him being like that. His mother said ever since jail he’s been like that, not even therapy can help a pure asshole. He’s getting above himself; he really is and I can’t even deal.

I’ve realised I’ve not really let go of Rylee; I don’t know. I just feel so attached to her, she’s my peace right now. She’s giving me great peace within; I also didn’t like she was crying like that with me for no reason too. Chris on the other hand, he sat away from me, so he knows that he has done wrong, he also doesn’t have an audience around him. Looking up seeing Chris making his way towards me, he can just fuck off and leave me alone “are we landing in LAX?” He’s asking like he doesn’t know that already “where else are we going?” Stupid question, he sat across from me, maybe his way to get to sit with me “you never know with you” rolling my eyes, of course he’s putting it on me “can we just talk about this, I think you’re hiding your phone from me now because you wouldn’t give it” I knew he would start now “not doing this now” I mumbled “on your terms!? As always” I sniggered “you damn fucking right nigga!” I spat, who does he think he is “right” the way he is, his persona, I need his ass to be beat up because he’s giving me a headache “what you want? Why you come over here with your bad aura” waving my hand at him “sex? I mean what else am I good for, I’m not a good mother clearly” eyeballing him “well I want a son out of you” my hand froze midair staring at him, he was going to grab my hand, but I hit his away “I am joking with you, come on” hitting his hand again and again, I am so angered by him “fuck you! Get out of my face” moving away as he tried to hold my arm as like he was going to console me “don’t” he is an absolute bastard, I can’t even stand him, I just want to scream.

I would say home sweet home, but my home is Barbados, I am deflated but I am here anyway “thank you” smiling at the flight attendant as I stepped down the steps with Rylee, it’s me. I have been here for her, holding her close. He’s done nothing but irritate me, constantly just there being annoying and then have the nerve to say give me a son, I’ll give him a slap before I do any of that at all. Seeing two SUVs, that’s just for me. I only wanted one, seeing Rich as I got to the bottom “Happy Christmas” the pilot smiled at me “and you” smiling at Rich as he made his way over to me “you look a whole new shade” I have been in the sun a lot “I know” placing Rylee over my shoulder, she is fussing of course “let me take her, you look like you’re struggling!” He shouted over the sound of the jet engine “holding her the whole flight but she is not going to settle if I let you, so it’s ok thank you” Rich stepped to the side to let me walk, Chris is stood outside the SUV. Making my way to it “the back one is yours!” Looking up at Rich, I am confused there is two. The door opened on the SUV and Deja stepped out of that, looking at Chris’ face but he turned and hugged her. I am confused and just want to get into a SUV, walking to the SUV behind. I just don’t get why there is like two here, we only needed one so what is this “thank you” Rich opened the door for me, I am going deaf from Rylee crying in my ear, she is hungry now too. Sliding into the SUV, I grinned as I did. Rylee is not light, my baby is a chubby thing and I’ve been holding her since, the door closed and I just laid her over my lap and took off the ear defenders “awww no, you’re so sad” she is all red from crying, I shushed her and placed the pacifier in her mouth hopefully she just takes it while we can go and I can hopefully breastfeed her, like I’m not in the mood so Rylee is not latching on, the SUV door opened and Chris got inside, as he should but it doesn’t answer why Deja is here in that SUV, what was the purpose of that.

They are loading up the SUV with my stuff, a whole case is Rylee’ because I wanted her to never be without, so they are doing that right now “erm, I have business I need to deal with” I knew it, I just knew this was coming. Like I am not shocked but I knew this was coming because why was Deja here “right, you do have business at home too” looking over at him “and I’ll be home, just haven’t seen Cena in a while, it’s important” so he says, “more important than your own family?” Chris sniggered “you’re saying that? You the same one telling me that niggas want you, I am wondering which other famous nigga had you, you do lie a lot Robyn, like I am seeing it. You’re hiding your phone from me now, you told me about Drake because you’re jealous that I am having fun, that someone is letting me live. You made me look a whole fool in front of Rocky, how dare you text him while married to me!” He shouted and made my daughter flinch “shout again Chris, I mean it. I said what I said, at home. We will talk about this, don’t you worry” I was going to say either you go with them, or I leave but seeing as I hold him back he can go “get out of my SUV you sneaky dickhead, asking me where we land. Now he thinks he got some balls because he can book SUVs on my name!” I spat, I am so fucking angry “I knew you would mention about your name, predictable” he’s so petty, now he is turning this on me, who does he think he is “get out of my car Chris! Seriously, go to your little friends. You are upsetting my daughter, leave!” shouted, I will let him go because at the end of the day he has to come home.

I am just glad to be home, it’s been a while and I have a lot of things to tidy but I just want to do my house up with all Christmas stuff for my daughter, I don’t give a fuck if he doesn’t come home. I am doing this for my child, he can fuck his business. I huffed out as I sat down, some peace and quiet actually. Rylee is in her bedroom; she is at peace. I think she is more at peace that she had breast milk; my big girl loves her breast milk. Looking down at my phone, I am not going to run to Mel either. I am waiting on Chris to come home, he probably won’t. I know my husband so well; he is running from me because he knows. Tapping on my Instagram, it’s been a while since I posted a picture of Rylee and I think I am going to post an unseen picture of our photoshoot together. Wait actually let me post a picture of Rylee on her own, I mean a more recent one because my baby is looking like her momma so much, I like that for her because she is going to be a bad bitch, and I mean that shit. Scrolling through pictures, I have so many and mostly because I send them to my family in Barbados, they love to see what she is doing, I think I will post this one. She was happy, she was content and was serving, she was about three months, I say about. Adding a caption to the post ‘Mini Rih’ pressing send on the post.

Chris is complaining about being behind with work, what about me. I have so much more to do but I put that aside, I am not rushing to it but I think why should I hold back, I am not. I am going to do me, I am thinking of my family but wherever I go my daughter will be there, I don’t need a man. Tapping on Jay Brown number, he is going to be shocked to see me calling. I did say next year but whatever, I am in the mood for it also “what a surprise” he said “Merry Christmas to you too” I laughed “it is, I thought I wouldn’t be talking to you until after the new year. Are you back in Cali now? How is the next queen, I was just looking at the picture you put up and wow! She is you; I mean all you” my smile grew “that is what I want to hear but yeah, I am in a mood to do music. I want to record something, a little something anyway. I have time on my hands, I can prepare the album, I know I have the Fenty venture but there is no harm in doing both, so yeah. Book me in for some time in the studio, try and get me the same team that was working before, when I did Higher, I like their vibe. It’s what I am feeling” I know Jay will be pleased “that’s what you are feeling yeah, fine. I can make that happen and I am down for whatever you are wanting, cool. I will get you booked in, I will come around” I laughed out, I need someone to look after Rylee so he can do that “well I guess Rylee has a babysitter, Uncle Jay now!” he laughed down the phone “for sure, I can do that for you. Good, I am excited to see you back in the studio after so long” I know he would be, I honestly think he is pushing more for music and to get that out of the way before my Fenty line.

Chris is predictable, like it’s late and he’s calling me, and I know why, I do know. He doesn’t want to come home so he will make an excuse about something, he has nothing to do “what” I answered “TJ is around, I will be home late. No club or anything, just pure relax and drinks” that makes no sense “then I will see you in the morning, Chris you will have to come home. All I am going to say to you, if I don’t see you in the morning we are done and I mean that, you are running like a little bitch now because you know what is coming, you have been playing havoc and saying the most shit, I know! I have heard it all. You know what, I even know that TJ is in VA too, so you’re lying” he thinks I am dumb “I am coming home” I sniggered, moving my phone back. Rakim is calling me “gotta go” disconnecting his call and answered his “please don’t tell me he’s found you again” this is the only time he calls to say “no, not exactly. I wanted to say you got a beautiful daughter” pulling a face “yeah, and? I am married so these kind of calls should not happen” I don’t get it “Rihanna we are better has friends, I just think we wasn’t the best us when together, but I have a little favour to ask, I know you like into your clothing thing, you good at putting stuff together, I know you had those ideas for your Fenty line, like this been going on since we was together. I remember one fit, look. Can you design me some shit? That is it” he said “I think I remember now; I mean it will cost you. I don’t do friend rates, actually you text me about that already. You know what, I have been so busy, when for? Is it soon?” I hope not “no, next year but I wanted to remind you. Put me in your diary or some shit and keep your husband away, I don’t want trouble. I know I spoke a lot of shit but you a good person, always you know. Just he annoyed me a lot. So you going to do that for me?” rolling my eyes “you want exclusive shit, you want to say you was the first. But I can for you” I know he is smiling wide “thank you so much, anyways I am going now. Peace” disconnecting the call, I need to put that in my diary, let me text Tina.

