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dcbutinamrev · 3 years

Text

You Said You Were Mine, I Thought You Were Mine

This just came to me so I figured I'd write it down before it disappears. But basically this is another Hamilton discovery about Manning and we stand a protective Lafayette-

(Some lines are from Duty and Inclination)

~~~

He's married... Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton hisses to himself with clenched teeth as he sits at the aide-de-camp office late one particular evening, a few days to be exact before his dear Laurens returns from the Southern Campaign. Hamilton blinks his opal, blue eyes rapidly breathing in slowly as he holds his breath. He grits his teeth behind his closed, petal pink lips and clutches onto the letter. Hard enough that it crinkles on the margines and his knuckles turn white, white as snow.

Hamilton shakes his head, reading the words that in her handwriting. Her. Her. He growls low, a low rumble of thunder coming from the back of his throat. His eyes are narrowed as they skim through the letter from her addressed to his dear Laurens. Hamilton's lips twist into a tight scowl and his throat burns as he reads her signature in elegant cursive handwriting:

Your dearest wife,

Martha Manning.

Hamilton is thankful none of the others are currently around him. He recalls Meade having an errand to run, Tilghman and the Marquis de Lafayette in the back of the house with General Washington, and Harrison upstairs in his room to work on his corrospondences in peace. Hamilton trembles, the parchment shaking in his clenched hands before tearing the letter to shreds. With a grunt and a snarl, he rips the parchment to pieces one by one.

Hamilton stares at the crumbled pieces of paper that are in a small pile in front of him, huffing and puffing as he tries to catch his breath. Hamilton lets out a choked sob, as he feels something wet trickle down his freckled cheeks before slapping a hand over his mouth to stifle the sob in hopes it wouldn't cause anyone concern if they were nearby. He wouldn't want to have to explain his situation. He squeezes his eyes shut as he bites his lower, trembling lip and swallows hard, letting out a shaky breath before putting his face in his hands, his elbows digging onto the table. His back shudders with each sob he makes, a choked and strangled sound, a whimper.

He's married...Hamilton thinks again. Of course he would be. Why shouldn't I? God was I really that niave to believe he didn't...? Of course he would be fucking married. Of course! Every man wishes for a wife, I should have expected no less from him...

Hamilton sniffles, blinking his eyes as he lifts his head up from his hands. He remembers the morning the letter was accidentally thrusted into his arms. Was it really just this morning? Hamilton gulps down a few breaths of air, sniffling occasionally and glancing around him, reminding himself of who he is and where he is and his intentions. After he manges to calm himself down, Hamilton scoots back from the table, slumping against the chair as he tips his head back, closing his eyes. He thinks of the days before Laurens left, before he discovered about his wife, before his heart is filled with betrayal. He thinks of the stolen kisses during the night, grimacing at the thought of those same, rough lips and the scrape of the same stubble he loves so much, on that woman's own lips. He thinks of the times he and Laurens would have their romantic evenings: candles lit around their shared bed, Laurens on top of him, shirtless and bare, exposed, revealing those strong muscles Hamilton loved to drum his fingers against, whispering: "Alex...Alex...Alex..."

He remembers clearly Laurens teaching him how to dance after the others had gone to sleep, pushing trunks and chairs and tables back for an open space. Laurens a foot taller than him, rests his larger hand on his waist and with his other hand, intertwining his fingers through Hamilton's slightly smaller hand, stretching their linked hands out to the side while Hamilton rests his hand on Laurens's shoulders, glancing up at the man he thought he loved, at the man who thought loved him, bright blue eyes--blue as the sky on a early spring's morning.

Hamilton grimaces as the thought of that woman crossing his mind, thinking Laurens doing the same for her. Hamilton bites his lip again, shifting himself up into a straighter position in the chair in which he sits in, gripping the edges as he hunches forward. He swallows the lump down his throat, feeling his stomach twists in tight knots. He thinks he might be sick...

"Hamilton?" a voice says, interrupting Hamilton's negative thoughts.

Hamilton glances up to find Richard Kidder Meade finally back from his daily dispatch delieveries. Meade, a man with a strong frame, an inch taller than Hamilton himself, dark brunette wavy hair which is pulled back into a tight braid secured with a black ribbon, his rich chocolate brown eyes are wide, hooked nose, a slight angular, handsome face. Meade stands still at the entranceway, trying to make sense of his surroundings, gripping his black tricorn hat underneath his arm as he slips off his white gloves and tucking them into his buff blue coat pocket. He rushes forward instantly, dropping to his knees to Hamilton's level, shocked at the sight of his hurt friend.

"My God," Meade whispers, gripping Hamilton's shoulder tightly before glancing over his own at the pile of ripped papers before him before turning back towards Hamilton himself. Hamilton, feeling ashamed for some reason though he can't figure out why, ducks his head towards his chest, squeezing his eyes as he wills himself to stay calm. "Alexander...what happened?"

Hamilton shakes his head, refusing to speak. Meade's heart squeezes. He knows something happened, something bad and horrible. Tragic, perhaps? He knows how close Hamilton and Laurens are and perhaps Hamilton have recieved news of Laurens's... No...

"Is it Laurens?" Meade asks softly, calmly.

Hamilton nods shakily, slowly. He keeps his head down, staring at his lap.

Meade swallows. "Is he...?"

Hamilton shakes his head, still refusing to speak.

"He's not dead?" Meade asks.

Hamilton nods, still not meeting Meade's eyes and still refusing to speak.

If Laurens is not dead, Meade thinks, furrowing his brows together. Then what...?

"Why won't you speak to me, Alexander?" Meade whimpers. "Please, I am your dear friend and I care about you...Tell me...I'm worried for you, Alexander. If it's not Laurens...then..."

"It is...it is him..." Hamilton finally whimpers, his voice barely above whisper, tight and choked.

"What about him then? If he's not..."

"You wouldn't understand..." Hamilton sniffs, a stray tear rolling down his cheek.

"Then get me too. Get me to understand! If I can't then find who will," Meade insists, tucking a loose dark red curl behind Hamilton's ear affectionately. "You are like a brother to me, Alexander." At this, Hamilton glances back up at him with a blurried vision. Meade smiles softly. "And I love you as such. And to see you like this...it hurts me..."

Hamilton ducks his chin back towards his chest again, grimacing. Yet, Meade continues.

"It does," he says. "Help me understand, Alex. This isn't like you. I know something happened between you and Laurens. And if it's not because he's dead...then what?"

Hamilton hesiates. He wants to tell Meade about his relationship with Laurens, about his love for him, and about their first kiss, and about their first love together. But yet, Hamilton is frightened at the same time. He trusts Meade with all his heart, and Meade trusts him just the same. But due to society, he fears what Meade will think of him. He fears if Meade will still care for him if he tells him about he and Laurens, he fears Meade will abandon him just like the rest of his family.

"I..." Hamilton chokes, struggling to find the right words. "I can't..." He shakes his head. "I just...I just can't..."

"What was the letter then?" Meade insists. He nods his head, gesturing towards the ripped pieces of parchment piled on top of each other. "What was that about, Alex?"

Hamilton presses his lips together tightly, his deep blue eyes ticking towards the paper and then back to Meade and then back to the paper and then back to Meade again. Hamilton sighs heavily out his mouth, slumping against the chair, his head hanging low in shame.

"It's from his wife," Hamilton finally gives in.

"His wife?" Meade asks. Hamilton glances up at the surprise in Meade's tone of voice. Perhaps Meade hadn't known Laurens was married as well.

Hamilton nods, glancing back at the ripped paper. "Mhm."

"And you're upset about that?" Meade asks.

"Like I said," Hamilton says softly, swallowing the lump of tears that threaten to roll down his cheeks as he turns back to face Meade. "You wouldn't understand."

"It shouldn't be a surprise," Meade says. He gestures towards the papers. "That he has a wife. Shouldn't you be happy for friend's successful matrimony."

Hamilton swallows, licking his lips as he fiddles with the hem of his cuffs. "He hasn't told me..."

A pause.

"He hasn't told me that he's married," Hamilton growls, narrowing his eyes. "If he's married, he would have told me. Why wouldn't he tell me such important information, Kidder? Why?"

Meade just stares at him, unsure how to answer. After a few minutes have passed, Hamilton shakes his head, feeling his lips twist with hatred and betrayal. Meade blinks with wide eyes at the snarl upon Hamilton's face. Hamilton scoots back immediately from his chair, the legs of the chair scratching against the wooden floor. Meade stumbling backwards but luckily catches himself with the edge of the table.

Before Meade could utter a word, Hamilton spins around on his feet sharply and marches towards the stairwell, tears finally escaping down his freckled cheeks as he presses the back of his hand against his lips. Once he reaches out of Meade's line of vision, Hamilton slams his back agaisnt the wooden wall and slides down it.

And never gets back up.

~~~

Hamilton finds himself standing on the front porch the next day, awaiting his dear Laurens' arrival. He curls and uncurls his fists at his side, pressing his lips together tightly as he stares off into the distant woods across the field from him. He swallows hard, shaking his head as he does so, allowing himself a few moments to collect himself.

He straightens up as though he were a puppet and being pulled by a string, his arms stiff as he clasps them behind his back and he inclines his head slightly with his eyebrows high as he hears familiar hooves clopping against the grassy field. Hamilton blinks a couple more times, letting the very few tears that slip down his freckeld cheek just before Laurens comes into view.

Hamilton puffs out a breath of relief, forcing a small, tight smile to form on his face. He feels his eye twitch when he sees Laurens galloping towards him, bobbing up and down on the beautiful Carmillo white horse, gripping the reigns tightly and occassionally snapping them to urge the horse to go faster. As he nears the house, Laurens swings himself off the horse as its still galloping and hands the reigns to a nearby servant.

Laurens stands just at the bottom of the frosted white porch steps, gripping the rail. He smiles softly as he tips his head back to meet Hamilton's beautiful, breathtaking deep blue eyes and lowers the black tricorn hat from his head and tucking it underneath his arm. He slowly climbs himself up the steps.

"Hamilton..." Laurens says softly, his face relaxing instantly with releif at the sight of his dear boy still safe and out of harm's way.

They now stand chest to chest, nearly. It's now Hamilton's turn to tip his head back to meet Laurens's eyes as Laurens looks down at him.

"Laurens," Hamilton says as steadily as he can. Though, he cannot help but hear the low growl coming behind his clenched teeth. He blinks his eyes as he speaks.

"You look well," Laurens comments, scanning Hamilton up and down.

Hamilton swallows as he nods in return. "You as well."

Laurens gestures towards the house behind them. "Might you give me...a...a tour?"

Hamilton glances over his shoulder before back and Laurens, nodding once sternly.

"Right. Of course."

Hamilton turns swiftly, the flaps of his coat flapping behind him with a whoosh and smacking the back of his thighs. Laurens sighs, instantly knowing Hamilton's frustration.

"Here we have the parlor," Hamilton says, gesturing towards a settee and a fireplace on their left. "And our current office." He then gestures towards a large, rectangular wooden table in the middle of the dining room with seven chairs surrounding them, a few candles lit along with opened and closed ink pots and parchment sprawled out around the table. Laurens brows furrows when he notices a small pile of ripped pieces of parchment.

