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bangtan-gal · 5 years

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Rev Up

Han Jisung x Fem!Reader street racer!au word count: 2.1k warnings: angst, swearing, blood, brief mentions of drugs, fluff, smut Requested

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Your whole childhood, you’d been sheltered. You grew up with your parents constantly hovering over you. So when college came, you hit the ground running. Freedom and exhilaration were your drugs and you were addicted. And the biggest dose you could find was in Han Jisung.

You’d met Jisung your freshmen year. You had been trying to sleep before your final the next day, but he and a bunch of boys were making a bunch of noise outside your window. Simply put, you made quite a first impression on the boy. Throwing a neon pink, plastic hairbrush at him from your window and then marching down to the parking lot to retrieve it and give him a piece of your mind was quite the way to be memorable. From first sights, the two of you looked like you didn’t get along; but if people actually paid attention, they’d notice the odd chemistry that burned between you.

You hadn’t meant to become friends with the obnoxious blondie when you first met him. Actually, your first several interactions with the boy made you think he was the most annoying thing to exist. That annoyance led to a burning curiosity, and then next thing you knew you were at one of his races, your heart practically leaping out of your chest.

Now two years later the two of you were inseparable. Jisung would skip his classes to come to yours and you would ignore homework to be at his races. You weren’t dating. That was the most annoying thing about Jisung. He hated labels and didn’t seem to understand why you wanted an actual relationship out of… whatever was going on between the two of you.

It had started when Jisung asked you to ride in the car with him. He had started calling you his Lucky Charm and it only grew from there. It quickly became long nights talking about everything and nothing and nights that were full of kisses, giggles, and sly touches. Then one day you made the mistake of asking what the two of you were. He’d clamped up and ignored you for two days straight.

Friends had told you it would be best to drop his ass, but you found yourself unable to do it. You knew it was toxic, you weren’t stupid, but Jisung became your everything. Some said that you couldn’t tell the difference between an addiction and love, but you were certain Jisung wasn’t classified as that drug. Sure, he was the epitome of freedom and only had a wild side, but you’d dug deeper into him over the years and found yourself falling for the boy that lay underneath.

Yet the problem was that life doesn’t always grant perfection.

It was cold and you hated sitting on the sidelines, shivering in your oversized hoodie. Jisung leaned against his beat up Mazda, sneering at the boy across from him. Minho, Jisung’s best friend, stood beside you, arms crossed as the argument went down.

“How much longer are we gonna be here?” You grumbled.

“Believe me, I wish I knew,” Minho huffed, lighting a cigarette. This was the first time in months that you weren’t actually in the car with Jisung for his race. This was also the first time you found yourself not excited to be here. This was just plain stupid. A rematch because somebody’s ego got hurt.

“Why are you here?” You asked him, eyes looking at the empty sidewalks. Normally there would be small crowds, sometimes huge, to come watch. Today it was five of you: the two drivers, you, Minho, and the other guy’s supposed girlfriend. “Jisung’s my best friend, if he gets here, I have to be here, don’t I?” He huffed, taking a puff from his cigarette. “Why the hell are you here?”

Minho didn’t like you and he never tried to hide it from you. He’d treated you the same since the first day he met you: like a bump in the road. You never tried to make friends with him; he was stubborn and you had to just deal with it.

“I mean—you’re technically not anything to him, are you?” You smacked the cigarette from his hand, angrily crushing it under your shoe.

“Fuck off Lee,” you spat, moving away from him. Jisung glanced over his shoulder, smiling nervously at you. It made your heart warm and you smiled back, giving him a thumbs up. Then he slid into the car and started the engine.

There was no enthusiasm in Minho’s gait as he walked in front of the cars. He pulled his lighter and a small firework from his pocket. You flinched when it exploded and the cars zoomed off.

This was why you liked to be in the car. Standing there in silence, watching as the cars disappeared around the corner, there was nothing entertaining about it. You felt like a loser standing alone at a party, but this time, it was just you and a guy you hated. Minho walked towards you, holding his phone up. You sighed when you saw that he was on the phone with Jisung.

There was no talking coming from the other end, only Jisung’s muffled breathing and the audible vibrating of his car. You held your breath, hands clutching one another in your pocket. You closed your eyes and for a moment felt like you were actually in the car. You could see the lights zooming by, feel the excitement in your stomach and the way the car rumbled.

“Holy shi—”

Your eyes flew open as Jisung’s voice crackled through the speaker. You knew what was happening before it did. Something screeched and then there was a loud crunch and a thud. You met Minho’s gaze and the two of you took off in the directions the cars had gone. They were at least several miles down the road but your fear was egging you on. The car came into view and the sight almost made you throw up. The front was completely crunched in and smoke was curling up from it and disappearing into the cold air.