Tail between his legs, Chris came home. An hour after saying he was, staring at him stood in the bedroom “mhmm, I am going to sleep” turning the TV off “you said you wanted to speak to me?” he is right “oh I do, but remember I am on a power trip so it’s on my time, breezy time” using his own words against him, he put a stupid caption on just a few minutes ago with a picture of himself “you’re not funny?” I shrugged “be careful now, I might force you into having another baby, me forcing you into stuff is me right?” he is so calm, like he doesn’t want trouble and is so innocent and that alone angers me because he’s being that way to show no harm when there was harm, he has been awful with me “so did TJ fly economy that quick to come here?” I asked “huh?” I want to call him dumb bitch but I won’t “that is kind of lying Chris, I shouldn’t have to know this but I do because I was on Instagram and he posted himself shopping with his son, least someone picks their child up but that is besides the point because I don’t know what it’s like to have a father in my life either” I am coming at him, I won’t stop either “you are just a blunt liar too, speaking to your ex and then on top of that you are acting so insecure. As someone as big as you, you are just insecure, and I don’t find that nice. Where is that other girl everyone sees, badgalriri? You’re actually far from that and it’s showing, maybe motherhood but you are so unfair to me, it’s always about you! I can’t do anything; I am married but I can still go out. You are just a girl in a woman’s body that is unsure on how to have a relationship” tilting my head to the side a little “then go, you’re interrupting my sleep so be gone” shuffling down into the bed, if that nigga wants badgalriri then I will give him just that “turn the light off” oh he has pissed me off, he is getting a serve tomorrow.

#chrianna fanfiction #chriannaff #chrianna ff #chrianna #fanfic #fanfiction

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terrablaze514 · 5 years

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Being Black + R. Kelly, Living With Secrets, and Writing Catatonic Fanfics

Hey everyone.

I'm up extra early, because this is bugging my mind and heart right now. The words might leave if I don't voice (write) it.

In a few hours, I'll be going to church again. Christian, yes. Predominantly Black, you've guessed it. Both of these cancel each other out. Why?

Despite my suspicions growing up, the vast majority of Black people I knew (family, friends, acquaintances, etc.) were still jamming to R. Kelly's music. It makes all the more sense why he's known as, "The Pied Piper", and that's scary as buck if you stop to think about it.

I've never understood why he was permitted to keep making music. Why the buck does Wendy Williams still have an audience? Why did 2Pac and Michael Jackson get destroyed by false allegations (until their sunset), while R. Kelly is still a free man in the music industry with proof of sexual deviance in multiple court cases?

I was 7 when I was molested by a grown woman. I couldn't approach my parents about it, because she became a close friend to my mother, got closer to other notable family friends, and I was already misunderstood at school and church (Grade 2 was a horrible year). My parents were also coming to terms with their breakup, so it didn't help (because what if they had another physical altercation?). Top that with the ongoing belief that men were innately predators...

October 2018, I've had a nightmare of her stalking me while visiting my hometown (the 514) - woke up in a sweat, purchased Black Panther on Google Play Movies, and watched the movie until my eyes shut again... Because mentally, I needed to feel safe. I wanted Wakanda's protection. And I ended up getting it in my dreams (occasionally). M'Baku and The Jabari Tribe are the best!

Back on topic... So, while I'm happy that justice is happening, I'm also disappointed. Deeply disappointed in The Black Community for sweeping this issue under the rug.👏🏾Every.👏🏾 Single.👏🏾Time.👏🏾 I understand firsthand why it's hard to come forward. Allow me to explain (and these are some of the reasons why going to church is a farce in my book).

I've shared with a few Gundam Wing fans (via Discord) that I've sung in three choirs (four if school curriculum counts). To this day, I still jam to my favourite songs and sing as a secret means to calm down when times are too stressful (and if I have no access to a pen and notebook). So why bring this up? Simply put, during my tenure in the third choir, I was spanked and grabbed on the buttocks for holding the door open for an elderly man. [This isn't funny, so if you're laughing, check yourself or leave my blog ASAP]. Not only did this trigger my fear and cripple my confidence as a young adult, but I wasn't able to focus. I've felt scared... Moreso when I've relayed the incident to a few choir members. They've laughed it off, because it sounded funny to them.

It didn't help that this also happened a week after one of my closest friends had died from cancer (and I couldn't make it to his funeral). So being forced to laugh it off, take it with a grain of salt, and keeping it moving wasn't easy. Also, being Black means you don't cry. "Stay strong," is all people would ever say.

I've also been approached and stalked by some strange men, around my age (no older than 27). I'd be waiting at the bus stop so I can commute to work. Strange man shows up, and requests (to the point of begging) that I take the taxi with him. One week later, he begs me to skip work and come over to his place. For what, only God knows. I didn't go, but I've sent text messages to friends. The majority of them found it funny - except one, who also called to check up on me. If it were up to him, he'd drive across town and set the stalker straight.

That was then.

There was a fellow co-worker (cisgender woman) who used to touch, or feel up my inner thighs and buttocks without my consent, and in the presence of customers. How many times have I reported her, yet supervisors promoted her, and would say, "That's her way of giving people props."

What the heck?

Then, by the time I was 25, I've reached my breaking point despite graduating from college and acquiring two careers to call my own. My physical appearance (gaining weight), marital status ("let's find a boyfriend for you on WhatsApp Messenger"), and popularity were the only things that mattered. Damn it all to the grave.

Dating prospects were more like, groomers. And they were all Christian Churchians.💯 I've never given up the V-card, but I've tried to fit in to the point of mental starvation and social exhaustion. In the worst case scenario, I've heard adults (including a parent) poke rape jokes. What's so funny about that?

We sure as hell did not deserve Aaliyah, because the ignorance is real.

I've ended up writing a fanfic project that deals with the music industry, and emphasizes deep comparisons between a good rep team versus an evil rep team, by pulling bits and pieces of experiences by real artists, as well as my "inability to be more transparent/speak up/get out of my shell", and conceptions of what could go wrong if there was no access to a healthy outlet... Combined them into the realities of the characters I'm borrowing. It's still in progress; I'm a perfectionist, yet, the story needs to be told.

There's a second project where two cousins grow up together in the kingdom, get separated after the death of a family member, and the elder cousin searches for his bestie in America. Friendships are formed, but there's also a rampant rape culture against girls in the community where his cousin took residence... Pedophiles will get killed after witnessing the dismissal of reports by police. Go figure.

Writing these types of things, is an outlet. I don't condone abuse, murder, things of that dark nature, but honestly. I grew up in a rape culture. I need a healthy way to deal with (process) that.

Talking about it to people is only safe enough in therapy sessions. Outside of that, get laughed at. Mocked. Told that You deserve it (or did something to deserve it).

I've contemplated suicide last month. Resurfaced memories do more harm than good... And even if I followed through on December 29th (I'm glad I didn't), everything in this post, especially the woman predator who was a babysitter, is the secret I would've taken to my grave. Who could I talk to without feeling unsafe or unwelcome? Without laughing it off in a dismissive manner? Without assuming that I've done something to deserve it, like forgetting to pull on my panties first?

No one.

I've been taught that my big butt, juicy thighs, bust... Yet fat belly, rolls on my back, and somewhat bouncy arms, are something to be ashamed of. From 14 to 23, I used to sport Beyoncé's figure (used to be slimmer)... Yet I still had to feel guilty for embracing that, because if I didn't cover up... If I walked out late... If I didn't keep up with trends... if I didn't turn up for what... If I didn't drop it like it's hot, turn around and bump bump bump, my body too bootylicious for 'em, 'cause if it's worth it lemme work it... And whenever I did these things...

I am guilty.

Now that I'm older, and I don't do these things as often...

I am still guilty.

Because I grew up in a community and a society that hates rapists and pedophiles while making excuses for rapists and pedophiles if I spoke up. If other girls and women spoke up. If boys and men came forward with their true accounts without receiving homophobic comments, or the overused, "You became a real man, congratulations!" Canada's Supreme Court will not keep a sex predator behind bars for more than ten years. That's all the additional proof you need.

The hypocrisy was real, and it still is.

There was an incident where a little girl complained about a church elder touching her... No one believed her.

Later on in my teens, a teenage boy was falsely accused of sexual harassment, and everyone believed the lie (except his closest friends, whom told her to stop following them around).

Another church elder (and a Bible thumper), fondled my breasts out of spite - and my mother blamed me! The next time I've seen that elder, I've set her straight, but who the hell am I for talking? She's still the most respected because she knows every scripture passage, from Genesis to Revelation, and also knows every volume, word for word, from The Spirit of Prophecy. So she has no sin...

THE LIES!

I was nervous shaky the entire time.

So growing up Black, in a church community, as a girl (now a woman) had many catastrophes. I'm not crazy for putting this out there, just keeping it real. I'll be in church in approximately less than three hours from now, and if anyone cracks jokes or makes demeaning comments about R. Kelly's current and former victims, talking about how they're fast, and how they should've come forward... Nah, Hollywood gets away with sexual deviance against minors. A large percentage of them have bought R. Kelly's music, at music stores and on iTunes/Google Play Music. No surprise, huh? As much as I love my church family, I cannot accommodate the ignorance that's gone on for my whole life so far. *Sigh* This has blackened my heart, I just... I am at a loss, not only for R. Kelly's victims, but every child and youth who will be targeted by men and women who cannot be trusted.