"Upstairs, we have our shared bedrooms and you will be--" Hamilton begins but Laurens cuts him off, catching his elbow before he could climb the steps.

"Alexander," Laurens says sharply. Hamilton tenses as he stills, his one foot on one step. "I know exactly what you ask of me."

Hamilton arches an eyebrow, his eye twitching. "Ask? Ask?" Hamilton whips his head sharply over his shoulder. "Why should I have the need to ask anything when I should have been told!"

"Hamilton, please..." Laurens whimpers.

Hamilton shakes his head, yanking his elbow away from Laurens' grasp and marching up the steps. Fuming.

"Alexander, I understand what you have learned in my absence."

"Yes," Hamilton hisses as he swings a bedroom door open. "I have learned the value of correspondence and how revealing or not it may be."

"You say so, but I believe that is just the crux of it," Laurens says as he fumbles over his own boots as he climbs his way up the stairs, trying to keep pace with Hamilton, hoping he could reach the hurt redheaded boy before the door slams on him. "I am convinced many of my letters to you were miscarried or obstructed and you may not have recieved the whole of my feelings while apart--"

"Oh?" Hamilton says, poking his head through the cracked open doorframe, one hand gripping the doorframe while the other presses against the wall. He arches both eyebrows high. "Did a letter never recieved contain a certain detailed explanation as to the truth of your matrimony?"

Silence.

Laurens clicks his half-opened mouth shut and swallows hard as he narrows his eyes down towards his dear boy.

"That's what I thought," Hamilton hisses. "Now, if you'd excuse me. It's beginning to get late and I am very exhausted so if you please."

Laurens goes to protest but Hamilton slams the door in front of his face before Laurens could utter a word.

"Ah, Monsiure Laurens!" a familiar French accented voice comes from behind Laurens, a voice he knows all too well.

Laurens tenses, looking frantic almost as he knows how close Hamilton and the Marquis de Lafayette are. They seem to be almost like actual siblings than rather just part of a military family.

"You are back!" Lafayette exclaims as he pulls Laurens into a tight embrace.

"Yes," Laurens huffs. "Yes, that I am. It is uh...it's very good to see you again Marquis."

"You as well," Lafayette says. He frowns and furrows his brows. "Where is Alexander? I'd figured he'd be out here to greet you and welcome you home."

Laurens grimaces and swallows, scratching the back of his neck as he shoves a hand into his coat pocket. "Um...he's uh...he's..."

Lafayette arches both eyebrows high.

"Uh...he's um..." Laurens swallows again and gestures his head towards the door. "He's in there. I um...I tried to get him out...but he won't...uh...come out so I thought maybe you could...knowing how close you two are..."

Lafayette nods slowly in understanding before gently twisting the silver doorknob and pushing the door open, poking his head through the sliver crack, a worried expression on his baby-ish face.

"Mon petit lion?" Lafayette says softly. "Are you in here? Do you mind if I come in?"

Lafayette's heart cracks instantly as he steps through after another moment of silence has passed. He sees Hamilton crouched by the fireplace on his knees, hunched over slightly with a stack of letters nearby. Hamilton's dark red hair loose from its tight braid, falling over his shoulders beautifully. Lafayette pinches his lips at the sight before him, seeing Hamilton only wearing his white, linen hunting shirt, the sleeves loose and baggy and his cuffs ruffled and a waistcoat and breeches. No stockings or boots or coat. Just that.

Lafayette has never seen Hamilton looking so broken.

He rushes towards the redheaded boy instantly, looping his arm around Hamilton tightly. "Mon ami...what...what happened?"

"Laurens happened..." Hamilton mumbles in a monotone voice, staring blankly at the fire crackling before him.

Laurens tenses at the entranceway to the room when he feels Lafayette's eyes on him. Lafayette shrugs it off momentarily before turning back towards his broken friend.

"What about him, mon ami?" Lafayette asks softly, stroking Hamilton's tangled dark red curls soothingly.

Hamilton lets out a shuddering breath. "He hurt me..."

Lafayette tenses, breathing in slowly through his nose. He grips Hamilton's shoulders tightly as he slowly cranes his neck over towards Laurens just as soon as Laurens takes several steps back.

"Oh?" Lafayette says.

Hamilton nods as he leans against Lafayette's chest, tossing a letter absentmindedly into the fire before him.

"How...how did he hurt you, Alexander?" Lafayette says.

Hamilton swallows. "He lied to me."

Lafayette raises both eyebrows higher than before as Laurens takes more steps back. Hamilton continues.

"Lied to me for...for...for..." Hamilton chokes. "For nearly a year..."

"Do not speak, mon ami," Lafayette shushes. "I know everything now."

"Gilbert...you do not understand..." Hamilton whimpers into the Marquis's chest. He sniffs and blinks his eyes as he lifts his head from his chest and his eyes lock with Laurens' bright blue ones. Hamilton snarls. "You said you were mine...I thought you were mine..."

"Alexander...you know...I am sorry..." Laurens tries. "I truly am...you know this...you know..." Laurens lets out a shuddering breath. "My heart only cares for you and you alone. I have no intentions towards her. I do not love her. She was a mistake."

"Was your daughter a mistake then?!" Hamilton hisses, tears staining his cheeks. His chin wobbles. "Was I a mistake?!"

Silence.

"If you love me, John, you would have told me you were married instead you lied to me. You lied to me for a fucking year. I had to learn of your matrimony due to a letter accidentally thrusted into my arms!"

"Alex..." Laurens whimpers.

"You and your...your destiny for glory...you and your words...obsessed with your duty."

Laurens tries to reach forword but Hamilton shuts him off. "Alex...please..."

"Don't take another step in my direction!" Hamilton snaps. "I can't be trusted around you! Don't think you can talk your way into my arms!"

Hamilton releases his grip on Lafayette and crawls over to the pile of letters Laurens had written him during their months apart and clutches onto one, holding it dangerously close to the bright orange and yellow flames. Laurens' eyes widen.

"I'm burning the letters you wrote me. You can stand over there if you want. I don't know who you are. I have so much to learn..." Hamilton whispers, tossing the letter into the fire. Hamilton lets out a final choked sob and a final glance towards Laurens before burying his face into Lafayette's chest, unable to hold it in for any longer.

"Get out," Lafayette growls, clutching Hamilton tightly.

Laurens, looking at the two pleadingly, opens his mouth to protest or to explain, Lafayette couldn't care less.

"I said 'Get. Out.'," Lafayette hisses.

Laurens clicks his mouth shut and nods once before the door clicks closed behind. Lafayette puffs out a breath of relief and rests his cheek on top of Hamilton's russet curls, soothing him.

"Laurens?" Lafayette calls suddenly as soon as Hamilton's sobs begin to die down into soft sniffles and he's dozing off.

Laurens opens the door immediately. "Yes?"

Lafayette snarls, a twisted scowl onto his face. Laurens gulps as Lafayette hisses:

"Congratulations."

#lams #historical lams #fic #ficlet #this took me forever #it took me all day to write-#whew #im exhasuted #bedtime now #alexander hamilton #john laurens #marquis de lafayette #angst #hurt/comfort #i have been working on this since this morning-#around 9:00 or so #it's been 12 hours-

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purpleorchid85 · 3 years

Text

Buddie Fic Rec List (Part 1)

5 Times Eddie & Buck Knew They Were Dating & 1 Time Everyone Else Figured It Out

by Onlymystory

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24012025

A Diaz By Any Other Name (Should Be A Buckley)

by CaseyStar

Summary: Evan's lack of confidence in where he fit with the firefam and over how easily Bosko was brought in to take his place, rears it's ugly head when he hears about how Eddie escaped the warehouse when the police arrived.

AO3:https://archiveofourown.org/works/21783802

And They Were Roomates

By cherishingstydia

Summary: Buck needs a place to live and Eddie has a guest room.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22828072

And...They Were Zoommates

By emquin

Summary: Buck and Eddie work for the same company but have never met until working from home during the covid-19 pandemic has them using zoom video conferences.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23420866

Asked, Offered, Given, (He's) Taken by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels

Summary: People like to flirt with Buck on calls. It kind of makes Buck uncomfortable. And that makes Eddie frustrated.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24762892

Be My (Secret Santa) baby

By smartbuckley

Summary: It's this year's secret santa, and as Buck is about to open his sixth gift, he remembers the previous gifts and his feelings about them.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21809878

Bi Me A Drink

by Wolves_of_Innistrad

Summary: Hen takes the firefam out to a gay bar as a means of getting Eddie and Buck together. Fic contains lots of flirty Bi!Buck, Jealous and handsy Eddie and some extra twists.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21414100

Breathe You In

By Pline

Summary: Eddie can’t stop staring. This selfie is going to be the death of him. Buck is shirtless, and giving the camera an intense look that leaves Eddie panting. Or Buck sends a picture that tips their relationship into something new.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25070953

Bruises and Bitemarks

By Tarialdrion

Summary: When Chimney invited Buck to see his first live MMA fight, Buck had no idea that the night would end with him on his knees and the most gorgeous man he's ever seen happily devouring his mouth. Life is full of surprises.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24800731

Buck's Not-At-All-Secret Admirer

by R_E_R6

Summary: Buck has a 'secret admirer'. Everyone knows it's Eddie, even Buck.

Eddie has a plan though.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22650847

Calendar Shoot 2.0

by Araloth

Summary: It’s that time of year again, time for submissions to the annual LAFD sexy firefighter calendar. Buck is eager to try again, only this year he plans on actually taking Eddie up on all his free photography advice…

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21229880

Check Yes or No

by rebeccaofsbfarm

Summary: Eddie finds a note in Christopher's backpack and realizes that his son has a girlfriend. When he tells Buck, he has a reaction Eddie didn't anticipate.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24783445

Cruiser Bruiser

by FandomLife54

Summary: A close call on the side of the freeway has Eddie reevaluating his relationship with Buck, particularly how strained it's become due to Eddie's anger since the lawsuit. Some domestic love and more than a few heart to hearts have Eddie confessing things he should have a long time ago.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24126379

Darling It's Better (Down Where It's Wetter)

By onlymystory

Summary: "Who the hell is that?" asks Buck. Like he doesn't know exactly who that is. Like a week ago he wasn't enjoying one of the best fucks of his life with Eddie Diaz. Or the reason for Buck's surprise at the new recruit isn't quite for the reasons everyone thinks.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23197093?view_full_work=true#main

Dirty Little Secret

By smartbuckley

Summary: Buck and Eddie have been sneaking around together hooking up but it has never been just about sex for Buck and he keeps asking Eddie for it to be more. But Eddie doesn’t want anyone to know, even though he does love Buck (he’s scared) and can’t bring himself to talk about it. Buck gets upset about being Eddie’s dirty secret and cuts off their hookups, it hurts too much to be that close. He won’t let Eddie touch him even platonically. Eddie realizes he needs to do something about it.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21498331#main

Don’t Hate The Player, Hate The Game

By FancyfulOfLife

Summary: One day one too many firehouse 118 betting pools are going to bite them in the booty. Today just might be that day.