Your heart pounded as you hurried to the door, ripping it open. You helped Jisung out of the car, struggling as he leaned against you. Blood trickled from his nose and down his lips. His eyes were half open and glazed over.

“Oh fuck,” Minho hissed, his eyes darting around. “Where’s the other guy?”

His car was nowhere in sight.

“Who cares,” you huffed, “just call an ambulance.”

Minho frowned. “But they’re illegally racing don’t you th—”

Jisung coughed and blood spattered across your front.

“Fucking call them Minho! Do you want him to bleed everywhere?” You screamed. You felt like you were about to pass out as the boy quickly dialed 911. Jisung groaned, eyes fluttering open. His gaze swung back and forth and then managed to settle on you.

“I’m r-sorry Y/N,” he gasped. You shook your head, still struggling to hold back tears.

“It’s not your fault,” you whispered, nearly crumbling under his weight. Minho was struggling to describe where you were to the operator, but you were unable to help as Jisung met your gaze. His eyes looked completely clear and you found yourself unable to tear your gaze away.

“I love you,” he mumbled.

You sputtered.

“W-wha—”

“They’re on their way,” Minho interrupted. He was completely unaware of the moment the two of you just had. “Here, let me help.”

The boy took Jisung from you, easily supporting him. You stood there, arms hanging limp at your side and eyes focusing on nothing in particular. Han Jisung didn’t like labels. Han Jisung didn’t openly express his emotions like that. He especially didn’t just say ‘I love you’ out of the blue. Did near-death experiences really change people? But he seemed mostly fine and nowhere near death.

Then again, Han Jisung didn’t follow any rules, not even his own.

🕱🕱🕱🕱🕱

By the next afternoon, you were back at your apartment. Jisung lay on your couch, snoring away. Minho was collapsed in the extra bedroom. You were exhausted as well, but you couldn’t sleep. Thankfully, Jisung hadn’t sustained a bunch of horrible injuries. Nothing was broken or internally bleeding. His ribs were slightly bruised and his face was scraped up a bit. You had probably overreacted, but it felt like your mind had short-circuited when you saw him in the destroyed car.

“Y/N.”

Jisung’s croak had you hurrying to his side. He smiled at you and sat up, yawning.

“You’re okay?” You asked.

“Yeah, I am.” He met your stare. “I promise.”

“Thank god,” you sighed and then smacked his shoulder, “how dare you fucking just drop that statement as if you were about to die any second! Do you know how much that scared me? I thought you were going to actually di—”

Your voice cracked and you stopped yourself. Jisung’s eyes searched your face and then he reached for your hand. You tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip and his eyes begged you not to leave.

“Y/N… when I lost control of the car I felt like I could just see my whole life flash before my eyes. I have never been loved by anyone before and that has caused me to always cut people off at some point. Then I just realized that you’ve been here all along, glowing so bright in my dull world,” he murmured, “I truly do love you Y/N, I just suck at showing it.”

You smiled, your cheeks flushing at his words.

“That was really corny.”

Jisung kissed you, pulling you close to him. Your hands tangled in his hair and you let yourself fall away in him. His taste and smell was a perfect intoxication. You straddled his lap, pressing yourself further into the kiss. The two of you fell back and Jisung pulled back for a second, eyes glazed over as he smiled at you.

“I wished I said it before,” he hummed. You chuckled and pressed your lips to his again in a quick kiss.

“We can’t base our lives off wishes.”

He hummed as you kissed him again, deeper this time. Things started to pick up the pace as both your shirts were tossed over your head and onto the floor. His lips moved from your mouth to your jaw and then down your neck. Soft gasps were escaping your lips as his assault became harsher. His hips bucked into yours and you jerked against him.

Jisung winced.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you muttered, pulling back, “you’re hurt.”

“I’m fine, I swear,” he stated. You pressed a hand to his ribs and he flinched again.

“Yeah, perfectly fine,” you retorted, rolling your eyes. You slid off his lap and sat on the other end of the couch. Your eyes dropped down to the obvious problem in his shorts. His mouth was slightly open, eyes focused on the ceiling.

“But if you relax, I can help you.”

He looked over just in time as you grasped him through his pants. A strangled, absolutely beautiful gasp fell from his lips and he rolled into your touch. You slid his basketball shorts and boxers off, mouth-watering as his cock sprang up. You knelt on the floor and gently wrapped your lips around his tip.

“Fu-uck.”