I will always support Black Empowerment, Black Lives Matter and Black History... But I have zero tolerance for the enabling of pedophiles and rapists. Even the jokes. It's distasteful.

If you are a supporter/apologist of R. Kelly, Sparkle, Marques Houston, and any other person who'd used/subjected minors to assault and/or grooming, get off my page. And stop pretending to be a huge Aaliyah fan... We've lost her because the adults in her life had failed in exchange for her fame. We also owe Michael Jackson's family an apology for destroying his character and career under false allegations, while R. Kelly was still a free man, preying on girls and grooming boys to become like him... And all the evidence of his crimes were readily available on the archives while I was in Junior High. While we're at it, Kitti Jones and Drea Kelly need to take several seats. They've had every opportunity to approach the police. They've known what R. Kelly did to all those girls and how it's destroyed their youth. They are the poorest examples of how to put sex offenders in their place, just so they can get money now that #MeToo (who never gave a damn about half of your experiences, unless you were penetrated by a man)... Nuh-uh! The lives that were destroyed by rape, molestation, grooming and exploitation matter more than the money anyone might make from a case that should've been dealt with decades ago! My heart is very heavy throughout this post. I know it's Sabbath hours, but I'm currently listening to "Don't Stay" by Linkin Park, because it truly reflects my thoughts and memories, in the wake of #SurvivingRKelly.

Everyone (especially Black people) who put on R. Kelly during weddings and birthday celebrations, I've taken notes. You will not be trusted around my future children (if it's meant to be). I've never healed, yet. The community does not offer a safe space to heal from the damage that's been done. So when I hear about Chester Bennington (Linkin Park -I hope I spelled his name right), AJ and Nick (Backstreet Boys - their parents stood up for their sons), B2K (especially Raz-B), IMx, Sammy, O'Ryan, the victim of Brock Turner, a few victims of Bill Cosby and that actor from 7th Heaven, the young girl who was sexually assaulted and exploited by that loser who was granted a chance to finish up his studies at UofC (University of Calgary), Natasha McKenna who was stripped, dehumanized and tasered in her last moments by eight men, the former victims of Eddie Long who were forcibly silenced, the girl who was raped, hospitalized and raped again in the hospital by her father and brother... This is real ish. I have no more words. Leave my page if you support R. Kelly... Special shoutout to John Legend for keeping it real. Another special shoutout to Terry Crews who spoke up. To the victims of Harvey Weinstein and Kevin Spacey, you also need to get your voices heard, because you also matter. To the victims of Ryan Seacrest, the same also applies. May Corey Haim Rest in Power, because Charlie Sheen is getting his just reward for what he did decades ago. Although I'm glad B2K is reuniting for tour, I've been conflicted with how R. Kelly wrote your popular hits. That wasn't your fault, though. Your former manager (Chris Stokes - another pedophile) had that set up for your grooming - good thing y'all left TUG behind when you did. Other artists and notable faces in the entertainment industry - you don't have to comment, but I beseech you to STOP collaborating with R. Kelly. What he did to those girls is beyond me. If you keep enabling him, you're now guilty for proving that rape is okay.

It is not.💯

#r. kelly #terrablaze514 #memories #true story #surviving r. kelly

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elfnerdherder · 5 years

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The Unquiet Grave: Chapter 14

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Chapter 14:

The phone rings approximately seven times before Dr. Lecter answers.

“Hello?” There’s a pause as Will paces listlessly across the hand-woven rug with little feeling and emotion behind it. Lecter’s voice carries along after him, and he catches the purposefully casual air to it. “Agent Crawford, hello. No, you’re not disturbing me.”

Dolarhyde’s file sits open on the desk, alongside his own with its blank pages and cryptic warning. Hannibal had read it with the same intensity and focus that he did everything else before setting it aside to think.

“Agent Graham? Yes, he’s here.”

He sets the phone down on the desk, on top of Will’s files and turns it on speaker phone. Will deviates from his swaying steps and walks towards the desk, hesitating by the front of it in order to stare down at the display –to better avoid the expression he supposes is on Hannibal’s face. Better now than never, in truth, for him to warn Jack about Will’s actions.

“I invited him to my home for dinner after our session,” Dr. Lecter explains, and he sits down in his leather chair, folding his hands across his chest. “Is everything alright?”

“Your house?” Jack’s voice is tinny, echoing.

“Yes.”

The line crackles, then goes quiet. Jack lets out an aggravated laugh, then, “You know, he’s surprising me more and more every god damn day.”

Will spares Hannibal a glance, and they share grim smiles.

“I may safely agree, Agent Crawford,” Hannibal replies. “Is he needed for work? We’ve only barely sat down before you called.”

“No, no, don’t worry about it. He barely gets out enough, I’ll let him enjoy your fine cooking for a night before I pester him tomorrow.”

Hannibal smiles, and it suits his eyes. “The least we can do.”

“Yes, of course. Good bye, Dr. Lecter.”

“Good evening, Agent Crawford.”

The line goes dead, and silence settles back into the room. Will’s pace doesn’t cease; rather, it seems to persist with a fixated vengeance until Hannibal clears his throat. It disturbs his stride and focus, and he jolts before looking back to Hannibal with an expression much like the one he’d given when they first met, when Will realized that there was nothing at all normal about this Lecter person, no matter how hard he looked at him.

He thinks back to how close Lecter held him, and it solidifies his suspicions.

“If I feed you, I can’t be called a liar.”

“I’m not hungry,” Will replies.

“Aren’t you?”

Will is, but he isn’t quite sure how to say it; how he hungers for something not quite tangible, not quite able to be felt. He wonders if it was the hunger that did Hobbs in, not necessarily the fantasies that prompted it.

He looks to the grandfather clock that stands regally against the wall beside darkened cherry wood. It’s close to dinner time, and most people kept their meals on a schedule. Most people eat three meals a day and eat them around generally the same time.

Most people, when doing their job, don’t stick their nose so far into things that it exposes their neck.

“I don’t trust your eating habits,” Dr. Lecter decides, and it pulls Will from his thoughts, disjointed as they are. He can feel his walls, now, crumbling. Not large boulders that tumble, crack and smack together, but grains that dust away with the persistent wind. Things are loud, in Will Graham’s head. He wonders if Francis Dolarhyde’s mind is quiet, or if he feels bombarded by the screaming.

Can you see?

“Is there much you trust about me?” Will asks, humorlessly. He allows himself to be guided down an austere hallway of elegant drapes and refined paintings. He thinks of the hunger he’d felt, bare hands pressed to the pages of Blake’s work.

He wonders just what it is that Hannibal Lecter is hungry for.

“I believe that at your core, Agent Graham, you want to help people,” he replies, and he flips the lights to his kitchen. “That tells me that at that same core, you have good intentions. I can work with those.”

“I can’t.”

“You can,” Hannibal replies with ease.

Will is deposited onto a stool as dinner is prepared ‘as quickly and painlessly as possible.’ It’s vegetarian, and Will tastes nothing in the soup, more basil than tomato and richer in cream than the normal canned version he’d personally buy for about .79 cents each.

It’s nice, though. It gives him time to compartmentalize. The flavors won’t allow him to dwell on his real problems.

The guest bedroom is accented in bold ocher and gold threading in the tapestries that adorn windows closed against the frosted edging. A couple of hours later, Will sits on the plush blankets and presses gloved palms to the duvet, wondering at the thread count he’s about to sleep on. To say that Hannibal Lecter’s personal living quarters are lavish is an understatement, and although Will certainly doesn’t live in squalor, government wages aren’t exactly the lap of luxury.

He thinks of how careful Hannibal was to steer the conversation away from Jack Crawford’s phone call during and after dinner. He didn’t make mention of it, and Will was quite fine to set the situation aside for the evening.

Just enough to rest. God, that was all Dolarhyde wanted for him, wasn’t it? He just needed some fucking rest?

He lays down, and he closes his eyes. Behind his eyelids, marked by a gaze seeing yet unseen, he watches small grains of his walls crumble with each gust of worry that bursts against him.

When he dreams, he dreams of walls sturdy and strong. Thick layers of cement hold them, carefully weighed and measured, fitted to exact specification. They sit two feet thick, and try as he might, Will can’t see the top of them, for all the world they keep stacking higher and higher. The air around him is light, the grass beneath his feet warm. Within his walls is a glade, and a stag moves about it, as at ease with him as he surprisingly is with it.

Where the bricks come from, he can’t see, but something about them is familiar to him, a touch as soft as his own and equally yearning. With his back to the stag, he presses fingertips to the stone, then palm, then forehead.

Hannibal broaches the topic of their next step at breakfast.

“About an hour ago, Jack Crawford called this morning to give me more information regarding his call yesterday,” Hannibal confides, pouring Will a glass of espresso.

The fact that he even has an espresso machine isn’t lost on Will as something that ordinary neurotypicals don’t typically do, but the man also has a bidet in the guest bathroom. Eccentric seems to be his thing.

“What’d he say?”

“He informed me that Dolarhyde attacked one of your fellow agents just this past evening, and when he couldn’t get a hold of you, he became concerned. I informed him that you decided to finish work early yesterday in order to meet me for dinner to discuss something I posted in the journals.”