AO3:https://archiveofourown.org/works/22129198

Don’t Need To Question The Reasons. I’m Yours.

By technicallyi’mawriter

Summary: The one where Buck is his flirty self and Eddie reminds him that he is his and his alone.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24207109#main

Dosed, Again

By ApplepieandCinnamon

Summary: In retrospect, eating cookies that clearly inebriated strangers gave you as a thanks had not been a good idea. Well, you’re always smarter in hindsight. Sleep deprived Eddie Diaz is a danger to society and ends up drugging both himself and his best friend.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24742834

Eddie 'I Get What I Want' Diaz

By EdithBlake

Summary: Buck encounters an ex of his on a call. It puts things into perspective for Eddie.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22488685

Eddie Hates The New Guy

By EdithBlake

Summary: Rick is Hen's replacement while she is undergoing investigation. Eddie hates him. He especially hates how Rick looks at Buck like he is a piece of meat.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21438241

Eddie's Not-So-Secret Feelings

R_E_R6

Summary: 5 times Eddie says sweet things about Buck in Spanish so Buck doesn't find out he's in love with him +1 time Eddie realises Buck speaks Spanish and knew all along. With special guest stars: Eddie's entire family.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21729094

Eddie Swiped Right On Buck

StaceyBlake

Summary: It's been over a year since Eddie has had sex. He is a bit desperate and downloads Tinder. When Buck's picture shows up on his screen and he swipes right, things take a sexy turn for these best friends.

AO3:https://archiveofourown.org/works/21818059

Even The Bartender Knows

StaceyBlake

Summary: The Bartender at The Manhole gets a lot of guys coming into his bar who are questioning their sexuality. Helping them through it is kinda part of his job. But when a pretty Blond comes in and starts going on and on about how in love he is with his best friend, only for a man fitting said description of that best friend, walks in a few nights later going on and on about how in love he is with his best friend, well he's never seen that before.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21497890#main

Feels Like Home

Mansikka

Summary: After a fire devastates Eddie's home, the logical thing for him and Christopher to do is stay with Buck. Though Buck's apartment isn't ideal; would it be such a crazy idea for the three of them to find a place to live in permanently together?

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24840859

Friends To Make and Walls To Climb

By mansikka

Summary: Eddie and Christopher just moved to Los Angeles, and they have lots of things to be happy about. Eddie loves his work on the 118, Christopher can get to know his mom again, and maybe Eddie and Shannon will relearn how to be friends. Christopher is also thriving in school, coming home every day with new tales about his new favorite teacher. Eddie needs to meet the incredible Mr. Buckley for himself, to see what all the fuss is about.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27957527

Grand Guestures

By red_to_black

Summary: Buck didn't think too much of taking the Diaz boys out after a rough shift - until Hen and Chimney point out to him that he used to do the same with Abby. And really, if he was going to have a sexual crisis at the age of twenty seven, did it really have to be about Eddie?

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22208095

Helping Hands

By Shaniamr

Summary: Everyone wants Buck to heal from the past year, and they think getting laid will help him. Buck doesn't want to revert back to Buck 1.0, but he also doesn't want his friends to worry about him. So Buck enlists the help of his best friend Eddie in fooling his friends.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22132669

It Started With A Bang And A Hostage Situation

By JayJay_884

Summary: Buck goes to the store one late night to buy food because of Maddie's pregnancy cravings. Whilst at the store, Buck accidentally gets caught in the middle of a robbery and gets knocked out. After waking up in the backroom, Buck finds himself as a hostage with a handsome and caring stranger.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30733649

I Hit the Accelerator (But the Car was in Reverse) by exasiswings & letmetellyouaboutmyfeels

Summary: When Buck is forced to confront the truth about his breakup with Abby, having casual sex with his hot new coworker seems like the best rebound idea. Unfortunately, that hot new coworker turns into his best friend. But best friends can keep having sex with each other, right? There's no way this could possibly go wrong.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21614971

I Might Have To Tell You

By Ingu

Summary: Christopher gives Buck a list of how to cheer Eddie up while he's gone, and Buck accepts without reading the terms and conditions first.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24803128

Is This How You Get A Cat?

By Whis

Summary: Buck didn't know he just needed to climb a tree, rescue the kitten, fall down, get a concussion and a huge nail through his hand to get a kitten, no that he was looking for one, although, if he had known Eddie was included in the package he would have done it earlier.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21614971

Keep It On

By R_E_R6

Summary: When Eddie walks in on Buck, bent over in nothing but a hoodie, their plans for the night immediately change. Buck's outfit though? Well, Eddie requests that it stays the same...for reasons.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26679433

Kissing Booth Fiasco

By Lilacsheen

Summary: Buck plans on tending a kissing booth on a Halloween bash... but the kicker? He's blindfolded the entire time.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26987998

Kiss With A Fist

By florenceandthemachine

Summary: A meet-cute au where Eddie takes Chris to the gym once a week and they box a little together before Eddie spars; usually Chris sits by the ring and reads but one day Eddie finds him laying on a bench, lifting an empty bar while this really cute blond guy spots him and gives him encouragement...

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25415776

Lift Me Up

By CaptainSif

Summary: Buck gets stuck in his apartment building's broken elevator with his good-looking neighbor from the sixth floor.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28452156

I, Hildy

By red_to_black

Summary: The many ways in which Hildy interfered with Eddie and Buck's life, until they got the picture.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29511051

Lightly Stabbed

By Every_Version_Of_Me

Summary: Buck gets stabbed and takes the time to call Eddie to tell him he can't make it to dinner.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21743812

Love Language

By red_to_black

Summary: Eddie's love language is acts of service, and Buck doesn't totally get it.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23403196?view_adult=true

#Buddie Buddie fic rec list BuckandEddie Buck&Eddie BuckEddie BuckleyDiaz 9-1-1 Evan ‘Buck’ Buckley Edmundo ‘Eddie’ Diaz Buck Eddiegay hot fi

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astrovian · 3 years

Text

the official ranking of RA photoshoot outfits (pt. 1)

as @dykethorin said when I first proposed doing this particular ranking, “Some real Decisions™️ were made” with these shoots y’all

all photoshoot outfits (for part one) under the cut

the official ranking of Daniel Miller outfits here

the official ranking of Adam Price outfits here

the official ranking of Claude Becker outfits here

guys, I’m crying with laughter

hey quick question: what the fuck was this photoshoot??? (and also I need current RA in these poses)

it’s real nice to see a fun, loosey-goosey RA (before he established himself in the broody-character archetype) but there are so many questionable fashion choices here

when I started this list I had two options:

1) allow some leeway to the older photoshoots because, let’s be real, the early 2000s were an atrocious time for fashion that a lot of us would most rather forget we participated in

2) judge them by today’s standards, which is harsh but some of these outfits deserve it

naturally, I chose option #2

It’s so hard to even pick where to start. the too-loose pants? the ill-fitting suit jacket? The untucked dress shirt that is for some god-forsaken reason undone in two separate directions??

I have chosen one thing that sums the outfit up as a whole: what monster decided to put the shirt collar over the suit jacket????

the jazz hands scream “hey I’m a FUN guy” but the suit screams “I’m the yo-pro asshole at the office who is so unreliable you’re pretty sure some nepotism must surely have had an influence during the hiring process”

I originally said ‘I guess we should be glad there’s no surfer necklace’ but then I had the horrifying realisation that it’s a 50/50 shot as to whether that would improve this outfit or make it worse. and you know when there’s even slimmest chance a surfer necklace could improve an outfit somehow that it’s time to take a good hard look at yourself

1/10 just because this photoshoot made me genuinely laugh out loud

wait I’m sorry, what-

how on god’s green earth is this the same photoshoot (?) as guys, I’m crying with laughter????

the great thing about these lists is that you are getting my genuine reactions as I progress down the images. I had no idea this was the same photoshoot (?) until approximately 10 seconds after writing guys, I’m crying with laughter

this perfectly encapsulates the duality of man – one moment it’s all goofy jazz hands and the next it’s a hunk-of-the-week moment

this man and guys, I’m crying with laughter are the equivalent of looking at pictures of yourself in high school vs. in your 20s/30s/at your prime. the whiplash is insane

and why is he in front of barred windows?? it appears they were afraid of what would happen if this hunk escaped into the general population

I still can’t believe they kept the collar over the suit jacket though

I’m so conflicted guys, the urge to numerically rank this terrible outfit is strong but uh… as per usual shirtless ones aren’t fair/10

revenge of the killer surfer necklace

do you ever look back at a specific moment in time and are so thankful that someone took one tiny action? one small thing they did in the heat of the moment that probably seemed innocuous at the time but had far-reaching consequences? for example, it might something as simple as deciding to take a umbrella on a bright sunny day only for it to be extremely useful on the way home when the weather turns

this is how I feel about the person who decided RA could leave that top button closed for this shoot

if you squint, you can see the surfer necklace under that top button. and thank god you have to squint

this is such an early 2000s look though. that shirt by itself is fine and would actually look killer with a properly fitted suit nowadays. it’s the shirt dress and loose denim look with makes no sense to me

2/10 for a pretty uninspiring early 2000s outfit

revenge of the uh…

from the same shoot as revenge of the killer surfer necklace this loses .1 of a mark for adding a jacket, while pretty innocuous, to an already busy outfit

1.9/10

were we really that afraid of legs?

why were we, as a society, so obsessed with loose, ill-fitting pants? why were we so desperate to conceal legs from the general population? what secrets were we trying to hide? I understand the comfort factor on the hand, but on the other did anyone actually have eyes

the sneakers/suit combo I can definitely live with. but those pants (that I’m convinced must be pyjama pants in another life) turns it all into a sloppy, blurry mess

2.7/10

is it a bird? is it a plane? no, it’s… a floating RA?

what is it about photoshoots in the early 2000s where they just make no damn sense. it’s my opinion that the theme/concept of a shoot should not overshadow the subject, and that’s the correct opinion (as well as being the exact opposite as to what’s happening here)

maybe there was a hint or reason as to why floating wizard RA exists in the article that this shoot presumably came with, but I don’t get it. clearly I’m far too literal of a person and need to embrace my inner artist

looks pretty, still weird

moving on the entire point of this post, the outfit, I uh,… oh god

I’m pretty sure this the same (and similar, if not) outfit RA wore in the North & South behind-the-scenes, and how we as a society went from John Thornton’s stiff collar and top hat to this is amazing

maybe we were so obsessed with period dramas back then because it was a nice alternative to indulge our eyes in when we had to face the harsh, cold reality of modern fashion at the time

anyway – trust me, while I am all for a man in a necklace, let’s pray surfer necklaces never come back 2.9/10

I genuinely was looking up “pinstriped jacket jokes” because I couldn’t think of anything off the top of my head but then I realised I don’t need a joke here because pinstriped jackets are a joke all by themselves