You hollowed your cheeks and bobbed up and down. Jisung’s hand found its way to your hair and he groaned, tugging on the strands. You licked along the underside of his cock and then pulled off with a ‘pop!’ You grasped the base, meeting the blonde’s stare as you went down on him again. You forced him as deep as you could take him, gagging around his tip.

His hips bucked up and a loud groan fell from his lips. You swallowed around him and watched through your eyelashes as his head fell back. His stomach started to tighten up and you picked up your pace.

“S-shit Y/N!” He whimpered, hips momentarily retreating from your ministration and then bucked back up into your mouth. Jisung came with several quick gasps and you pulled back, his cum dripping down from your lips and chin. You wiped it off and then crawled back up onto the couch, gently laying down beside him.

“I think I forgot to mention that I love you too,” you murmured, tracing circles on his chest.

He opened his mouth.

“Are you guys fucking serious? You couldn’t have taken it to the damn room?” Minho shrieked.

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theawkwardterrier · 5 years

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things left behind and the things that are ahead, ch. 17

AO3 link here

The first two times, it happens early. She takes a few days off from work. Steve, red-eyed and trying to hide it, brings her hot water bottles for the cramps, and steak and eggs because the doctor said she needs to recover the lost iron, and dime store thrillers that she finds herself holding open even as she stares out through the window. She overhears him murmuring to Bucky about it over the phone, running a hand over his crumpled forehead and uncharacteristically ignoring the charges, but she doesn’t say a word to anyone. Howard jokes that the next time she needs a few days off to get personal with her husband, she can just say so, and she rolls her eyes and tells him that he has quite enough of his own business to handle without sticking his nose into hers, and hopes that he does not notice the pencil snapped between her hands.

The third time, she is twenty-one weeks along, already starting to show. Her secretary had quietly congratulated her and offered use of a decade-old copy of Dr. Spock. The baby announcement card, mocked up by Steve in the joyously tumultuous early days of the first pregnancy and tucked away until now, is refreshed and printed up and sent out to friends. Peggy has already begun discussing time away after the birth with an irritated and blushing Colonel Phillips and a delightedly blasé Howard. The room which they still avoid calling the nursery has gained a few distinctly nursery-like features. She has an appointment with a tailor set for a Friday to preview potential maternity options for the wardrobe of the busy intelligence agency head. She starts spotting on Tuesday, loses the pregnancy by Thursday. She forgets to cancel the appointment.

Every one of Steve’s small kindnesses, the way he asks if she wants some kind of service (with tentative care in his eyes: “I think it’s something I could do with too”), the touch of his unconscious hand on her back in the dark of their bedroom - all of it says Lean on me. But Peggy can’t bring herself to do that. She wants answers for her anger, but has not even yet found the questions.

She has not deluded herself into thinking that Steve blames her in any way: his anger at himself is clear on his face, clear in the way he goes running at dawn or in the dead of night, long runs that are so punishing even for him that he is still sweating when he returns to her. He has been direct about it, too, earnestly trying after the second time to shoulder the responsibility with talk about how things had happened the way he had known them: another husband, children without this sort of heartbreak. She had been just as vehement that he surely hadn’t gotten into the details of it all, that he didn’t know what he didn’t know. She blames herself enough for both of them, anyway.

The doctor has said that they should hold off on trying any more for now. Apparently three miscarriages in a row, including one well into the second trimester, do not exactly make her a star patient. He had offered to fit her for a new diaphragm.

Peggy’s been stubborn before, privileged her own counsel over that of professionals, but this time she listens. She isn’t certain she could stand trying again, regardless.

They drive into the city to watch Bucky graduate from university five weeks after the third time, four weeks after she returns to work. Steve suggested that they cancel, but Peggy has been shoving them back toward normalcy so relentlessly that she essentially ignores the remark. The trip is quiet, Peggy in the driver’s seat. She wears a favorite dress of hers, navy with crimson piping. It settles over her curves in horribly familiar ways, as if there had never been a time when it didn’t. She takes care to coordinate her nails, shoes, and the sunglasses she wears to move between the buildings of City College. The commencement itself takes place in a soaringly large hall. She gives every indication of listening attentively to the speaker, though afterward she would have to look at the program to see who it had been.

Winifred had invited them over for refreshments following the ceremony. Becca, who has mentioned more than once - to her mother, to her sister, quiet and tactful - that she’s happy to have the morning away while her husband cares for the children, takes the steps of her childhood home in twos and opens her arms to her infant son before the door has finished closing.

Peggy had once held a Proctor baby with little thought. Now she can barely look at one.