“They know,” Will reminds him, quietly. Breakfast is sweet, and he spoons a small helping of pomegranate into his mouth.

“Yes, but it is the power of how much they know, Agent Graham. Your six-month evaluation is coming up, according to Dr. Bloom. How are your walls?”

He’d stared at himself in the mirror, earlier in the morning. The only eyes he couldn’t seem to see into were Hannibal’s, and his own.

“They feel…sturdier.”

“I’ll take this moment to remind you the importance of stable friendships. Stress isn’t always so stressful when you have a strong outlet for your emotions in times of trouble.”

“It’s not my emotions that I generally struggle with,” Will retorts dryly, but something stops him from entirely laughing, and he turns his spoon over, studying his oblong face in the back of it. It reminds him of the house of mirrors, and he quickly spins it around once more. “Friendship. Is that what you’d call us? Friends?”

Hannibal is quiet, and Will glances up to his face, studying the curve of his lip as he smiles. It’s faint, and Will wonders how easily he sees it, that he is used to looking so intently to find it.

“What would you call it?” Hannibal wonders.

“You’re my therapist, but it’s a work-mandated therapy. You accompany me in my work, so that counts as both colleague and babysitter.” Will ticks them off on his fingers, propping his elbows onto the table. “You watched my dog while I was gone, so that is either a fellow church member, or at the least an acquaintance.”

“I have no membership to a church, although I have several Sunday masses under my belt,” Hannibal assures him.

“You have met me for coffee a few times outside of therapy or work-related business, so that adds the potential for ‘old high school acquaintance’.”

“I don’t have a pyramid scheme to sell, though.”

“And you’re currently abetting an empath in committing several felonies, so that’s somewhere within an emotional spectrum. Maybe friends, maybe enemies. I think either one illicit enough of an emotional response to count.”

Will wouldn’t quite say that that sobers Hannibal, but he is contemplative as he polishes off his juice. Will isn’t quite sure how to steer away from that topic of conversation, nor is he sure the thoughts running through Dr. Lecter’s head. Abetting a felon. A felon that isn’t quite known yet as a felon, but a felon none-the-less. He wonders if he’ll have a matching black hoodie like Dolarhyde’s, soon; if he’ll have to go and find his own chloroform so that he can question mentally unstable empaths within the confines of a musty hotel.

There’s something relaxing about the ease of Lecter’s house, the rooms and walls that look untouched because out of all the places Will walked through, Hannibal is the only one to live in them. After breakfast, he is left to his devices as Lecter gets ready for work, and he takes his time admiring the paintings on the wall, the instruments in a small parlor adjacent to the study.

He is tempted, if but for a second, to take his gloves off and roam throughout the kitchen, where Hannibal’s work, passion, and emotion is most obviously prevalent. He wonders if that would be inappropriate, though; if Hannibal’s hardened resolve would crumble in the wake of a nosy empath whose hands touch what was never theirs to own.

He did take them off in the guest bedroom, but that was to sleep. Hannibal had ensured no one else’s skin had touched that pillow, let alone the covers, and Will had rested surprisingly well despite not having to lay his jacket down to protect the bone arena of his skull. He wonders if he’d ever slept so soundly at the EBAU; if dreams were so tangible within such a public and scrutinized space.

“I’m fond of you,” Hannibal finally says in response to Will as he’s dropping him off at the FBI HQ. It’s a casual statement, but the weight of it sits on Will as the cement walls loom behind him, grey and imposing. Hannibal glances to him, and that same faint smile flickers. No thoughts. No intrusions. Just his words and his smile. “We’ll start working on your walls in our next session.”

“You’re fond of me,” Will repeats, and it sounds more like he’s clarifying rather than parroting.

“Yes.”

They stare at one another. Will swallows, hard, and he tracks the steady pulse in Hannibal’s neck, the same steady beat that he’d felt when they were locked within his wardrobe, cheek pressed to wool as a killer lurked just outside. Steady. Dr. Hannibal Lecter, in all things, seems steady.

“Do have a pleasant day, Agent Graham,” he says, and he gives enough time for Will to take his cue and step back onto the sidewalk, lest his shoes get run over.

I’m fond of you.

The air is crisp and cold, although the sidewalks are swept clean from snow. Salt clumps in small piles where the automated doors slide open.

I’m fond of you.

“Agent Crawford is waiting for you in his office, Agent Graham,” the receptionist, a Dreamer, informs him at the front desk.

I’m fond of you.

“Good morning, sir,” a security guard greets by the elevator.

I’m fond of you.

“Jack’s on a warpath,” Beverly warns him as she passes by him with a purpose, hell-bent on the labs.

I’m fond of you.

“You can head right in, Agent Graham,” the EBAU’s clerk chirps.

I’m fond of you.

Jack’s waiting beside the desk when Will walks in, poised like he’s been waiting for this moment since the day before when he called Hannibal.

I’m fond of you.

“Morning, Jack.”

I’m fond of you.

“Morning, Will.”

I’m fond of you.

Will studies the room, and it’s not lost on him that there is another man sitting neat and tidy in the corner, quietly content. It takes another scan of the office for Will to realize just who it is that’s sitting tucked away, and when he does cold sweat breaks out on his back, a dotting of it just along his forehead, too.

I’m fond of you.

“Morning,” he greets Agent Jackson, slowly.

Agent Jackson’s expression yesterday when he first came across Will at Gateway Corp. was the resigned look Will no doubt often had when doing a particularly unpleasant part of his job. The second, surprise. The third, fear, blinding and all-consuming. Now, though, his face is pleasantly blank, a slate wiped clean of anything that ever made somebody something. His clothing looks much like someone that’d slept in it, and when Will looks to the space just at the side of Jackson’s eyes, he’s dismayed to see nothing much at all, like passing by a doll in a toy store with plastic parts and nothing of importance tucked away inside.

Agent Jackson blinks at Will, once. His smile is distantly vague, and when Will looks back to Jack, three things become incredibly obvious at that moment:

First, Agent Jackson is no longer the man Will found in the bathroom at Gateway Corp.

Second, Jack is trying to see whether or not Will is realizing just that.

Third, if the EBAU knows that he weaponized his gifts, he’s not leaving HQ alive.

“What’s wrong with him?” Will asks, and he thinks of Hannibal’s words, how they echo and bounce about with wild abandon within mildly sturdy walls. They bounce soft, though. They know the sort of danger he’s in.

It is the power of how much they know.

I’m fond of you.

“You think something’s wrong?” Jack asks.

Will lets his lip curl, but only a little. “I think that even neurotypicals could see something’s wrong with him, Jack.”

Jack relents after a moment, but his shoulders are still taut. He circles the desk to come around and stand beside Will, too close for comfort. “Found him at Gateway Corp. Can’t see anything on their cameras, but looks like Dolarhyde dropped by for a visit.”

“Evidence he wanted to hide?”

“From this guy, or from us?”

Will frowns down at Jackson’s stupidly placid face. “Maybe both. Do you…do you want me to see?”

“Do you want to see?” Jack asks.

It’s the staged look of it, Will decides much later, that determines what he does. Jackson purposefully positioned away from the main portion of the room, Jack close enough to touch but not close enough to feel. Jack’s office isn’t small, yet they’re sequestered far enough away from the main angles of the cameras that the look of it isn’t quite damning.

Yet.

“Jack, what’s going on,” Will prompts, softly. “What’s wrong.”

Jack lets out a slow breath, something speaking of the years between them and all of the work Will’s done in his time. The RA’s under his belt. The killers crowding his head. The whisper that one day, maybe one day, he’ll be right alongside them, dead. This time, Will isn’t entirely tempted to try and glean secrets from his boss. There’s something in him, something persistently needing, that whispers that maybe, maybe Jack will give him more than just death.

Maybe.

“Tell me your whereabouts yesterday, and I’ll tell you why I’m worried about it,” Jack says heavily.

Will looks from Jackson to Jack. He fixes his gaze onto the curve of his cheek, where his jaw determined years ago that no matter the expression on his face, Jack would always appear mildly aggressive in nature. It’s a bone he’s being thrown, Jack allowing Will to fill in the gaps first. He doesn’t miss the opportunity, and he doesn’t let it pass him by. He wets his bottom lip, tucks his hands into his pockets.

“Shit, Jack, you know I’m feeling the heat,” he says. “I called Dr. Lecter.”

“You called him?”

Will nods. “Yeah, I called him. I wanted to talk about his articles.”

“Bloom says you have a fixation on his articles.”

“I do.”

I’m fond of you.

“So you call him?”

“He invited me to his house, I go, we talk about his articles. He invites me to stay for dinner, and I do. He said you called.”

“You didn’t answer my calls.”

“Phone died. It was charging at Lecter’s, but I hadn’t turned it on yet.” He allows a pause to flutter about, awkward, before he plunges on. “Do you…you don’t think I did this, do you? Jack?”

Jack laughs, but its humorless. “I don’t think you did, but you’re the only E-3 not institutionalized, Will. It spooks higher ups when something…well, shit, something like this happens. You look at that man, you tell me what you see. Feelers couldn’t get anything off of him, so it’s making Purnell nervous.”