I feel like there may be a situation where pinstriped suit jackets might grow on me, but this is not that situation

also I don’t really know where I stand on the belt, but I certainly think I’m leaning towards the ‘why’ part of the scale. if you’re gonna make a belt that prominent in a photoshoot, at least make it a fun belt

3/10

I’m noticing a trend in these photoshoots and it’s these horrific backgrounds

I will admit that the non-patterned suit jacket is going with the jeans a lot better here. but now that my attention isn’t focused on that, all I can see are the dress shoes. WHY DID YOU PUT DRESS SHOES WITH STRAIGHT-LEGGED JEANS???

please someone I am begging you, can we as a society get to tapered jeans already

3.3/10

did RA genuinely ever get put into any clothes that actually fitted him properly at this point in time?

look, I know I’ve been picking on the bootcut jeans & loose attire that plagued us in the early 2000s (or 2006, to be specific to this photoshoot). what can I say, it’s the low-hanging fruit. or loose-hanging, as the case may be

I do appreciate that rich brown leather jacket and that smile. but that’s where it stops. someone take dress shirts and dress shoes away from bootcut denim PLEASE

3.5/10

this is the bad-boy from your hometown in every rom-com ever

as with well this in an interesting development that I can’t say I disapprove of below, the lower rating is simply because from what we can see, it’s just a plain shirt. however, that dipped v-neck? mm-mmm

look at that smirk. this man knows what he’s doing to us, dammit.

why do you persist in hurting us this way 4/10

well this in an interesting development that I can’t say I disapprove of

god bless the person who said we need this shirt wet and clinging and only half-soaked

I’m so sad that I have to give this such a low ranking because uh… we’ve established I have a weakness for those biceps

this does also get bonus points for the creativity of “only this portion of your shirt needs to be wet for your close-up” but at the end of the day it is a solitary grey t-shirt even if it is floating in an attractive sea of muscles

4.5/10

the photographer really said ‘who gives a crap about the clothes’, huh?

an interesting shirt! but as much as I love RA’s face, we should be able to see more of the shirt (and the outfit) because uh… it’s hard to make a judgement call on a photoshoot outfit without that

also, it’s just so hard to concentrate on some of these with RA staring into my soul like that

*sigh* 4.6/10

hello sir, are you as kinky as your shirt?

this is one of the few occasions on which I will give the bootleg baggy jeans a pass. interesting choice to go shoeless for all outfits in this shoot – but the way the shirt is all crumpled is annoying me an incessant amount. I am begging you, someone pass this stylist an ironing board PLEASE

4.7/10 for a crinkle-cut RA

all that’s missing is the beer cans

I’m not sure of the short sleeves here. I think with the shirt open as well my brain doesn’t know where to look

HOWEVER, this is an RA from the early 2000s that I can get behind – largely because he’s not drowning in his denim

the nice, plain belt which matches with the shirt? excellent

interesting choice to go with the bare feet – this entire look (and the quality of that concrete floor) screams ‘we’re chilling at a summer party in your parent’s basement in the early 2000s’ if not for one thing – that couch is way too nice looking. am I being too pedantic about this? no. If you’re gonna go for the whole basement party look, you need a couch that’s falling apart and has at least one questionable stain on it

that being said, I would hang out in this man’s basement

it’s a shirtless one so once again, I cannot give a numerical answer/10

I’m not sure if this man is dangerous or is just an idiot

they may have been wanting RA to embrace his inner Daniel Miller here but that is NOT a jacket that should have its collar popped or if it is, it definitely should not be popped that much. just turn the intensity of that pop down by… at least 35%

this look is telling me to embrace my inner lacy, ruffled collar that men in England used to wear around the 1500 - 1600s. I hate it and refute it with every part of my soul

this is what happens when you embrace your inner Daniel a little bit too much 5.6/10

the return of the leg monster

not much to say about this except once again we are terrified to put RA’s legs into well-fitted pants. what secrets are hiding underneath those voluminous billows? will we ever know?

5.8/10

the one that crushed my hopes and dreams and then spat on my corpse

so I admit it, I got really excited because I thought that this was a leopard print shirt and I was like “this is something I did NOT know that I needed until right now”, even if I would argue that it could have been nice in a little bit of a brighter colour. no matter, I thought it was a nice subtle addition to this plain suit and was just very excited at the prospect of RA rocking leopard print even though I almost always hate leopard print in single every form it comes in

and then. upon zooming. a disappointing paisley. sorry, paisley lovers. I hate it

I would also argue here that the pocket square would have been nice in a plain, bright colour rather than another patterned item thrown into the mix. come on stylists, stop letting me down with your pocket squares

also if there is a point where a suit can be too shiny, I think we’ve found it. I could wax floors with that fabric and I’d rather be thinking about RA’s talent & good looks rather than imagining him being used as a human mop

the hand porn is uh… strong with this one 6/10

the hand porn one

the ring is a nice subtle touch but I can’t decide where I stand on this tie. for me, the checks are just a *wee* tad too small. so small that it I’m scared it will turn into one of those optical illusions with a number in it if I stare at it the tie for too long

the pocket square could also have not tried so hard to blend in with the rest of the suit jacket. give me some colour, baby!

Richard really needs to put his hand down so I can actually concentrate on the clothes 6.5/10

I’m just dotty for this one (I’m so sorry y’all)

so suave. so shiny. I wanna stroke that fabric so bad, it looks so soft

the dots bring a nice yet understated touch to a monotone outfit and GOOD LORD those thighs

they just had to pose him like this to torture us, I’m convinced. also they call him a “commanding gentleman” in the subtitle which is really just unnecessary to verbalise when he’s sitting like this

Someone put me in a rom-com with this man 7.2/10

the modern magician (at least he ain’t floating this time)

I know that the hat should be the focus of this shoot but I can’t get over those shoes

tangentially related, I have never understood why they make men’s dress shoes so excessively long and pointed. these certainly aren’t a good example of this but uh… I don’t understand why men’s dress shoes are clown shoes

I think part of what’s throwing me off is the sockless look. normally I can handle (and even love) it with some shoes but there’s something about the hem of those jeans and those shoes that turn them into slippers when worn sockless

I love the two-tone scarf but what really excites me is the plaid shirt that we can barely see. I’m eternally sad that they had RA hid it in this pose. and also, come one. you could’ve at least gotten a chair with an actual back to it. that can’t be good for his back at all

the one bonus of this outfit is the hat because when do we ever get RA in hats?? and hats that aren’t baseball caps?? a nice, rare touch. but also one which hides most of that face so…

can we talk about the fact that my gut tells me those jean cuffs have been deliberately turned up at the front and all I want in life is to reach into this image and flip them down 7.5/10

*pterodactyl noises*

holy macaroni. that demin shirt. and this shirt’s even a nice lighter denim colour??? and the v-neck?? SIR

I know he’s worn some faux-denim shirts in the last few years (see: Uncle Vanya rehearsal pics) but as outerwear? knocked it out of the park in this one

also I know this is a shirt not a jacket, but this shirt made me think about how I never realised how much I needed RA in jean jackets until today

It could be argued that a nice crew neck cut would work slightly better than the v-neck but that’s really a personal choice

a lovely respite for my weary eyes 7.7/10

a truly, truly blessed image. the sort of image that would bring you endless good luck

I know I’ve given a lot of pants crap on this list but these. these are the ones. these are doing the lord’s work for sure. and god bless the person who decided to shoot from this particular side angle.

and then the shirt?? I’m honestly afraid it may rip if he moves. I could leave or take the tie though. it’s not adding a whole lot to this outfit and I would much rather that shirt be uh… open at the top for a glimpse of uh… well. you know.

this RA outfit laughs in the face of all those early 2000s RA outfits 8.1/10

me running to open my phone every time an RA-related notification pops up

my only sadness is that this shoot was in black & white. we need more action-shot RA shoots!

also the subtle plaid?? *chef’s kiss*

well, I said ‘my only sadness’ but is it also me or are both ends of that tie strangely square? that is throwing me off from an otherwise spectacular photoshoot outfit, I won’t lie

8.5/10 for a man of action

this is what we all like to think we look on the way to work. hate to break it to ya - we don’t

god, that wind-ruffled hair. the rustic look provided by both the suit material & the photo editing. that stare over the top of that coffee mug. the casual ‘I just picked up the paper on my way out this morning’

words fail me

would it be weird if I said I would pay money to be able to run my hands through anyone’s hair that looks as soft and wind-swept as that 8.9/10

the comfiest RA

I love. love. love this outfit, especially the sweater. the pant colour goes extremely well with this one and I’m so glad they didn’t just stick him in jeans. the is the softest, comfiest RA and I love it. this is an RA who you can simultaneously share a beer and takeaway with at home, cuddling up on the sofa while you watch a film, as well as an RA who will take you out to eat fancy pasta at an upscale restaurant.

the choice of sitting on a stool is also great. my only real gripe here is the watch (and even that’s a minor one, really). the watch isn’t THAT bad, but it’s chunky face reminds me slightly of the watches boys in my class would wear in middle school. the watch could be a *wee wee tad* slicker, but really, I’m nitpicking here (and this is the only time I will admit to it)

the more I look at it, the more this becomes one of my fav RA pics. the slight smile. the relaxed pose. the hint of hand porn

weirdly, for some reason this picture gives me the exact same comfy and ‘just chilling out’ feeling as when I hear the song “Kiss Me” by Sixpence None the Richer 9.5/10

#richard armitage #yes this is a multi-part one because uh... there's a lot of photoshoots guys #also yes most of the early 2000s ones ended up at the bottom and I refuse to apologise for that

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recurring-polynya · 5 years

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So, as I come into the homestretch on the 90k word fanfic I am working on, I wanted to do a rambling appreciation post for all my fav long form (~100k) Renji/Rukia fanfics. JFC, I almost died writing this thing, these people are blessings unto the earth.

I had to go far afield to find all of these, as you will see, but they are worth it.

The Roots of Heaven by paperiuni is just astonishingly good. It’s an Ichigo/Renji/Rukia OT3. Rukia is MIA in the war, and after Ichigo gets a hint of her spirit ribbon, he and Renji roadtrip their way into another dimension after her. I cannot emphasize enough how beautifully crafted this is, it is basically amazing. It was written before Bleach ended, so some of the shinigami/zanpakutou worldbuilding isn’t canon, it’s possibly better (I am thinking particularly of the part where Renji loses his sword in a bet, and then re-imprints Zabimaru onto a new sword, which is just friggin’ cool) There is also an amazing fight scene where Rukia and Renji have to fight Hollow Ichigo, and Rukia kisses Renji and then hops on his bankai and zooms off into battle, and this is Peak RenRuki Romance in my book, nothing will ever beat this scene. Uhhhh, fair warning: there’s a threesome at the end, because of course there is.