“Let me put on the kettle,” she says numbly, and strides past without glancing aside.

She has to check three times to make sure that she’s done it properly, that she remembered the water and to turn on the gas and light the flame. Sitting at the kitchen table, she berates herself for it, for not even being able to do something as simple as this, something that’s been done a thousand times before with no bother throughout history.

When the footsteps approach, she wipes her eyes hastily and says, “I’ll just be a moment, Steve,” before she even thinks to confirm that it’s actually her husband.

“I think you might be a bit longer than that.” Winifred steps into her kitchen, glancing at the water heating on the stovetop. She steps around Peggy’s chair and goes to a cupboard, sliding her hand behind a stack of plates until she’s found a tin. She seats herself beside Peggy and places the tin in the center of the table, popping off the lid as she does.

“Eat,” she says, pressing a shell-shaped chocolate biscuit into Peggy’s hand.

Peggy isn’t precisely in the mood, but she breaks off a corner and puts it into her mouth for the sake of politeness. It’s a bit soft for her taste, but still has good flavor. She breaks off another small piece.

“When I ask you this,” Winifred says slowly, “I want you to truly take your time in answering, hmm, Margaret?” She might be the only person since Peggy’s own mother to call her by her full name, but to Winifred, Bucky will always be James, her daughters are Josephine and Rebecca, never Josie and Becca, and she refuses to call Steve anything but Steven even though his name is meant to be Grant anyway. From her, Margaret seems a badge of honor.

“Of course,” says Peggy.

Winifred levels a look at her. “How are you feeling?” she asks.

Peggy responds, “Fine,” with what even she realizes is excessive haste. Winifred says patiently, “Would you like to try again?”

The kettle begins to whistle and Peggy stands to take it from the heat. She manages to turn off the flame, but seems to get stuck afterward. She stands at the stove, her back to Winifred and the kettle still in her hand. “I’m sad,” she says, staring at the wall. “I’m terribly sad, and I’m angry as well.”

“At whom?”

“At the doctor, for not being able to do anything and for having no advice at all that might help. At all the people in this world who have living children and mistreat them or ignore them or don’t even realize precisely the value of what they have. At Steve, for putting himself through the serum and all that time...away, without thinking about what might come of it. And mostly at myself. For being unfair to all of those people. For thinking I could somehow manage to do it all. For not being able to do this thing that women have been doing while they were still living in caves. For letting myself—” Her voice splinters, fades, and she gasps for a moment to regain herself. “For letting myself be hopeful.”

She almost forgets that Winifred is there; all she hears is the murmur of voices in the front room. Then: “Well, that’s not quite how I felt afterward, but it’s perfectly understandable.”

Peggy turns, just mindful enough to set the kettle back on the stove to avoid flinging it about. Winifred has a biscuit on the scrubbed table in front of her, untouched. She is looking calmly back at Peggy, who swallows.

“It happened to you as well?”

Winifred takes a moment before she speaks. “George and I had been married five months. I went visiting at my mother’s house, and she teased me, saying that the women in our family were usually mothers before the first year was out and I was running out of time. She had something of a bawdy sense of humor, my mother, and her mother had been a midwife, so discussing these things was something of a matter of course.

“And I told her that actually, my monthly had just come, late and heavier than usual, so she would just have to wait for a first grandchild. She went very still, and then she spoke to me in a gentler way than she usually did. She knew that I had wanted the baby, that George had good prospects and that we had been saving for it.

“And I kept thinking it was strange, for months, how I could be sad about something I hadn’t even realized was there, hadn’t even realized myself was gone. But then I had James, and Josephine, and it faded, at least a little.

“Josephine was three and a bit, the second time. I had gone to the church to light a few candles - the children were with my sister - but I found myself absolutely worn out when I arrived, so I sat for a moment to catch my breath. I looked at our pretty church windows, and I said a small prayer, health and safety for my family, my children. And I was about to ask special for the babe, when Sister Thomasine, perhaps the oldest nun I’ve ever seen, passed by and came into the pew behind me. She touched my shoulder and said softly in my ear, “Have you money for a doctor, Mrs. Barnes, or shall I help you to your mother’s?” and I realized I had blood coming down my leg.”

Peggy tries to reach for the protective casing which has allowed her to smile through the most dreadful parts of undercover work, to push through worry for her comrades in a firefight. It crumbles away from her, and all she can remember is the way she too had seen the blood appear, bold and sudden and terrifying, and had known immediately that there was no returning from it. She does not know if she will ever be able to recount it with such calm and such detail.

Winifred’s voice drops. “And then, of course, there was Elizabeth.”