“So it’s a show, then. I’m humoring you,” Will clarifies.

“Humoring the bureau,” Jack replies. His expression is just as humorless as his laugh.

Will isn’t quite sure how to voice it in a way that makes sense, but seeing what’s come of Agent Jackson is terrifying on a personal level. The man doesn’t so much as blink when Will puts bare palms to his temples, and when Will looks into eyes vacant, trusting, and open, there’s something that breaks inside of him, to see just what he’s capable of.

I’m fond of you.

There is nothing. Where thoughts, panicked and frantic in the face of Will’s ambush used to rush, fleeting and wild, there is silence. Walls of memories hold doors laid open, the feeling like a house newly modeled and ready to sell. The white picket fence isn’t peeling. The door is wide open, and there is a sense that no feet have walked through the foyer, no hands that have touched the dry wall and claimed it as their own. Will trembles, touching Jackson’s shoulders. He can see inside, but there is nothing to see, and it’s like what he imagines the Perkins house to look like, now that someone’s had the time to paint over the screams.

He inhales, and he smells Dolarhyde.

It’s not the end table that dumps Will unceremoniously onto the chair opposite of Jackson’s, but a small ottoman. It hits the back of his calves, and he crumbles onto the cushion with hardly a resistance. He thinks of chloroform pressed to his nose, how everything smelled like gasoline and dread. He thinks of Dolarhyde across from him, gun trained to him yet eyes begging him to just fucking see.

“What do you see?” Jack asks after Will has caught his breath.

He feels something bitter, like biting into a bad almond on his tongue as he replies, “Dolarhyde.”

Jack bows his head, and there’s quiet in the room. Agent Jackson is a blank slate, never-ending, and Will for the first time truly understands what it is to fear the power an E-3 could hold, should they ever decide weaponize it.

I’m fond of you.

#LiaS scribbles #The Unquiet Grave #empath!will #hannigram #someone help will graham #hannibal x will graham #hannibal au #hannigram au

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subtlize · 6 years

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I don’t get very many asks (none) but I really wanted to do one of those like “tag your otp” prompt thingos that would be weird to post on ao3, but like, hella perfect to post here so… here we are:

The Klance ~ Modern AU ~ Edition

1. Acts like they’re dying when they have a cold.

Lance is kind of used to having his mom baby him when he’s sick, so now that he’s moved out and his mom isn’t there to fix everything, he’s frantically reading symptoms on WebMD and diagnosing himself with stage 4 cancer.

2. Gets mad at the TV and throws the remote.

Depends what show. I’d say both Keith and Lance get hella invested in TV shows and throw the remote, then spend like… hours trying to find it the next day.

3. Gets the worst road rage.

Probably Keith. Angery boyo. He can’t help that people don’t know how to drive.

4. Spends too much time in the bathroom on their phone.

Keith. It’s his Alone Time™ let him have this.

5. Packs the whole closet for an overnight trip.

Lance always forgets something and he hates forgetting things so he just packs everything. It’s better to have too much than forget something he needed… Keith, however, disagrees.

6. Hates the in-laws.

Keith. But Lance knows this so he’s skilled at steadily steering them away from asking Keith too many questions. Lance is more than happy to answer for Keith.

7. Hits the snooze button…11 times.

Where Keith will sit straight up in bed and stumble towards the bathroom when the alarm goes off, Lance just… keeps… hitting the snooze button until he’s ready. (Time is an illusion anyway). ((Keith insists that’s not how it works)).

8. Makes the other late for work.

Lance “yeah, yeah I’m COMING, jesus” McClain continues to make Keith “Lance, 15 minutes and we’re leaving okay? … Lance?” Kogane late all the time. Because they’re good boyos and carpool to work to Save The Environment™

9. Uses the television as a babysitter.

They rarely have to babysit but when they DO, Keith would definitely leave the television on to do the entertaining. Lance LOVES kids though and always wants to play with them so this rarely happens. There was that one time however…

10. Takes in the stray dog.

Keith. He relates, poor dude, and animals just stick to him.

“He was in the rain, Lance. I wasn’t just going to leave him there.” and Lance kisses his head and says they can keep it because Lance is just as bad at saying no to Keith as Keith is to saying no to strays.

11. Suggests a 3am trip to McDonald’s.

Keith, only because he’s awake at crazy hours.

12. Leaves their shoes out for the other to trip over.

I think they both do this. But Keith is better at remembering to put his away than Lance is.

13. Can’t make up their mind when it comes to dinner.

Keith is relatively easy going when it comes to food, and Lance cares for like a millisecond before they both break down and order take-out. But that’s another whole thing because it takes Lance a while to figure out what he’s feeling like.

14. Needs to be reminded of all their appointments.

Lance. He tries to set alarms on his phone but his instinct is to snooze them. So, Keith has picked up the habit of texting or calling Lance an hour, half hour, and fifteen minutes before all appointments. Lance has to remind Keith about therapy though because Keith doesn’t like going and will “forget”.

15. Bribes the other into doing chores, getting out of the house…and taking a shower.

Lance only does this as a joke. If Keith is having a relatively bad Brain Day, Lance will gently coax him into taking a shower, brushing his teeth ect. but Lance is able to read a room and can tell if Keith is in the mood for a little light bribing.

16. Picks the movies.

They alternate picking because Keith likes whatever Lance likes and Lance likes whatever Keith likes.

17. Takes the safety steps when building a pillow fort.

Oh, this screams Keith. “Lance, if we don’t put support somewhere in the middle and two ends, it’s going to collapse.” Lance ends up tackling Keith, tickling his sides and saying how cute he is. The fort, inevitably, falls and Keith pretends to be mad.

18. Kisses the other’s injuries better.

I think Keith has a bad habit of taking his anger out on himself. But Lance will kiss him dizzy and make sure his injuries aren’t infected, because Keith doesn’t care enough to do it himself.

19. Is addicted to angry birds, game of war, candy crush, temple run, or flappy bird.

Lance “can’t stand iPhone games” because the “screen’s too small” but Keith somehow always finds him playing them.

20. Kills the spiders.

Keith, but he doesn’t kill them. He scoops them onto a paper towel and lets them free out the window or door. Lance doesn’t get it.

21. Hogs the blankets.

Lance.

22. Takes pranks too far.

KEITH. He likes the competition and isn’t always aware when something has crossed a line. He won’t ever do anything that’ll actually harm or publicly embarrass Lance, but he will be a little extreme. Lance will usually have to tell him to stop and Keith always obliges.

23. Makes the dirty jokes.

Lance, and he won’t give it up until Keith acknowledges that it was funny.

24. Keeps a piggy bank.

Mr. Lance. His youngest sibling gave it to him and loves telling her that he uses it all the time.

25. Has no problem having ice cream for breakfast.

Keith.

26. Gets a tattoo when they’re drunk.

Neither. But inebriated Keith likes to tell the story of when Shiro did.

27. Trips over their own feet.

Keith. Lance has been instructed to “not notice”.

28. Makes the other go for a walk.

Lance. Keith lacks self preservation.

29. Whines until they get what they want.

LANCE. Lance Lance Lance. He usually doesn’t have to whine for long though.

30. Tries to act tough but really isn’t.

It depends on the situation…

Keith in an animal shelter? He’s melting on the inside.

“Just one more cat, Lance. Look at how sad she looks.” *prods at cat through cage* “Hi! Hi little girl! You’re so pretty!”

And Lance tries to act tough with spiders. It generally doesn’t work out. “I’m serious! The little shit tried to attack me!”

31. Talks the most, says the least.

Lance.

32. Talks the least, says the most.

Keith.

#klance #voltron #vld lance #vld keith

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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From Le Carré to Artificial Intelligence — The Inspirations of When the Sparrow Falls

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What if human consciousness could be digitized? Would the digital version still be human, or would it be a meaningless string of data that no longer has a soul? In Neil Sharpson’s When the Sparrow Falls, the Caspian Republic is the last holdout nation of natural born humans. There, the populace refuses to submit to the Machine, believing that neither digital humans nor AI have souls. Unfortunately, the Caspian Republic is also a totalitarian nightmare of a nation, where not one but two police organizations could come for you in the night, and you’d never be seen again.

Nikolai South, whose first-person narration leads readers through this strange future, is an agent for State Security (StaSec, or The Old Man). When he’s called in to the office of the Deputy Director, he believes it’s the end: though he’s stayed under the radar of both the State and Party Security (ParSec, or The Bastards) for more than twenty years, he’s finally done something to get himself killed. Instead, he’s given a new assignment. Popular Party writer and anti-Machine scribe Paulo Xirau has been outed as an AI, and his wife—also an AI—has been given honorary human status to identify Xirau’s remains. South is to be her babysitter and bodyguard during her visit, which is, very likely, just a very fancy way for StaSec to hand him his death sentence after all. Even worse, when Lily Xirau arrives, the clone she uses for a body is the spitting image of South’s dead wife, whose death sent South into a spiral of depression that’s held him in the same position in StaSec for the last twenty years.