A Thin Red Line by A Fine Piece is really a ByaHisa story, but it’s also an excellent character study on Rukia and Renji. It’s a retelling of all of Bleach, starting with Rukia’s adoption, where Hisana never died and it’s just brilliant and beautifully written. Thanks to Hisana, Rukia and Renji maintain their friendship after Rukia’s adoption, and in some ways, it prevents them from ever really connecting the way they do in the canon storyline. There are a lot of really interesting variations that I don’t want to spoil, but my favorite aspect of this fic is that Renji becomes extremely devoted to Hisana (as in, he brings her someone’s head) and it’s perfect. Appropos of noting, during the Rukia’s Execution storyline, Ukitake makes Renji schlep the Shihoin shield all around the Seireitei, and I think about that a lot and that’s the source of why Ukitake is so fond of Renji in all my fanfics. It’s not finished and I doubt it ever will be-- I don’t know if she intended for R&R to ever get together or not, but their relationship has enough tension in it that you can definitely convince yourself that it’s just a slow burn. Oh, also, if I ever start talking about Hisana as though she has some sort of canon personality, I’ve just forgotten, again, that this fic isn’t canon.

Become a Ghost by @hardlyfatal is a goddamn delight and has been a huge influence on me. So it is, of all things, a Byakuya/Orihime romance. Orihime dies of appendicitis and goes to Soul Society and has some good times and falls in love with Byakuya and then they fight Aizen. Now, I generally don’t read Byakuya ships because I just cannot drum up any empathy for Byakuya being in love. My brain can’t do it. He’s such a butt. But somehow, this crackship works, it’s really sweet. I cannot explain it. Maybe because Orihime is perfect and any thinking being should fall in love with her? Perhaps. Anyway, Renji and Rukia are also in it, and they are adorbs together for sure, but also there’s a lot of really cute friendship-with-Orihime stuff and I love love love it. It is also a masterclass in Byakuya dragging Renji, which we all know is my favorite thing in the world.

Aside: This fanfic changed my life. So for starters, Keigo dies in the first line of the fanfic and then is basically never mentioned again. This is the most baller move in all of Bleach fanfic. So many plot turns of this story are just...extremely fanfiction. And what I mean by that is that they are ridiculous, but I, the reader, am rubbing my hands together and shoving popcorn in my mouth. I literally cackle whenever I read this thing. Anyway, I was reading this for, like the third time, and it occurred to me that, I, too, could just write whatever I wanted and that someone else on the internet might get a kick of it, even if it’s a little ridiculous or silly. It’s just fanfic, and fanfic is great. So, if you have ever enjoyed something I wrote where Renji and Rukia are texting emoji to each other, or going to the Seireitei Waffle House, or getting drunk and making out, you have this story to thank.

Many Parts, by HipsterL. This is another full-Bleach retelling, where Rukia and Ichigo are swapped. This sort of an entire sub-genre, but what sets this one apart in my mind is delinquent Karakura teen Fullbringer Renji. I love him so much. I cannot get enough of him or his tattooed single mom or his awkward friendship with Ishida (who is basically the same as usual). Also, Rukia is being raised by single dad Byakuya who is very obviously a former captain who noped out on Soul Society, Isshin-style. Renji is just, like, always over their house? And Byakuya feeds him? I am so in love with this whole concept. Rukia and Renji have a very cute, slow-burn teen romance, and it’s all very sweet. Ongoing.

Shadows Surround Us by Meglee06. So this perhaps not the most skillfully written fanfic in the world, but I want to give the author a lot of credit for actually writing a longform RenRuki story. This is literally the purest one I can think of. The plot is okay, there’s a mysterious bad guy and they fight him. That’s not the important part. The important part is that Renji cannot manage to keep his shirt on in this story. He must spend 40% of this fanfic walking around shirtless in situations where he should honestly be wearing a shirt, and I respect that so much.

I think there may be more on Ye Olde Fanfiction.net, but I refuse to make a login and I can’t find anything on there. Second aside: I have an unreasonable grudge against fanfiction.net because I remember when it came out. I, a teen, was lovingly maintaining a hand-htmled Geocities page of personally curated fanfics (I was in a satellite X-Men fandom at the time). We called it running an archive in those days, and we were all horrified by the concept but also... it was... so easy to upload things? And then there were 10k Harry Potter fanfics on it. I’m sure there’s, like, 1M now, I’m scared to check. The moral of this story, friends, is that I am old as balls.

I am sure there are others out there; like most people, there are some ships I do not care for, and I think you can forgive me for not jumping into 100k words worth of that. If I’ve missed any, feel free to rec, particularly if RenRuki is the main ship.

Do people like fanfic recs? I can do more of these in the future for other topics, if there’s interest. I, uh, kinda read a lot of fanfic.

#renruki #bleach fanfiction #fanfic recs #fanfic longreads

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mystic-sky · 5 years

Note

Do you have any headcannons for when Yuily and Mikhail are in heat (or something similar)? Thx

I’m assuming this stems from the imprinting nsfw one shot I did a while back? I’m not too familiar with werewolf mythology lmaoo. I hope I did okay? I know it’s a little long but please let me have this Tagging this as NSFW but in my humble opinion it’s pretty light from what I usually write. Enjoy love~

Yuliy

I honestly believe that Yuliy’s childhood never really had time for “the talk.”

All concepts of sex probably eluded him until he hit puberty. Maybe Willard leaves a couple of books on the boy’s bedside, and tells him to ask questions once he’s finished. To Yuliy’s dismay, he did as he was told and held any further questions to himself until he finished all the sex ed literature.

I think it’d be sort of funny, because he’d start reading and think something was wrong. Had the professor given him the wrong book? Certainly not, since all of them were about the same thing.

Once he’s 15, he probably grasps the entirety of everything.

It starts with a fever, to which everyone thinks is normal. He’s stuck in bed for two or three days.

Lots a sweating. He doesn’t like being clothed at all. But he adheres to the rules of society and remains dressed during the day.

He’s hungrier, like, so much hungrier. The boy’s skinny yet agile body consumes so much food this time of the year but doesn’t gain any weight.

He does and doesn’t notice it in the beginning. It’s not until the excessive sexual aching starts that he’s aware something’s going on with his body.

He’s a reserved guy, so he doesn’t really like asking people for help all the time. He didn’t think that it was anyone else’s business but his own whenever he wanted to relieve himself more than once a day during his heat.

He’ll get dizzy and he sweats a lot still. He’ll tell everyone he’s tired and then go lay in bed, tossing and turning trying to figure himself out. He’ll teeth at his pillows and sheets. And he has a bad habit at nipping at the skin on his hands when it feels too good. No one can tell either, since he heals so quickly.

His baths are abnormally long during this time of year too, and Philip just doesn’t know why.

He’s pretty observant though, and he knows that it’s just him. Philip’s clearly as aloof as ever and he’s never seen Fallon get the dizzies and hot and bothered like himself. He’ll often think “Maybe they’re just better at hiding it than I am?”

As tempting as it is, he wants to ask Fallon about it. And eventually he does, but good lord, the boy can’t get the words out.

And Fallon’s a nice guy, not really pressuring the boy to spit it out so quickly. He gets what he means almost immediately. He tells him that it’s normal and that people do it all the time.

His first crush, say its our Reader, would be pretty awkward for him. He starts identifying his sexual feelings with his emotional ones and directs them towards you, even though it feels wrong in the beginning.

He’s read his first erotic novel by now and then some, courtesy of Willard, and he can’t seem to imagine himself with you in that situation.

You were stupendously attractive to him, and always smiling at him. You were friendly with him, and always talking. To which you might have thought was annoying but it made things all the more easier on his own less talkative nature.

Then he has the dream about you, his first wet dream. Because until now he had nothing real to fantasize about.

Now you’re all he thinks about. In the middle of the night, in the bath. He wants to feel you more than anything.

This though, is only during his heat. He’s pretty shy and reserved any other day. And if he can, he will refrain because you’re his friend and it still feels very wrong to him.

He goes into heat the next year, and it’s the worse it’s ever been.

His burning urge to mate keeps him up every night for next couple weeks, even after he brings himself to orgasm.

He’s realizing he wants human contact. And with his emotions in a mess having learned so many things about his brother and father, throwing his sexual desire for his crush in the mix made things very complicated- at least in Yuliy’s head. Everyone else is completely oblivious to his abnormally heightened sexual behavior.

What’s even worse is when he can’t orgasm because his body won’t let him. His nature has expected him to mate by now, but it’s a work and progress on his end.

Maybe you see him one morning and he’s the grumpiest looking thing ever. He’s got bags under his eyes and he tries his best to greet you normally like nothing’s wrong, but you suspect something’s stressing him out.

He still won’t tell you, and he’d be mortified if you found out.

He tells the professor finally, and he can only speculate it’s because of the werewolf boy’s heritage. The professor assures him it’ll pass, since it always does.

A few nights later he gets restless and takes a cold shower, which seems to be the only thing he can do to get himself to sleep for a few hours.

His body’s hot still even though he just came, and maybe you find him in the middle of the night lying against a wall on a quest for a glass of water.

He’s shirtless and he’s got a towel on his head but you know it’s him. You’re frightened a bit cause he’s sweating and panting profusely. You think it’s fever, and offer him some of the water. You offer to go get the professor but he stops you, and pulls you close to him. You’re on all fours and sitting between his legs but none of that caught you more off guard than the blue crystalline eyes that looked at you through his soaking wet bangs.

He’s just panting at you, and the glass of water is surely all over the hall floor.

The towel slips off his head and onto the floor as he pulls your lips to his and presses a hard kiss against your mouth.

He pulls away and apologizes immediately. The boy rushes back to his room and avoids you for DAYS. He’ll wait his heat out before showing himself to you again.

Whether this moment happens or not (that’s completely up to you) his s/o learns about his werewolf bloodline eventually.

When Yuliy’s in a relationship his s/o can find keeping up with his heightened sexual behavior a bit overwhelming.

He’s often out of character, and he’ll be more touchy with you around company.

If you want to and can keep up with it, there’s a lot of sex during this time of year.

He’ll lose himself whenever he enters your warmth but somehow his stamina feels like it never drains.

He wants to be dominant 100% of the time, which I can imagine is different from your normal sex. It’s almost like you’re sleeping with a different man.

Mikhail

He hasn’t been in heat since he turned, but I guess this will be a mixture of hypothetical AUs for your satisfaction.

Say he got his first heat when he was 13 or 14. Perhaps he turned when he was 15? But he looks younger than 25 after the 10 year time skip? But then again vampires are ageless… My brain fumbles here idk (I’d love to talk about theories of his age if anyone wants to msg me)

So he gets his first heat, and his mother is the first one that notices. Even though she’s human, Alexei was sure to tell her what’d it’d be like for both the of boys once they matured.

It starts out with the intense fever, lots of sleeping for him especially. Yuliy starts to notice that Mikhail is “sick” and can’t go hunting with him.

After the fever subsides, he tries to go back to his usual routine, but it’s hard.

He’ll eat more at dinner time, and Sachi is quite aware. It sparks a change in Yuliy, who now solely eats to be “big and strong” like his big brother.

Mikhail’s clothes don’t fit him anymore, and maybe an unusual growth spurt occurs here (mostly in height). It might have something to do with all the food he eats, but for the most part there isn’t any bizarre weight gain.

Even when Sachi makes him new clothes, or let’s him wear some of his father’s clothes that he’d left behind, he doesn’t want to. His body’s too hot.