Steve told her about Elizabeth Barnes. She had gotten some type of cancer at age three. At the time, there was nothing to be done. She died when Becca was seven, Josie thirteen, and Bucky fourteen. They’d called her Bitty.

“He really loved her,” Steve had said. “They all did. It nearly broke them when she died.”

Peggy meets Winifred’s eyes. That kind of pain deserves a witness.

The older woman touches at the corners of her mouth with a careful finger as if she is checking that her lipstick is still in place. Her hand trembles slightly. “It was a terrible thing,” she says with quiet and weighty deliberation in each word. “A terrible thing, losing a child, even when they were barely more than an idea of a future to me. But it is also something that connects so many of us. We don’t speak of it, but it’s there nevertheless, and it can happen to anyone: grateful for it or broken by it, rich or poor, the best doctors in the world or none at all. It happened to me when I had perhaps two coins in my pocket, it could happen to that pretty young queen of yours in her palace. Sometimes it is only chance, Margaret.” She sighs and goes to put the untouched biscuit back in the tin, snapping the lid firmly back on. “I try to see the terrible fairness in that. I try to find the good in it, I do. It makes me more forgiving of the children I have, even when I’m angry with them or disagree with the choices they’ve made in their own lives.”

It is clear that she is referring to Josie. It’s apparent to the whole family that she’s found the life she wants, between her teaching and going home to Violet at night, and that if she ever marries a man it will be her giving in to something outside herself. No one mentions it.

Peggy turns back around, preparing the teapot with the slightly cooled water from the kettle. She brings it over to the table and sits across from Winifred. “I don’t know that I can find the good in it,” she says, a quiet confession. “This has made me feel a stranger to myself. I have seen people die - many of them, many good people, sometimes terribly - and I was able to walk on with those memories and do my work. I was never the sort to play dolls or plan names for my children and now the idea of never holding a child of my own seems the most heartbreaking fate. But I find myself without a child and with all of these unfamiliar parts of myself, all of this knowledge that I don’t know what to do with.”

Winifred stands and replaces the tin in the cupboard, takes down the teacups although they are slightly higher than a comfortable reach for her. When she returns, she pours them each a cup of less than steaming tea; they each sip it uncomplainingly. “Your feelings are your own, of course,” she says finally. “But think of this, too, Margaret. Perhaps some of that new knowledge could be that you have more love to give than you would have thought, and that it will always find somewhere to go, even if it isn’t a child grown in your own womb.”

Peggy says nothing in response. She drinks her tea down to the dregs, until she is finally ready to return to sit with the rest of the family.

Steve is already waiting out by the car by the time Peggy has said her goodbyes and come out with a soda bread that she could not refuse. He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her toward him. His hands marry themselves behind her back and he holds her securely, ignoring the loaf between them. They lean against the car door. When Steve finally speaks, she can feel the vibration of it surrounding her.

“You two were in the kitchen for a while.” He rests his cheek on her hair. “I’m glad that you found someone to talk to, someone who probably has more experience than I do. But Peg, when I promised in sickness and health and all the rest, I meant it. I’m right here.”

She presses her mouth to the vulnerable space at the base of his throat. “I’ve never doubted it,” she says, and although her voice is quiet, she knows that he hears her. “I only had some doubt in myself that I needed to talk through.”

“Hmm.” They have been standing for a while. No doubt people are peering at them through the windows. Peggy waits to hear what Steve will say. “If that happens again, will you tell me? I think I can be pretty persuasive on the topic.”

She smiles against him. “I think we’re safe for now, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

She rests on him for several more long moments before they climb into the car. Steve drives home while she watches out the window, dozing a little but also thinking.

There’s something else she is keeping in mind: the SHIELD librarian is accustomed to wide-ranging research questions from her. Nearly anything will be regarded as relating to some case or other. If she puts in a request for information on adoption in New Jersey, it will not be taken amiss.

More chapters here

#Steggy #Steggy fic #Peggy Carter #Steve Rogers #Winifred Barnes #things left behind fic #miscarriage cw

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prorevenge · 5 years

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I literally made my nemesis/bully repeat his Sr. year over. - LONG, but worth it!

I grew up in a solid working class town without a lot of wealth in it. The very few wealthy people worked in a bigger city 25 or so miles down the road, and mostly sent there kids to private schools in that town. However, we certainly mingled and played with the kids during the summers, etc.. Football is king in my part of the country. Our high school programs play in front of thousands, it is table talk year around, and youth football starts as early as 6 years old. We played in backyards, schools, ALL the time.