South’s voice is reminiscent of a protagonist from Kafka: he’s one soul in a nation out to get him. But unlike K, he has a pretty good idea of what’s going on, and why, and his cynicism wars with the internal voice of the Good Brother, who reminds him of why he should rejoice in the successes of both the State and the Party. He’s also clever enough to realize that Xirau’s death, Lily’s arrival, and the work of Needleman Yozhik, a criminal responsible behind a ring of illegal consciousness transfers—contrans—in the Caspian Republic, are all connected. But like any good spy mystery, it’s not in the most obvious way, and the stakes of the case keep changing around South as past events come back to haunt him.

The novel is taught and intense, with hints seeded so stealthily that the big reveals (and, with the twists, there are a few) give a feeling of both surprise and inevitability. It’s hard to believe that the project, with its philosophical deep discussion of human souls and its ever-shifting spy narrative, began life as a stage play.

“I’d been tinkering with the play on and off for around six or seven years by [2017],” Sharpson explains to Den of Geek, “and when I finally finished it everyone I showed it to had more or less the same reaction: ‘Why are you doing a dense sci-fi story with tons of world-building for stage. You twit.’” While his friends may have been critics, the play looked like it would do well, and Sharpson didn’t feel he had the time to turn it into a novel. Then disaster struck: “I had two massive opportunities (a commission from the national theatre and a greenlight from the state broadcaster) both go up in smoke. In the same month,” Sharpson says. “I very briefly became suicidal and I realised that I had to divorce my sense of self worth from how well my writing was doing. So I started to write Sparrow (or The Caspian Sea, as it was then called) as a form of self-therapy. It was just so I could write something where I could say ‘I don’t care if this never gets published or if anyone even knows I wrote it. I’ll know, and that’ll be enough.’”

Despite his initial reluctance, the process of writing the novel “was a dream,” he says. “All the hard work had already been done, the story structure, themes, etc. were mostly already there. So it was literally the process of writing a book where you only have to do the fun stuff like expanding on the lore and fleshing out the characters. Writing the play took years. Writing the book took me from November 2017 to February 2018.”

Though the atmosphere may be reminiscent of Kafka, Sharpson drew on other inspirations as he built the world, particularly the film 2011 Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy starring Gary Oldman. “1984 obviously was another huge influence,” Sharpson says. “Writing a future dystopia that’s not influenced by Orwell is kind of like writing high fantasy that owes no debt to Tolkien.” But one of the other inspirations for the story came out of history, in the figure of “Stanislav Petrov, the Soviet Air Officer who deliberately ignored what his system told him was an incoming American nuke and thereby may have saved the entire world,” Sharpson recalls. “I was very taken by the idea of a hero who is heroic not because he’s a man of action but because he refuses to act.”

The idea of consciousness transfers has both the shiny glow of a new technology—and the feeling of limitless possibility that a digital world inspires—and an air of menace. In part, that’s due to the distrust of the Caspian Republic toward the Machine, but Sharpson also gives hints about how things operate in the rest of the world with asides at the beginning of each chapter. In one, a U.S. politician explains a move from being opposed to building a super-intelligent AI to realizing that the U.S. must do it, if only to keep up with China.

“I’m every bit as worried as I was five years ago, if not more so,” says Sharpson. “But where we are now, asking ‘Should we create super intelligent AIs?’ is like asking if we should be using protection while we’re going into labor. The question is pretty moot. The baby is here. China has uncorked the bottle and let the genie out and the results speak for themselves.” Another is a clone-suit advertisement from a Tehran company, geared toward “female-identifying intelligences looking to add some Asian glamour to a romantic getaway in the physical realm”—which shows that racist stereotyping remains healthy and well, regardless of how post-human consciousness wants to believe it has become.

Still, in a world where contran is possible, where humanity has unlimited potential through the digital space, why set the story inside the anti-Machine territory, where the possibilities wouldn’t be explored? Sharpson explains that it came from wanting to write a Cold War thriller. “I was terrified of getting the historical details wrong,” Sharpson admits, “so I reasoned that if I created my own nation with its own history, I would be able to tell the story I wanted without getting irate emails from people who were living in East Berlin in the seventies. As I was writing, the real world was trundling along and it became a story of the world today but imagined as a cold war; Caspian is a country for people who are afraid of the future and have retreated into a nation built on nostalgia for the past.”

As for the potential in contran, Sharpson remains reserved when asked if he’d try it himself. “In the world of the book, there are two competing views on contran: The Machine World view is that you are still ‘you’ after you have been contranned. The Caspians, however, see contran as a genocice occurring in plain view,” he explains. “People are being contranned, their souls destroyed and being replaced by a highly sophisticated AI simulacrum. They view this as the AIs way of eradicating mankind. Now, as the author of the book, I know this isn’t the case. But if someone were to come up to me in real life and offer me contran I would have no way of knowing if it was on the up and up. In fact, given the inscrutable nature of human consciousness, the Caspian position would seem far, far more probable. I’d be tempted, no question, but I don’t know if I’d consider it worth the risk.”

Though the science as presented in the book makes the idea of a digital transfer of humanity seem not only probable, but an inevitable result of the growth of AI technology, Sharpson says the experts he conferred with told him “contran is flat out impossible. It’s digitising human consciousness, and we fundamentally don’t understand what that is, let alone how to render it as data,” he says. He got around that impossibility by saying “we (humans) didn’t figure out contran, we created impossibly intelligent AI and they figured it out for us. Which is really the whole meat of the setting: the AI passed us by.”

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Though the novel concludes quite definitively, with perhaps one lingering question about the whereabouts of a character, the questions it opens up remain interesting to play with after putting the book down. What would it be like to live in an all digital realm? If you left your body behind, would you still be you? And what would that say about the nature of the soul? The post-humanity conceits in the story, and the very grounded dystopia that comes from trying to live in the past, work together to create a sense of hope, that despite the regrets of the past, there is a future. It might be terrible and glorious at once, but it’s there, waiting for us to enter it.

When the Sparrow Falls hits bookshelves on June 29th. You can order the book here.

The post From Le Carré to Artificial Intelligence — The Inspirations of When the Sparrow Falls appeared first on Den of Geek.

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lesbiansteveharrington · 7 years

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OH, TO BE ALONE WITH YOU (PT. 1)

Pairing: Stenbrough with minor Reddie on the side

Word Count: 3,986

Prompt: Stan Uris moves to Derry, Maine following the death of his father and gets a job babysitting a little boy named Georgie who just so happens to have a very attractive older brother. (Modern High School AU)

Warnings: Mention of death, depression (not a major theme), anti-Semitism, struggles with faith

Link to part two: https://jamespottev.tumblr.com/post/166443144647/how-would-you-feel-if-i-told-you-i-love-you

__________

Sometimes, Stanley Uris didn’t know what was up and what was down. Sometimes, it felt like the world was moving but he was stuck in the same position, day after day. And it sucked. His mother thought that a new start would be good for them, that it would help them move on.

Stan wanted to scream. He wanted to call bullshit on her logic. It wasn’t that he didn’t mind moving. He wasn’t exactly popular back at his old high school in Bangor ( once upon a time, his father had asked him if it was because of them being Jewish – but it wasn’t an anti-Semitic thing, aside from the occasional, always unfunny, holocaust joke, it was more so the depression thing and the OCD thing and the gay thing that drove people away ) so it wasn’t like he was going to be all that missed. Even his Jewish friends didn’t seem like they were gonna miss him that much. And it bothered Stan how little he cared about it.

But after his dad died, everything just seemed so… pointless. His father, a man who had never smoked a day in his life, ended up dying of lung cancer. It made Stan furious. At the world. At God. At everything. After watching his father shrivel up into a shell of what he had once been, Stan’s already complicated relationship with religion had turned sour. It infuriated him that his father could be dying and still praising that almighty presence above. Stan wasn’t even sure if he believed anymore.

“Stanley,” his mother’s voice called. “Come on, you’re going to be late!”

Gulping, Stan gave himself a once over and straightened the collar of his shirt before grabbing his backpack. As he left his room and shut the door, he found himself cringing. So, he went back, turned the bedroom light on and then off before shutting his door. Stan repeated that three more times before he was satisfied. It made him feel sick, wrong.

“I think you should start going back to therapy,” his mother told him on the ride to school.

“Mom—”

“No arguments, Stanley,” she said, her voice sharp like the cracking of a whip. “I know you, I know my son. You’re not okay, sweetheart. All I want is for you to be happy. I don’t want to send you off to college in two years with you…”

She trailed off and sighed. Stan could tell that if she hadn’t been driving she would’ve pressed a small kiss to the top of his forehead and hugged him tightly. Stan licked his lips and closed his eyes. He hated how unhappy his mother was. He despised that part of it was caused by him.

“I’ll see you tonight, yeah?” Andrea Uris said, looking at her pale, skinny son.

“Yeah,” Stan agreed, nodding.

“We can talk about you getting that job. How’s that sound?”