He wants to be naked all the time, and Sachi will come to find that his fever is reoccurring itself because he goes out every night in the snow to cool off.

She finally gives him the talk, and it’s when Yuliy’s fast asleep upstairs. His reaction isn’t too surprised, but he only wishes he could’ve had the talk with his Dad instead.

He’s still restless at night but at least he knows why now. His mother leaves the rest of his discomfort to him to figure out on his own when he’s alone in his room.

There weren’t a lot of people in their village. Especially not many from his age group, so I head cannon he see’s his first sexual preference in a near by town when he goes on a shopping trip and he’ll never forget it.

Maybe it’s our reader, and he’s smitten by you. He left on the trip because he wanted to get as far away from family for a while. He sees you and the sexual atmosphere seemed to have followed him all the way out there.

His nature will force him to make conversation, and he’s more than enticed by your personality. Maybe you both become good friends and he’ll visit you often. He’s quite the flirt.

But he’s still young, and he thinks nothing much of it. He goes home and has his first orgasm in the middle of the night because of some dream he had about you. Sure it stemmed from a stranger, but he didn’t mind.

And because of this, he gets sleep for the first time in almost a month.

In a different AU, where he might not be vampire at all, he’ll have successfully learned how to handle his heat all on his own, cause he’s independent like that.

If he has an s/o, he won’t tell them about his heritage for a while. They’ll find about it through the same stages: the fever, the excessive sleep, the hunger, then lack of sleep and restlessness.

If him and his s/o are at that point in their relationship he’ll walk around the house in sometimes next to nothing, and he’ll insist that it’s just because he’s hot. Even in winter weather, you’ll start to think your boyfriend just has a fetish for being naked.

He gets so kittenish, which is a bit different from his usual Dom behavior. He’ll rest his chin on your shoulder and nibble at your neck while you make dinner.

And he’s almost irritated when you tell him to wait until you’re finished and he’ll whine at you, which is beyond his usual self.

He’s the biggest, horniest baby.

And if you don’t know about his heat yet then you just assume he’s taking a break from being the dominant one for a while.

Mikhail hates asking for help though. And it’s not until you find him one night on the bathroom floor in a pool of sweat, panting deeply.

You’re scared and you don’t know what to do. You think you should go call for help, but he insists he’s fine and that he just wants you come lay with him.

You tell him that you’ve had enough of this behavior, and that fever kills people, so you’re getting help. So he comes clean, and explains that no doctor can help him right now.

After a glass of water and few damp clothes later, you’re a bit stunned. He tells you it’s only once a year, and that you don’t have to abide to having excessive amounts of sex with him if you don’t want to.

“I’ve been dealing with it for years now. Don’t be so worried.” But how could you not be?

I’d like to think this talk you guys have on the bathroom floor brings you closer.

So instills the sex therapy. He’s so submissive during this time, aching to be touched.

You try your best not to tease him, but every tickle or brush of skin to skin makes him crumble at your feet.

He’s actively trying to be dominant still and it’s almost amusing. He’s stuttering his words beneath your touch, and he often reaches orgasm pretty quickly and collapses from exhaustion.

Then there are the days when he can’t get off right away, and his werewolf stamina is in full motion until he does.

My favorite werewolf boy in heat

#Yuliy Jirov #yuliy x reader #mikhail x reader #Mikhail Jirov #Sirius the Jaeger #Tenrou: Sirius the Jaeger

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forsetti · 6 years

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On Guns In America: Full Mental Jacket

America loves its guns. It loves them so much, it is willing to overlook the damage they inflict on individuals, families, and society. It loves guns so much, it denies evidence from around the world that supports the conclusion that fewer guns = fewer gun-related injuries and deaths. It loves guns so much, it eagerly looks for ways to make them more dangerous, more lethal, more accessible. It loves guns because, in spite of being the world's superpower, its past and present have been steeped in insecurity, fear, and a false sense of superiority. Schools shootings are a microcosm of the problem of guns in America-A dangerous weapon in the hands of insecure, angry, testosterone-riddled, white males whose brains and moral compasses are at best not yet fully developed and at worst, seriously and permanently fucked up.

The problem with guns in America isn't that there aren't enough of them. The problem isn't “God has been taken out of schools and society.” The problem isn't immigrants, minorities, or Muslims. The problem is mental health-the mental health of white, male America. To be more specific, the problem is, and always has been white supremacy. If you don't understand the role white supremacy has and does play in how America views and loves it guns, you are part of the problem. This includes a lot of “good guy” gun owners who provide cover for their not-so-good guy gun-owning brethren.

The common thread from the first European white settlers to a large number of current gun owners in America is white supremacy. The first white men on this continent used guns to steal land, resources, and life from the Native Americans. The 2nd Amendment was written, in part, to ratify slavery. It was important for guns to be readily available for whites to keep slaves in line, to be able to fend off any slave rebellion, to protect their women from “violent, sex-crazed” black men. When slavery was abolished, the heavily armed Klan came to power to ensure white rule and supremacy was maintained. The Mulford Act in California was passed in 1967 and signed by then-governor, Ronald Regan, repealing open carry in response to members of the Black Panthers carrying guns while they patrolled the streets of Oakland to make sure the police did their jobs properly. Gun sales went through the roof when the first black president was elected. Right-wing media pushes gun ownership with threats of marauding bands of Mexican gangs, Muslim terrorists, race wars, and imaginary government operations that will imprison God-fearing, gun-owning, PBR-drinking, tobacco chewing, white Americans.

The fact that America has 5% of the world's population and almost 50% of the world's guns isn't by mistake, isn't to protect it from foreign powers, isn't to defend itself from its own government. America has the most guns because it was built on white supremacy. Guns were the tools used to take the land from its native inhabitants. Guns were the tools used to keep the economic resource of slavery in line. Guns were used against fellow countrymen in order to maintain the right to own other people. Guns were used to inflict fear, harm, and death in order to preserve and enforce Jim Crow Laws. White supremacy doesn't carry as much power without means and threat to commit violence. Guns and racism in America go together like Dylann Roof and a Glock .45, like Mom and apple pie.

The main reasons mass shootings are more prevalent in America now than in the “Good Old Days,” are two-fold: First, white America is losing its demographic and cultural power; Second, there are exponentially more guns now than in its mythologized past. This explosion in the number of guns in circulation is not distributed equally among the population. While the number of guns being manufactured and sold has skyrocketed, the percentage of households that own guns has been steadily declining. This means those who do own guns are owning more and more of them. I'm pretty sure the Venn Diagram of homes with guns and racists is damn near one, complete circle.

I'm not saying all gun owners are racists but a lot of the ones who own multiple guns, who purchase semi-automatics, bump stocks, high capacity magazines, push for open carry, are pro-Stand Your Ground laws, reject even the most sensible background checks, are racist as fuck. The NRA, right wing radio, FOX News, and Republican politicians have fed these people a steady diet of fear since the passage of the Civil Rights Act. They've latched onto anything and everything non-white that can be peddled as a threat. They've done this with to great success. If you don't think so, just look at the spike in gun manufactured and sold starting the second Barack Obama was elected in 2008. At no point did he discuss taking anyone's guns during the campaign but the mere fact a black man became president scared the living fuck out of white supremacists to where they went on a weapons-buying spree that would make Adnan Khashoggi blush. There was a small spike in guns sold after Bill Clinton was elected but it went back down to normal levels during his second term. New guns in circulation hit a record high in 2008 and the number more than doubled by the end of Obama's second term. If you don't think race and white supremacists' fears were not the cause of this, you aren't too bright.

This relationship between guns and white supremacy in America is why you can't have a rational discussion about gun control. Racist fears will always override common sense, logic, evidence, social well-being, decency. To make matters worse, their irrational fears have filtered down to a lot of other gun owners. Every day I hear someone say, “I'm a responsible gun owner and I don't do....” or “I know a lot of gun owners who are responsible and they don't do...,” as a rationalization and justification to not only defend the status quo but to argue for access to more guns. A lot of the “good gun owners” are sure carrying a lot of water for the “bad gun owners,” right now to the point it is impossible for me to discern which is which. Practically speaking, there isn't much difference, politically, between an overweight, shirtless red neck posting pictures of himself holding his AR-15 in front of a Confederate Flag and the gun-owning Republican next door who is a CPA who drives a KIA Soul because both are obstacles to any gun reform. The CPA might not think he is giving cover for and be providing support to Cletus's white supremacy when he parrots NRA talking points but he sure as fuck is. If this wasn't true, you'd see these “good gun owners” come out against their fellow gun-owning brethren whenever there was a school shooting or some other horrible run-related incident. The silence of “good gun owners” tells you where they stand and to me, it seriously calls into question just how “good” they really are.

A good person doesn't stand quietly by as children are gunned down in schools, as families are worshiping in church, as people are watching a movie in a theater. A good person doesn't parrot conspiracy theories about gun confiscation, Jade Helm, FEMA camps, race wars... A good person doesn't look at the overwhelming evidence from the American Medical Association, the CDC, and every other industrialized country in the world and come away with the ideas that more guns are needed and teachers should be armed. You can say and think what you will about the people you know and love who own guns about how “good” a person they are but my definition of what constitutes a good person doesn't cover this kind of moral failing.

I never see any of these “good gun owners” coming to the defense of black victims of gun violence at the hands of the police. When 12-year-old Tamir Rice was shot within microseconds by the police for having an air rifle in an open carry state, none of these “good gun owners” came out in his defense. Instead, they parroted the same talking points as white supremacist websites and talking heads. The same for Michael Brown in Ferguson, Laquan McDonald in Chicago, Walter Scott in South Carolina... Unarmed black men and boys who are killed by the police are always labeled with negative terms. Meanwhile, white mass shooters are “mentally unstable,” “misunderstood,” “a good neighbor”... Not only are white shooters talked about in better terms, they are treated with more respect when apprehended. Tamir Rice laid dying in the park, he received no assistance from the police who shot him. In fact, they prohibited Tamir's sister from getting help. When the black church shooter, Dylann Roof, in S. Carolina was caught, the police stopped by Burger King to get him food before taking him in. When the school shooter in Florida was finally nabbed, he was taken unharmed, wrapped in a blanket, and courteously placed into a car. Not a single “good gun owner” said a peep about any of these situations. Instead of seeing the built-in, systemic racism of how we view and treat black victims compared to white killers, they automatically rolled out their NRA-approved talking points. When it is time to speak up about injustice, racism, inequality, if guns are involved even remotely, these “good gun owners” always seem to stand up on the wrong side of the moral fence, if they stand up at all. My definition of “good person” doesn't encompass this kind of shitty behavior. At no point does an inanimate object take precedence, priority over a human being. That many of those defending guns as THE ANSWER are also 'pro-life,” is as ridiculous as it is hypocritical.

The other main factor in America's obsession with guns is toxic masculinity. I know the term “toxic masculinity,” has gotten pushback from a lot of people for being “too demeaning,” “too mean,” “detrimental to the discussion.” My response to this criticism is, I don't fucking care. If you are male and your ego is so fragile you can't handle a negative label and need to rage about it, you've pretty much proved the need for the description. Don't #NotAllMen at me either. This is a lazy, dishonest response. When people use “toxic masculinity,” they are referring to very specific characteristic traits. If you don't fit the description, then shut the fuck up about it so you don't risk joining their ranks.