I always had a football in my hand and was generally a highly regarded player in my neighborhood. However, there was one kid who dominated us. His name is Mike M. the IV. Yes, he was the the "Fourth" He was one of the rich kids and he was seriously 6" taller, faster, and stronger, than the 8th grade boys while he was still in 6th grade. He went to the private school, so outside of neighborhood football, I only competed against him in track & field in the spring. But we saw him all the time and he was a piece of shit bully to all the kids. The "4th" was always talking down to the rest of us "poor pieces of shit", throwing our stuff into the creek near the field we played in. Anytime we had success against him he claim some piece of cheating, beat one of us up, or piss and moan and walk away. During the regional and state championships in middle school track, he beat me both years in the 100 and 200 meter runs. We finished 1st and 2nd at every meet.

Once we moved to high school, football ramped up big time. Now we were prepping to play HS ball for our school and our town. We all assumed Mike was going to continue to play at the private school he had attended. Much to our dismay, there was Mike in full pads on our first day of football practice our freshman year. It was then that I found out why Mike was so much bigger/better for his grade level. Mike was pretty old for being a freshman. He had an October birthday while mine November. Not much older you say, except the cutoff for starting kindergarten was Sept. 30. We had both missed that cutoff when we were little, except my parents enrolled me anyway. My birthday was Nov. of '84 while Mike's was Oct. of '83.....so I thought. We also found out Mike had failed 3rd grade at his private school and had to repeat. His birthday was actually in '82. He was 25 months older than me and we are competing at the same grade level. No wonder he was so much bigger. That slightly worked against him because the catholic athletic league had rules about age limits in their high school sports, so Mikey had to go play with us poor kids at the public school in high school

Freshman year, Mike makes the varsity as a backup QB and I am relegated to Junior Varsity. His ego really stepped up then. He was a freshman playing varsity in a town where football is king. In addition, he got his Drivers License and a new Camaro. Also, he was the only rich kid at our school. I envied, yet hated him so much. He was always reminding us of our place in the social world and constanly making quips about having to walk, ride bikes, go to Goodwill, etc..

The next summer Mike spent at various football and speed camps. Us poor kids just played ball. Sophmore year comes and Mike is the starting QB, but I am his best wide receiver. Mike truly was a great passer, but his athletic superiority over the rest of us is diminishing as we start to mature. We both get All State honors, finished the season 13-2 while losing in the state semi-finals. Mike is starting to get noticed as a potential college QB. His head gets bigger. Junior year comes and Mike tries to become a team leader, but his arrogance and constant belittling wears everyone down. I am now a solid 6' 3" and looking Mike eye to eye, and faster. We both get All- State honors again, but we finish 7-4 with an early exit in the playoffs. Mike is furious about the horrible players he is surrounded by. I am also starting to get some recruiting letters.

Spring of that school year, our long time football coach becomes ill and chooses to retire. The school district brings in a new coach with an entirely different offense. No more drop back passing, but rather a primitive form of what we see today in American college football. A mobile QB with lots of options. Prior to the summer, the team met with our new coach and he laid this out to us with some suggestion on how we can utilize the summer to prepare for our Senior season. Mike was super pissed about this all because it didn't suit his style of play. His family tried to sue the catholic athletic league from his former private school about their policies so he could play there, but that didn't work out. His family then tried to move to another city to play in their school, but they had missed a deadline. He was stuck. He spent the summer traveling to various football camps around the region to raise his collegiate status. These camps are essentially a college tryout in front of college coaches. I spent the summer with a plan to finally fucking beat Mike and become the QB. I had talked this over with our coach and he told me the best QB will play in the fall. I worked in the same field of our youth the entire summer with various other players practicing the playbook we had been given. Mike was trying to improve his footwork, while the rest of us were learning the playbook.

Summer ends and we begin fall practice. This was the first time I had seen Mike all summer, and he shit a brick when the coach told us to separate into groups and I walked into the QB group. I was now the bigger, stronger, and faster one. I had been practicing all summer, and I was had done so with our teammates. Given his status as a 2 time all-stater at QB, he was granted the starting role, but it was obvious who was better on the field. I easily played the role of wide receiver, but maintained the backup QB role. I was not happy about it, but it changed after we lost our first game. Mike didn't comprehend the playbook so well, was horrible at his option reads, and generally sucked. Our second game started with Mike getting crushed by a sack and fumbling that lead to a touchdown for the other team. He was not injured at all, but the head coach insisted he sit out a series to recover. I took over as QB and NEVER gave it up. I was pretty iffy passing those first few games, but the game started to become easier for me. We rolled off 14 straight wins until losing in the state finals. I was All State at QB, and Mike was a benchwarmer. All of his recruiting dried up.