Stan smiled at that. Since his freshman year of high school, he had been begging for a job. He liked the idea of working – the responsibility, the experience, the money that he could save up to buy all the books he’d ever want to read. Stan just really wanted a job. He wanted something to do with his life.

And he also needed to start saving up for college. His father had been a Rabbi and his mother was a kindergarten teacher, so it wasn’t like there was a lot of money in either of those professions. If he didn’t want to leave college with an obscene amount of debt, Stan would have to save money while working his ass off for good grade.

“Hi, I’m Stan Uris,” Stan said in a quiet voice to the lady sitting at the receptionist desk.

“Oh, the new boy!” the receptionist said in a too-loud, too-cheerful voice.

Stan winced a little and smiled.

“Here’s your schedule, and your student guide will be down any minute to take you around!”

The receptionist had an odd accent that Stan wasn’t very fond of, and when she snapped her gum he thought his head might explode.

A minute later, a very clean cut looking black boy with broad shoulders, short hair, and a wide smile walked into the office.

“Hey, you must be Stan,” he said, walking straight over to Stan and offering his hand to shake. “I’m Mike.”

“Hi,” Stan said, shaking Mike’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

As it turned out, Stan and Mike had all the same classes which was why Mike was chosen to give Stan the school tour. Within five minutes, Stan had decided that he liked Mike a lot. Mike was soft spoken, intelligent, and kind. He might have looked like all the football players at Stan’s old school that gave him hell for being gay, but Mike was nothing like that.

So, maybe Derry wouldn’t be that bad.

At lunch, Mike led Stan past the table filled with boys wearing the same kind of jacket as Mike and towards a different table in the corner of the room. At that table sat a very pretty girl with freckles spattered across every bit of visible skin and short cropped red hair. Beside her was a broad boy with dark blonde hair and a shy smile. Another boy sat across from them, lanky and thinly muscled with thick glasses and rather gorgeous dark hair. His arm was slung around the shoulders of a shorter boy with neatly combed chocolate curls. It was a ragtag bunch, but as they greeted Mike with wide smiles Stan could tell that they all loved each other a lot.

“Hey guys,” Mike said, sitting down and gesturing at the empty chair for Stan. “This is Stan, he’s new. Stan, this is Bev, Ben, Eddie, and Richie— where’s Bill?”

“Out sick,” Richie, the boy with glasses, snorted, ducking his face into the crook of Eddie’s neck.

Richie’s body convulsed with laughter Stan didn’t really understand. He stayed silent and began unpacking his lunch.

“What did you do to him?” Mike sighed, looking towards Bev.

“Hey, he agreed to drink with us,” Bev said defensively.

“They’re ridiculous,” Mike murmured to Stan, drawing a small smile from the new boy. “Don’t hold them against me?”

“So, I found a job for you,” Andrea told Stan that night after setting out dinner.

“Yeah?” Stan asked.

He held his breath for a moment, unsure if he was willing to trust his mother’s judgement on this.

“Yes. A woman named Sharon at my work was saying how she needs a babysitter for her son Georgie on Thursdays and Fridays,” Andrea said, stabbing her fork into her salad.

“Babysitting?” Stan asked, trying his best to hide his annoyance. “Mom. I don’t want to babysit.”

“It’s fifteen dollars an hour, Stanley,” Andrea said. “Sharon said it would be for at least five hours each night, so that’s at least a hundred and fifty dollars every week.”

Stan quickly did the math. If he kept fifty dollars every week for himself ( though, he didn’t have friends or much of a social life so why would he really need fifty dollars a week to do things? Well, Mike and his friends had been welcoming enough… maybe he’d finally have some friends… ) he could put away a hundred bucks each week. If he kept that consistent for two years ( and who knew what this kid’s parents would need over school breaks and the summer ) Stan could have a significant amount of money saved when he needed to get to college.

Suddenly, babysitting didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

“So, when do I start?” Stan asked.

Andrea beamed at her son.

“I have her number written down. You can call her after dinner and ask.”

As it turned out, Sharon Denbrough needed Stan to start ASAP. And tomorrow was Friday, meaning that Stan would be babysitting ten-year-old Georgie from 5:00 to 11:00.

When Stan shuffled into school, head down, he went straight to his locker. The girl to his left and her friends shot him a weird look, though Stan wasn’t all that sure why. He wasn’t that weird looking.

“Stan!” Mike’s voice boomed cheerfully.

Stan looked up and smiled at the approaching boy. Mike was walking with Ben and a boy Stan didn’t meet yesterday. But, boy, did he wish he had. The stranger was tall ( probably a little over six-feet, which definitely didn’t make Stan a little weak in the knees — no siree! ) and had light brown hair combed and styled very neatly. And his eyes—they were the bluest blue Stan had ever seen.

“Hi Mike, Ben,” Stan said in his typical quiet fashion, quickly glancing at the other boy before shifting his eyes down to the textbook in his arms.

“Stan, this is Bill. He was sick yesterday,” Ben said. “Richie mentioned you and Bill was anxious to meet the new kid on the block.”

Both Bill and Mike snorted quietly as Ben’s mouth lifted into a small smirk. Stan didn’t get the joke.

“It’s nice to meet you, Stan,” Bill said.

His words were slow and deliberate, and Stan really liked that.

“You too, Bill,” Stan replied, hoping that he wasn’t blushing.

If he was, no one said anything.

At lunch time, Richie clapped Stan on the shoulder and loudly proclaimed that his algebra teacher was a homophobic piece of shit.

“Why is he homophobic, Rich?” Bev asked, smirking at the boy.

“He told me I would never accomplish anything in life and is making me serve detention on Monday! This is gay oppression!” Richie exclaimed, flabbergasted.

Stan chuckled quietly.

“So, Stan, do you want to see Kingsman with us tonight?”

Stan’s heart bloomed within his chest, filling him with a warmness he had never felt before. He sighed, silently cursing his need for a job.

“I can’t,” Stan said, scratching behind his ear. “I have to babysit tonight.”

The rest of the group shut up about the movies after that. Stan realized that they were doing it for him—so he wouldn’t feel bad about missing out. The thought made him smile.

As a matter of fact, he was still smiling about it as he walked to Georgie Denbrough’s house.

“You must be Stan,” a tall, handsome man said with a warm smile as he opened the door. “It’s nice to meet you, son. I’m Zack Denbrough, Georgie’s dad.”

“It’s nice to meet you as well, sir,” Stan said politely, shaking his hand.

“Georgie!” Zack yelled up the stairs. “Come down, please!”

Seconds later, a small boy was sprinting down the stairs with a manic smile on his face, laughing as a tall, slightly muscled, shirtless boy ( Georgie’s brother, Stan assumed ) chased after him. Stan froze when he saw that the boy was Bill from school.

“Georgie, g-give me my sh-shirt!” Bill yelled.

Georgie was laughing still, loudly. The laughter was echoing around the house. Georgie and Bill sprinted past Stan without sparing him a second glance. A moment later, there was a loud scream followed by laughter as Bill, while laughing, called Georgie a twerp.

“My sons are rather… hyperactive,” Zack told Stan with an apologetic glance. “Once Bill leaves, Georgie will calm down, though. The two rile each other up.”

Stan swallowed thickly and nodded. His throat felt very dry, and his hands were beginning to itch. Slowly and deliberately, he dragged his blunt nails up and down the material of jeans that covered the outside of his thighs.

“Georgie, come meet your babysitter,” Zack said, walking out of the entrance hall and into the kitchen. “And, Bill, for God’s sake, put on a shirt.”

After a second’s deliberation when Stan seriously considered booking it out of the Denbrough house, he made his way into the kitchen. He caught Bill’s eyes and gulped.

“Stan! Hey!” Bill exclaimed happily, pulling a black t-shirt over his head. “When you said you had to babysit, I didn’t realize you’d be babysitting Georgie. I thought you had a younger brother or sister.”

“No,” Stan said, shaking his head and trying to remember not to stare at Bill. “I’m an only child.”

“Ooh, I wish,” Bill chuckled, sticking his tongue out at Georgie who reciprocated the motion.

Stan laughed dryly.

It wasn’t long before Zack and Sharon left for their date night, letting Stan know that they left forty dollars on the counter for him to order food and that he was welcome to keep the change. Bill was still there when his parents left.

While Georgie was showering, Stan took his opportunity to talk to Bill.

“So, uh, why aren’t you babysitting your brother?” Stan asked.

‘Really, Stan?’ he thought to himself. ‘What a stupid fucking question.’

Bill’s face went a little pink and he began to rub the back of his neck.

“Yeah, I’m not really allowed to do that anymore,” Bill said, his words paired with an awkward laugh. “Last time I babysat Georgie, it was pouring r-ruh-rain and I let him go outside, and he ended up getting wicked sick. My p—parents were really angry with me.”

Stan hadn’t noticed Bill’s stutter earlier. He didn’t say anything about it, though. Instead, he merely smiled a little.

“Well, if I’m ever babysitting Georgie and it rains, I’ll make sure not to let him go out.”

Bill threw his head back and laughed loudly. As his laughter died down, he bumped his shoulder softly against Stan’s and bit down on his lip. Yet again, Stan was gulping because of Bill Denbrough.