Men are more violent than women. Some men more so than others. Insecure men of this type, even more so. Add in a heavy dose of white and gender supremacy and you get a toxic mixture. Throw deadly weapons designed to kill and maim at high rates and you often get very dangerous outcomes. The more of these traits a man has, the more likely they are to be violent. Take just about any mass shooter in America the past fifty years and you will find someone who has a history of violence against women and/or racial animus. Men who exhibit toxic masculinity traits are mentally unstable. They do not know how to properly process and deal with a world where they are not the king of every hill by the mere fact they are white men. This is a cognitive problem. To be okay with people like this having access to high powered weapons designed to kill is an epic public safety failure. People in hospitals, jails, halfway homes...who are deemed dangerous are not allowed belts, shoestrings, anything that can be used to harm themselves or others. Yet, we as a society have decided it is okay for mentally screwed up white men to not only own guns but make it easy for them to get as many as they want and almost whatever kind they want. This is fucking insane.

Imagine being in charge of policy for a mental health hospital, coming up with the position that the residents who exhibit violent tendencies, believe they are naturally superior to others, and who are prone to conspiracy theories should have almost unlimited access to things that will inflict the most pain, injury, and death on others. What Board of Directors would vote or this policy? What rational person on the outside looking in would say, “This seems like a great idea”? The easy answer is, “No one,” because it is so fucking stupid.

This brings us to the “the left shouldn't be so critical of the right” stage of the discussion. Every day, I read some article or comment that claims if the left would only stop the name calling, the harsh criticism, the sense of superiority, then the right would “do the right thing.” This argument is so fucking stupid it really doesn't deserve a response but since I'm feeling generous, here goes...

Either your arguments and positions are supported by evidence and tethered to reality and morality or they are not. If they are not, then it doesn't matter what the left says or thinks about you, they are still fucked up. If you don't want to be on the wrong side of an issue, of history, of morality, then the ONLY choices you have is to either continue to be on the wrong side or mea culpa the fuck out of yourself and get on the right side. There IS NO OPTION where you get to believe the wrong things and also get to be on the right side. These are the fucking rules of logic, of morality, of history. Don't blame liberals because you are wrong. Don't blame anyone but yourself for being on the wrong side. Suck it up. Take the personal hit. Learn a fucking lesson. Just don't blame others for your intellectual, moral failings.

If you really believe guns are the answer and the more the merrier, you are a deeply damaged, cognitively delusion person and a big part of the reason why America is so entrenched in a culture of guns. You are mentally unhinged and a danger to everyone around you and to society, in general. And, I'll bet, if I scratched the surface of your personality even the slightest, I'd uncover a whole lot of racism and bigotry just beneath the surface. You can say that guns aren’t the problem, which may be true. The real problem is racism mixed with toxic masculinity. I am all for doing everything possible to address these problems. However, until we do, I think keeping weapons out of their hands that can and do inflict massive damage to others is the very fucking least we can do. To do...to think otherwise is the very definition of “crazy.”

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halfabreath · 7 years

Text

Always Halfway to Go, Part II

from the Holsom water aerobics AU. Part I. Read it on Ao3.

Everything was not fine.

They get through practices easily enough to both their surprise. It’s early in the preseason so practices are focused on building team unity and assessing skill, not one-on-one coach/player development, and Adam can’t decide if he’s excited or nervous for that day to come with Justin. One the one hand, it’s awkward. It’s weird and strange and neither of them really knows what to do about it, but on the other hand...Justin is an incredible athlete. He can play right and left equally well, he tracks the puck and pursues scoring opportunities even in scrimmages. His previous defense partner graduated last spring but he’s still first line material, even if they haven’t secured his partner for this season yet. Adam’s not sure why they haven’t assigned Pointdexter or Nurse to him yet, but Murray is inexplicably set on keeping those two together.

One night, hours into watching last season’s tape, Adam has a frightening thought: What would he have done if he hadn’t been drafted? Would he have come to Samwell anyway? Would they be partners? Would they even be friends? Would they be more? The questions are overwhelming enough, but the impossible scenarios racing through his mind are enough to make him pop a vicodin and flop into bed with only a mound of pillows for company.

Adam has to get over this crush. He tells himself that before every practice, after every practice, when he’s alone in his apartment doing his stretches. He mumbles it under his breath as he carefully steps into the pool a week later, only stopping when he wades over to where Linda, Diane, Beth, and Tabitha are gathered before class.

“Ladies,” He croons, pointing finger guns at Tabitha. They laugh and wave him off, amused by his antics, and he settles in and begins stretching his arms. “How’s it going, Beth?” He asks, trying not to notice Linda's ever-watchful gaze.

Beth flicks water at him playfully. “I saw you talking to our fearless leader after class.” She says, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially. It’s dramatic and usually Adam would eat it up because he loves gossip just as much as she does, but he just shrugs off her question and looks down at the water.

“Oh, yeah, he was helping me get to the bench. Remember when walking was easy?” He jokes, and for a minute it seems like she’s going to drop it (old people love talking about when they weren’t old, he’s discovered) but she presses on.

“Oh, I remember, but I’m not sure how getting his phone number helped you walk.” Beth glances at Justin, who’s currently stretching by the kickboard stand, but her mischievous smile vanishes the moment she looks back at Adam. “Oh, I’m sorry, honey.” She places a comforting hand on his forearm and Adam winces, knowing his face must be doing that stupid wistful look he falls into nowadays.

He pats the back of her hand, turning to face her fully. “Don’t worry, Beth. It’s just a weird situation. I - ” Adam looks up at Justin, then back down at the clear water. The pink scar on his knee, usually straight as an arrow, dances as it refracts beneath the surface. “It's not going to work out,” Adam says, and Beth squeezes his arm silently.

There’s clapping and an echo-y greeting and then Justin’s starting class. The next thing Adam knows he's waving his arms and making waves with a bunch of septuagenarians. He looks ridiculous and his knee doesn't feel much better than it did last week but he's been told by every doctor and physical therapist he's seen that progress will feel glacial. He feels like a glacier himself when he exits the pool after class, wet and freezing and walking across the slippery tile at the speed of a mile per century. Just when he thinks he's going to have to sit down and scoot over to the bench on his ass there's a warm presence at his side. Before he can protest Justin has a steadying arm around his back and a hand under his arm.

"Thanks," He mumbles, gaze trained on the floor, as if knowing exactly which tile he's on will help him keep his balance. He uses the same technique in the shower and it’s worked so far.

Justin tightens his grip on Adam’s arm. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to come today.” He says quietly, and Adam hates that he’s the reason Justin is so unsure. They take another step forward, somehow already in sync.

“I didn’t either until this morning.” Adam says truthfully. He hadn’t even set an alarm to wake up in time, but something had forced him out of bed. Justin smiles and Adam realizes, oh, that’s what.

“I’m glad you did. It’s like - you’re my coach, right? But here I’m kind of your coach so it feels more equal.” Justin raises his shoulder in a little shrug.

Adam can’t stomp down the burst of incredulous laughter that bursts from his throat. “Equal? You think me flopping around in the water is the same as watching you skate?” He doesn’t have words for how incredible Justin looks on the ice but he has a few choice ones for the mental picture he has of himself in the water.

Justin laughs and pats his side, and Adam's suddenly aware that he's still shirtless and soaking wet. “Well, you’re a very good flopper. Excellent form on your k-treads.” There's a smile in his voice but he also sounds genuine, as if he thinks Adam really is improving even though Adam couldn't agree less.

“Yeah, but I’m bad at every supine you throw at me.” Adam sighs, remembering how awkward he'd felt as he'd tried to maneuver himself into the position. It's been months since the accident but he still forgets that his body is going to fail him.

“You know, if you need any extra help with technique…” Justin trails off, and hope sparks in Adam’s chest for one perfect second before he carefully extinguishes it. He’s about to shake his head and explain why he can’t even if he wants when Justin continues. “You can ask Tabitha. She’s my best student.” Justin finishes his sentence just as they arrive at the bench, and Adam eases himself down carefully. He laughs, half in relief at arriving safely and half from the chirp.

“That’s cold, dude.” Adam says, leaning against the backrest as he begins to dry himself off in quick strokes. Justin watches him for a half second before looking around the room, checking over both shoulders before sitting down next to Adam. His knee presses into Adam's thigh, all light pressure and sudden warmth.

Justin sits in silence, hesitating for a long moment before speaking. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

Adam stills his hands, letting the towel fall to his lap so he can turn to face Justin head on. “Sure. What’s up?” He tries to keep his voice light despite the small ball of dread that's formed in the pit of his stomach. Maybe Justin's going to tell him he shouldn't come to aerobics anymore - maybe he's going to ask if Adam will tell Hall and Murray how inappropriate he'd been - maybe he's going to ask Adam to resign and --

Justin's voice halts his increasingly panicked thoughts. “Can we like, be friends? Here, at least? You’re my coach and I’ll listen to whatever you say at practice and during games and stuff but." He cuts himself off with a short huff, trying to find the right words. "I don’t want to stop joking around or talking with you when it’s just us. Or would that violate the Coach Honor Code?” Justin's brows are downturned in worry but there's a small smile on his lips, and he looks so hopeful Adam's immediate instinct to turn him down is halted in its tracks. Adam's at a crossroad. If he says yes, he'll get too close. If he says no, he'll be alienating himself from the one person at Samwell he has a connection with. Justin's waiting patiently for his answer, face steady even as his hands pick at the hem of his shorts nervously, and it's the small, vulnerable motion of his fingers that makes Adam's decision for him.

“You know," Adam begins slowly. "No one mentioned that during the swearing-in ceremony of the International Society of Collegiate Ice Hockey Coaches, so...Yeah. Let’s do it.” Justin's beaming, and Adam can't regret his decision. He'll be careful.

Adam’s sitting in his first class of undergrad at the ripe old age of 23 and he’s surrounded by infants. Samwell is a liberal arts college so he knew he’d be in some core curriculum classes with other freshmen but he hadn’t expected how fucking ancient he’d feel. The beard definitely doesn’t help, he thinks, scratching along his jaw awkwardly. The stares he’s getting just might be the catalyst he needs to shave it.

He slumps in his seat, trying to look less massive in the sea of tiny babies he’s found himself in. Adam seriously considers leaving but the seats next to him had filled up far before the rest of the lecture hall. He’s encircled by fresh-faced eighteen year olds who keep asking him for pencils and checking if they’re in the right room. He’s trapped, surrounded on all sides, and if one more freshman laughs and places a hand on his arm he thinks he’s going to snap. Just when he’s planned the perfect escape route three familiar faces walk in.

It’s the freshmen defense: Chow, Nurse, and Pointdexter.