I accepted full scholarship to the university down the road and got to play in front of crowds of 100,000. I had moved back to wide receiver and had a pretty solid career there. I was no where near NFL talent, but got to travel to bowl games and was generally the hometown hero as the poor boy who went to the big school and played on ESPN. Many of my friends from college played on Sundays (read NFL) and pretty sure one of those will be wearing a yellow jacket as an inductee to the Hall of Fame. I think most of these things would have happened had I not wanted to beat Mike at QB, but Mike's life would surely be different.

While not playing dried up his major Division I offers, he still had plenty of interest from smaller colleges. This did not sit well with him. He decided to replay his Sr. year at a private school several states away. His family sent him to a private boarding school in Pennsylvania which had no age limitation rules, where I understand he was absolutely miserable. Here, he was the poor kid, and almost 20 years old at that.....in high school. From there, he went on to play Junior College football, and ended up walking on to the directional school in that same state. He never played there, and returned to our hometown to take over his daddies car dealership.

I stayed in the same town as my university as a financial planner for a mentor I had met in college. His grandson had competed against me throughout our younger years, he had followed my entire athletic journey, and he was very proud of the local boy. He was a big name in the community and had taken me under his wing when I first stepped onto campus. John stepped away from the business a few years back and left me with his entire life's work on the condition I have a position for his grandkids/great grandkids should they choose that line of work and have a college degree.

I am not entirely sure what happened to Mike? He sold the dealership, but his house had gone into foreclosure. He was married with kids, but they moved. I hope he was humbled enough to no longer be a piece of shit, but perhaps I'll never know. You'll always be a piece of shit to me.

(source) (story by ProbstCO)

#prorevenge #by ProbstCO #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro #revenge #revenge story #last10

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hu-meow · 5 years

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Gentleman Jack 1x02

Episdode 2! Episode. Whatever. It's like the opposite of episode 1, with loooots of Ann(e)s scenes! So, let's get into it, shall we? I mostly skip [over] the side stories, by the way lol...

1) Can I just say how fucking adorkable Miss Ann Walker is when Anne Lister shows up? (don't forget the little nod of the silent 'thank you james') She's nervous, excited, hides a damn newspaper behind the cushion! (which Anne finds later and I just find it hilarious). And then when Ann can barely say "give birth" like it's something dirty and horrible...TOO PRECIOUS. The only thing I love more than Nervous Ann is Hot Mess Ann (but that's not until later. heh.) And, there were two lip licks in the first ten minutes! (07:42 and 08:28)

2) Anne is pretty passionate about science and anatomy when she's explaining it all to Ann, who's literally just soaking it all in, but what got me thinking, is when Anne talks about the brain. She says it's her favorite, how complex it is and all. So I wonder, does Anne find Ann's mental health conditions well, not exactly a challenge, but you know. I suppose intriguing? Obviously she cares about her and wants Ann to get better, but I can't help but think, on some level, Anne was quite curious about Ann's mind in all aspects, and wanted to be there first hand for it all. I'm probably not explaining this very well, as I've went over it time and time again in my head, but hopefully ya'll get the gist of what I'm trying to say about it. And it's nothing negative, to be clear. So, likewise, I think Ann really opened up with Anne, and nearly immediately. As I said in the last post, Ann barely spoke in episode 1, but in this episode, she almost doesn't stop. I love it, and the chemistry between the two women (Suranne and Sophie) is phenomenal. Don't think we could have asked for better.

3) "What do you think Henry?" "Are you a man?" "I'm a lady woman." LOL fuckin kids man. Innocent and pure, and say it how it is. I don't have kids, but I do have nieces and nephews, and they just always crack me up. And they hear EVERYTHING. Henry wasn't talking, at all, and yet when Anne talks to him, he literally repeats everything Thomas Sowden had told him about the little wooden solider. It's a small scene, but I love it, as Anne doesn't interact with kids much throughout the season, but when shes does, she's usually pretty sweet with them. (Though she had just saw the other little guy and his father mistook the "is this yours" for the boy instead of the cart LOL) Also, can we see Anne sword fight in season 2?? For. Reasons??

4) "It is an old farm." (cow moos) LMAO that was just brilliant. Fuckin Marian. She even does a 4th wall break, she has a couple. Though hers are always "ffs, Anne." LOL But that "shed" Anne wants built, that is the same one she takes Ann to next episode, is it not? How da faq that get built so fast?? I mean, granted, it's probably been, maybe two months? Maybe?? So I don't know. The show is very loose with the timeline, well time flow? Random thought.