“I should get going,” Bill said, a look of regret crossing over his face. He stood up and patted Stan on the shoulder, but his hand lingered for a moment. “I’ll catch you later, Stan. I’ll probably be home before my parents.”

Georgie was a cute kid, and very sweet. He made a lot of meme jokes, which he told Stan he had learned from Richie. One time this past summer, Georgie told Stan, he ran into Bill’s room and dabbed with two fidget spinners in his hands. When Bill found out that Richie had been the one to tell Georgie to do it, Bill didn’t speak to Richie for a day and blocked him on all forms of social media.

At 9:00, Stan had to put Georgie to bed. After that, he had two hours to spare before he got to leave. And considering he was in someone else’s home, he had no idea what to do. So, he just grabbed a book from his bag and sat down in their living room to read.

Bill came home at 9:30, and when he saw Stan curled up on his couch reading a book on birds ( of all things ), he couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“What?” Stan asked, a little defensively.

“Nothing,” Bill assured him, sitting down next to him on the couch. “It’s just— well, a book on birds?”

“I happen to like birds,” Stan said, eyes narrowed. “They’re interesting.”

“Yeah? How so?” Bill asked, genuinely curious.

And so, for the next hour and a half, Stan talked to Bill about all different kinds of birds and the best places in Maine to go bird watching. And Bill seemed really interested too, he was asking questions and just looked completely earnest. By the time Sharon and Zack came back home, Stan hadn’t even realized that it was 11:00.

“I noticed you didn’t drive here,” Bill said, sneaking up on Stan as he put his coat and shoes on. “D-do you want me to drive you h-h-home?”

Stan almost protested, but he was feeling selfish. He wanted to spend more time with Bill, even if it was only for a ten-minute car ride.

“Thanks, Bill,” Stan murmured once Bill pulled into his driveway. “I’ll see you Monday.”

“Wait,” Bill exclaimed, grabbing Stan’s wrist. “Give me your number.”

Bill wiggled his phone in front of Stan’s face, blue eyes wide. Stan thought his face was going to split in two from how big his smile was. Eagerly ( maybe a little too eagerly, but Stan didn’t know much about this kind of thing ), Stan punched his number into Bill’s phone. If he was a more confident kid, he might have put some kind of witty, suggestive emoji next to his contact name… but Stan wasn’t like that.

“So, who’s the boy?” Andrea asked with a coy smirk on her face, watching as her blushing son stumbled his way backwards into the house, waving goodbye to the boy who was sitting in his car.

“There— there’s no boy. What are you talking about?” Stan blustered.

Andrea rolled her eyes.

“Stan, I’m your mother. You’re supposed to tell me these things.”

Stan sighed and relented, rolling his eyes.

“His name’s Bill,” Stan said.

“Do you like him?”

“I met him this morning, Mom!”

“Okay. So, what?”

Stan groaned, rubbing his eyes.

“He’s Georgie’s older brother and offered to drive me home because I don’t have a car. That’s all.”

Andrea hummed suspiciously, but didn’t press Stan further.

“My brother thinks you’re hot.”

Georgie’s statement was so bluntly presented that Stan choked on the slice of pizza he was eating.

“I heard him talking with Bev and Mike about it the other day,” Georgie added, grinning at Stan.

“Oh,” Stan said in a high, uneven voice. “That’s nice.”

“Do you think he’s hot?”

Stan’s face was burning.

“Georgie—”

“What?” Georgie asked, putting on his best angel face.

“I’m not talking about your brother with you,” Stan snorted. “And you’re ten, which is just— no.”

“I’m gonna be eleven next month,” Georgie whined.

Stan wasn’t amused.

“Eat your pizza, Georgie.”

“Do you think he’s hot yet?”

“Georgie, you need to go to bed!” Stan exclaimed, trying his best not to laugh at Georgie’s persistence.

All night, he had been pestering Stan about his thoughts on Bill. Like, yeah, Stan thought Bill was hot. But he wasn’t about to tell Georgie that. If he said anything, Georgie would definitely repeat it back to Bill ( Stan wasn’t ignorant to Georgie’s hero-worship of his brother ) and then Bill would think Stan was weird. Though, Georgie did say that Bill thought he was hot.

“Did he really say— agh! Never mind! Go to bed!”

Stan seriously considered throwing himself in front of a bus then and there. Was he seriously just about to ask a ten-year old about that? UGH!

Georgie laughed.

Bill arrived home not long after that, grinning. Georgie shut his mouth about Stan finding Bill hot.

Three weeks after Georgie asked Stan if he thought Bill was hot, Stan had the weekend off. Bill’s parents were going away for a few nights for their anniversary and Georgie was going to stay with Sharon’s sister in the next town over. That meant Bill had the house to himself.

If Bill was a different kid, he would’ve been instantly sending out invites to a party. But Bill was Bill, and he wasn’t like that. Instead, he invited Stan over for a movie night.

Andrea drove Stan over to Bill’s house and quickly lectured Stan on practicing safe sex. Stan wanted to die.

“Mom! Holy, crap!” Stan exclaimed, his face beet red. “It’s not— we’re not— no! Anyways, the rest of our friends are gonna be there!”

The rest of their friends ( ‘The Losers Club’ they were often referred to by a senior named Henry Bowers and his gang of asshole friends, but Stan didn’t pay them much attention ) were, in fact, not there.

“I didn’t realize it would be just us,” Stan muttered, glancing around Bill’s dark house.

“Oh,” Bill said, rubbing his neck. “I didn’t— are you upset?”

“No,” Stan said, smiling. “I just thought— you know what? It’s not important.”

Bill smiled that breathtaking smile of his and Stan found himself wishing for a puff of Eddie’s inhaler.

“Richie was saying I should throw a party this weekend,” Bill snorted. “And Bev was saying we should utilize my empty house and my father’s never ending liquor supply and get drunk.”

Stan didn’t think that sounded too awful. Well, the getting drunk part at least… so long it was only their group of seven. He wouldn’t want other people around. Just the seven of them… ‘the lucky seven’ had Mike called them a couple weeks ago. The thought made Stan smile a bit.

“Would getting drunk be that bad?” Stan asked Bill, a smile on his face.

“Not if it was just the two of us,” Bill replied easily in his slow deliberate voice.

The voice that made Stan’s knees go weak and stomach tie in knots.

Not if it was just the two of us… Stan flushed a deep red.

“So, I ordered us pizza,” Bill said, gesturing to a box on the table. “Normally I go with pepperoni or barbeque chicken, but I know it’s not kosher for Jewish people to eat pig or meat and cheese — that’s the right word, right? Kosher?”

Stan had barely thought about his faith in months. It had seemed so insignificant, so unreal for him after his dad died. And when it came to eating kosher— well, that had been the way he lived his life for the past sixteen years so he never even really thought about it. But Bill had thought about it.

Stan suddenly felt the urge to kiss Bill, but he had enough will power to stop himself.

“Is regular cheese fine?”

Bill was being so casual, acting as if nothing was wrong. Well, not that anything was wrong… but he had just made a significant impact on Stan and was acting as if nothing had happened.

“Cheese is perfect,” Stan said softly.

Bill beamed and Stan felt like his heart was going to explode out of his chest.

Stan really wanted to kiss Bill. But he didn’t.

After they ate their pizza, Bill suggested they watch something. And by something, Stan knew that Bill meant Game of Thrones. Bill was a die-hard Thrones fan and nearly had an aneurism when he found out that Stan didn’t watch it. Last week, he finally convinced Stan to start watching it. Stan was already on season three.

Bill sat down next to Stan, but in an unnecessarily close way. Stan sat curled against the arm of the couch and Bill sat right down beside him. There was only a small inch or so of space between them. Stan said nothing because he didn’t want Bill to move away.

“You know, I feel bad for Theon,” Stan confessed.

Bill didn’t say anything.

“I mean, I understand why he did what he did. He just wanted his father’s approval. I don’t agree with his actions, but I understand the motive. You know? And, wow, he really does not deserve… that.”

“You’re cute.”

Stan’s eyes went wide, and so did Bill’s. From how red Bill’s face was, Stan could tell he most definitely did not mean to say that out loud.

“Thanks,” Stan found himself saying. “You too.”

And then he kissed Bill. Holy shit. He was kissing Bill. And Bill was kissing him back.

WOW! WOW! WOW!

Even for a first kiss, it was pretty awesome. Stan had no idea what he was doing with his mouth, but Bill seemed to have some experience so he took charge. His right hand went around the back of Stan’s neck, while the other propped himself up against the arm of the couch that Stan’s back was pressed against.

Stan was in paradise, his hands wrapped around Bill and digging into Bill’s soft hair.

When Bill pulled away, they were both panting, gasping for air. Bill’s eyes were peering into Stan’s, and both boys smiled before Stan pulled Bill’s face down, crushing his lips to Bill’s once more.

____________________

#maggie writes things #stenbrough #it fic #reddie #mike hanlon #benverly #ben hanscom #beverly marsh #bill denbrough #stan uris #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #henry bowers #the losers club #it #it 2017 #it the movie

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