5) HOLY. FUCK. THE FUCKING. PAPER. FUCKING. KNIFE. Okay, it's not that exciting at first glance, but okay. Imma try to work this out without getting too crazy. SO. First couple times I watched this, I thought for sure, Anne totally broke it on accident. She is in her feels, Ann is about to take off (without her permission, da faq, right?) And Anne has a very strict, exact way she's courting Ann. Anne fidgets with her hands when she's upset (all encompassing word here), so it fell to reason the paper knife was just a product of all that. @/iredreamer had an ask that pretty much covered all that and I very much agreed; accident. HOWEVER. I just recently read another ask by @/thought-i-to-myself and she said hell no, totally a calculated incident. I thought, no, no way. All about the feels. And then I just watched the scene. I STAND CORRECTED. COMPLETELY CALCULATED. But, I don't think Anne meant to actually cut herself. But wow. Anne has game that is now a lost art. Okay, well, probably a bit Sally too, but you know. Damn. It was so good. Anne knows just how to say the right thing, or not enough or push just enough. It's truly amazing how fucking cool this chick is. And Ann eats it up like she's been starved her whole life. (which, I mean, is pretty accurate?) The scene leaves and then comes back, and that's when Anne really kicks it up a notch with the "have you ever kissed anyone" and damn. Poor Ann. She's in so deep and she doesn't even know it. And I think she was already there but again, didn't know it. She is totally "a little bit in love" with Ann, but can't understand the feelings. Well, les-b-honest, she's a LOT in love with Anne LOL. And then, good ol Anne, back peddles on the situation so it gives Ann time to process. And as Ann is looking out the window, smiling like a fucking adorkable fool, holding the bloody handkerchief, I s2g, it almost feels like Ann had a plan to pull Anne into her. Maybe it's just me, but either way, Ann is smug and satisfied asf. (there's a lip lick in one of those scenes, too)

6) Catherine Rawson and her "people" LOL Ann is so determined to know who these "people" are and she gets so damn defensive! (also, another lip lick, of course, because she's thinking about Anne). You stick up for bae, Ann!

7) LOL Anne giving the run down of the upper coal bed! I hate math but that was fantastic. Christopher Rawson is such a little bitch, making his brother Jeramiah do all the dirty work. And he doesn't even want to! But he can't go against his brother. Again, such a little bitch. But I do love his little dog lol Willy? Wally? I can't remember.

8) Blue dress! Again, I think it's the same one. I swear Ann only wears like, the same three dresses in the span of two years. But that's okay. She looks fantastic. I'm not complaining. And okay. so then Anne gives Ann the little gold gondola. It's so tender, and Ann is literally looking at Anne's lips like, the ENTIRE time. Bitch. Be. Thirsty. But, more of that later. She has so many feels and she doesn't even understand them. I can't love her enough, I swear. AND THEN. She lays those wonderful words of wisdom on Anne, and I shit you not, Anne looked like he was about to POUNCE. I honestly don't think Anne was expecting Ann to be nearly as interesting as she turns out to be. Which is why I think Anne falls so hard for Ann. Not just a pretty face, after all. ;)

9) Thomas, Anne's footman, lmao that boy. I swear every time he's called, he's having to fix his attire and he's nearly falling into the doorway. Bless that mess of a boy. He tries, but he's a long ways from becoming Thank-you-James.

10) I love the hat Anne wears to Vere's wedding. Same one she wears when she meets the Queen of Denmark? Unsure. Anyone know? Also, it got me thinking, I'm sure most people in this time, especially the wealthy, had their clothes made for him, yes? Anne's definitely would have had to have been custom made, right? And who dressed her before Eugenie? Wait, Elizabeth, right? But what about Ann? You only ever see Thank-you-James and the carriage driver (Name??) but does she not have a servant to help her dress? She's just unimportant? Hm. More random things I've (over) thought of.

11) Why no Lake District scenes??? That's more into episode 3, but still.. WHY?? Ugh why couldn't this season have 10 episodes instead of only 8. Boo.

RIGHT THEN. Thanks again for sticking around this overly long post of my ramblings. Okay wow this was stupid long. I truly apologize and I'll try to keep it shorter next time.

Counts:

*Anne's 4th wall breaks (ep): 5

**Total: 8

*Ann's lip licks (ep): 5

(07:42; 08:28; 30:36; 40:50; 49:35)

**Total: 6

(Bonus: 3 lip bitings from Ann...hnng)

#gentleman jack #anne lister #ann walker #1x02 #suranne jones #sophie rundle #scene breakdown

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