It makes sense that they’re here - all four of them are starting at the same time and have the exact same schedule constraints with games and practices. The more he thinks about it the more obvious it becomes, and it’s weird. It’s so weird. He’s worked so hard to keep a healthy distance between himself and the team - between himself and Justin - and now it all seems so futile. Maybe he could - would it be so bad if - it just might be possible for them to -

His circling thoughts are interrupted by a sudden flurry of movement in front of him. Chow, Nurse, and Pointdexter have spotted him and they’re settled into seats directly below him. Chow opens his mouth to speak but the professor saunters in and begins class before he can say anything. The professor begins to talk about attendance and expectations and Adam tries to pay attention, he does, but every expectation and boundary he'd constructed has knotted up inside him, tangled and heavy as it sits in the pit of his stomach. He can hear Nurse and Pointdexter whisper-fighting throughout class and every now and again Chow looks back at him like he’s checking to make sure Adam’s really there.

Adam’s there, all right. He’s pinned in by youths and Frogs and he doesn't know how to feel about any of it.

The rest of class passes in a long, awkward blur. He hears something about due dates and plagiarism and gender neutral language but Adam can't concentrate on any of it, too busy trying to determine exactly where to draw the lines between being a coach and classmate and friend and more without becoming the weird old guy who's hanging out with teenagers.

He's drawn from his thoughts by the sudden movements of everyone around him standing up and shuffling out. Class has ended, and he hadn't even noticed. He's just shoved the syllabus into his bag when Nurse stands and turns around, looking relaxed even in the chaos of a hundred-odd people flooding out of the room.

"Hey, C and Dex and I are going to get coffee and chill on the beach before practice." Nurse pauses, expecting an answer, but Adam stays silent. "You could like, come with us if you wanted." He continues, steady gaze falling directly on Adam's face. It's unnerving, being the sole focus of someone's attention outside of the rink. When he's there he can hide behind drills and the literal barrier between himself and the players, since he doesn't get on the ice with them, but now it's him and the freshmen. He looks between them, wondering if he should go. They're five years his junior but apparently his peers but there's still the strangeness of being their coach and if he's willing to be their friend then he can be Justin's friend and that leads to being more than friends and he's gone over why that's not possible too many times to count so Adam just shakes his head, halting the increasingly panicked flow of thoughts.

"Thanks, Nurse, but I'll see you at practice." Nurse nods, accepting the dismissal easily but Chow visibly deflates. Adam's stomach twists when the goaltender gives him a little wave and heads out of the lecture hall, Nurse and Pointdexter close behind him. As he slings his backpack over his shoulder he realizes he's not only uncomfortable; he's disappointed. He wants to hang out with them. Awkward as it may be, he wants to consider them friends - all of them, the entire team. He'd thought that the draw he felt towards Justin was a one-off, a moment of weakness that's dragged on far too long, but he's getting too close to the entire team to avoid the slippery slope of familiarity. If he becomes their friend, he'll be tempted to get closer to Justin when he's already promised that he won't.

Adam sighs and makes his way out of the lecture hall, taking his time on the steps. He has to stop and reset his position before every step, too cautious to place his full weight on his bad knee. Forward, pause, forward, pause. The halting rhythm is all too familiar these days.

In all honesty, Adam can't tell if he just had one of the best or worst Friday nights of his life. He'd had fun, but the objective fact is that spending the evening with a sixty three year old woman in a library because he doesn't really know anyone else in Samwell other than the players he's coaching sounds absolutely pathetic. Still, hanging out with Beth during her late shift had been a good time. He just has to come to terms with the fact that his closest friend is an elderly librarian he met in water aerobics.

Adam's been out of Founder's for all of thirty seconds when he hears the shouting and laughter of familiar voices across the quad, and before he can stop himself he’s walking past the Well to investigate. When he gets closer he’s greeted by the sight of the Samwell Men’s Hockey team parading four mostly-naked men by the pond. He's content to let them walk past and continue their - what did they call it? Hazeapalooza? - when Knight, who's leading the procession, stops suddenly. He turns in one sharp motion and points directly at Adam. He can feel the weight of each gaze drop on him as each team member looks over in quick succession, but before he can try to get away the team crowds around him.

"Hey, boys." He begins, a little worried by the intense look Knight's directing towards him. The team is eerily silent.

Knight's mustache twitches as he looks Adam up and down. "Were you just in the library? Studying?" He asks slowly. Adam's tempted to lie, but he's standing in the quad directly in front of the library, the only building open this time of night. It's either that or pretend like he just walks through campus alone in the dark.

"Yes? Why do you ask?" Adam looks at the team, hoping one of them will help him out, but they're all looking to Knight.

"Right, right, right, right, right, I forgot, you're a student." The glint in Knight's eye makes him distinctly uncomfortable. Objectively, he knows he doesn't have anything to be ashamed. Samwell offered him the opportunity to take classes while he coached and Hall and Murray hadn't ever seemed worried about his class schedule. He hasn't done anything wrong. Knowing it doesn't ease the churning in his stomach.

He takes a step back, feeling trapped by the circle of hockey playes around him. He's bigger than them but they have the distinct advantage of numbers and full physical ability. Adam swallows. "Uh, technically." He admits.

“Yeah, he’s in our seminar!” Chow, blindfolded and almost naked, adds, and Knight's eyes light up. Adam groans, knowing that light doesn't bode well for him. Knight cackles in unabashed glee.

"Technically...You're a freshman." He continues, speaking slowly as his intentions become clearer and clearer. Adam doesn’t like the turn things are taking one bit.

Adam sighs, looking up at the dark sky, hoping he'll find some reservoir of patience he's buried deep. "I guess that's right."

"Which means you're a Frog." Knight points at him accusingly.

"No." Adam says firmly. "You have to be on the team to be a frog." Knight just takes another step forward, reaching out to place both hands on Adam's shoulders. Adam's not entirely sure why he's wearing sunglasses when it's already dark out; he can barely make out his own frowning reflection in the dark lenses.

Knight looks up at him for a long moment before nodding his head in one decisive burst of movement. "Yeah, you’re definitely a frog. We got another one!" Knight throws his hands in the air triumphantly as the team cheers, and Adam turns to Justin for help.

"He wants to initiate you." Justin explains. His sunglasses are resting on his forehead so Adam can at least see his eyes.

Adam shakes his head, holding up his hands. "Oh, I don't think that's appropri - " He sputters, but Knight refuses to drop it. He goes up on his toes to wind an arm around Adam's shoulders, bridging the height gap between them through sheer force of will.

"Fuck propriety! You're one of us, dude!" He yells directly into Adam's ear. Adam winces and leans away but Knight's holding on tight. He looks to Justin again, hoping he'll have some way to get him out of this, but Justin just shrugs and gestures to the team.

They’re all looking at him, and it’s clear that they want him to come. Even without the weirdness of being their coach, Adam’s hesitant to accept for another reason. They don’t actually want him, Adam Birkholtz, to come. They want Holtz, #4 for the Seattle Schooners and professional hockey player, to come. It feels disingenuous for him to accept when they won’t even get what they expect. Still...Chow somehow manages to look excited even when he’s blindfolded, and Bittle’s looking up at him with wide, hopeful eyes. Even Jack is smiling, and when he glances over at Justin, who’s worrying his bottom lip, he can’t say no. He wants to be a part of this, even if he's told himself time and time again that it's not a good idea.

"I can't formally be a part of this, but...I did park my car by Faber, and if you're heading that way..." He trails off, unable to keep from giving in. The team cheers and they immediately set off, traipsing past the commons, through the North Quad until they reach Faber. Larissa unlocks the doors and the team storms in, running through the halls as they whoop and yell. Adam walks behind them, wondering how long he'll have to stick around before everyone else realizes just how strange it is that he's there. No one seems to notice as they weave through the building until they reach the rink itself.

The cool air drapes over Adam's shoulders when he pauses just before stepping onto the ice. He holds onto the boards with a white-knuckled grip, trying to work up the nerve to step off the rubber pads. Justin turns back, somehow already attuned to Adam’s every mood, looking back at him with concern.

“You good, dude?” Justin asks, making his way back to stand across from him.

Adam nods, an automatic reaction. “Yeah, it’s just. It’s been a while.” Three months and four days, to be exact. Justin hums, a low, throaty sound, and leans against the boards.

"You haven't been on the ice since it happened?" Justin asks softly. Adam shakes his head. His only solace is that Justin has seen him in far more embarrassing positions during water aerobics. Adam can feel Justin's gaze on the back of his hand but he doesn't dare let go of the boards. He's not even on the ice yet and he's nervous.

"You can make it," Justin says suddenly. When Adam looks up his eyes are intense but earnest; he really believes what he's saying. "I mean it. You haven't fallen once after aerobics class and it's less slippery out here than it is by the pool." Adam stares at him, considering, and Justin meets his gaze.

Adam has imagined this moment too many times to count, and he never, not once, considered that his return to the ice would be during the initiation of a team he's not even on when he isn’t even fully healed. He’d always skipped the recovery in his head, even though he objectively knows he’d have to do months of skating to get back into NHL shape. When he was in the hospital, or moping at home post-op, or when his physical therapist bent his leg into the most painful position possible, Adam always imagined stepping onto home ice in Seattle, the crowd screaming as he joined his teammates in a pre-game warmup. He’s supposed to be in a Schooner’s uniform and skates, not a faded Dunder Mifflin t-shirt and sneakers thousands of miles away from home ice.

The rest of the team hasn’t noticed his hesitance, yet, focused as they are on guiding their freshmen and captain to center ice and setting up the coolers of beer and fucking fire cones, apparently? Justin is watching and waiting, though, and Adam can’t distract him from bonding with his team, so he takes in a deep breath and steps onto the ice for the first time since that horrible day in June.

It’s really not that bad. The conditioned air is cool in his lungs and Justin’s gaze is heavy on him, but he has enough traction and caution to take a few steps, and then a few more, until he’s walking by Justin to join the team on center ice.

“You coming?” He ask when he moves past, and Justin’s soft laugh is enough to give him the confidence to keep walking, slowly but surely, until he’s joined the crowd. It’s strange how normal it feels to stand among them, and despite the divide he’s been so aware of, he realizes that there’s actually space for him here. Larissa hands him a beer while O'Meara and Wicks include him in their pre and post fist bump conversation, and Adam thinks he just might get away with this when Knight appears right beside him.

“C’mon, brah, I can’t make you strip because of professionalism or whatever, but you’ve gotta kneel if you’re being initiated.” Knight says. He places his hands on Adam's shoulders, trying to push him towards the Frogs who are already kneeling on the ice.

Adam shakes his head and stands his ground "I really can't - " Knight has enough sense not to try to shove him but he cuts him off nevertheless.

“No! No more of that, dude, you’re a part of this now!” Adam can't really argue with that. He's here for better or for worse. He turns around and Knight's suddenly right there, in his space, and Adam defaults to the truth.

“I mean I can’t, as in physically can’t.” He explains, and Knight immediately flushes in embarrassment.

“I fucked up, man, I’m sorry. I can’t believe I didn’t take accessibility into account, that’s on me.” He pulls off his sunglasses, voice low and serious for the first time all evening. He claps a hand on Adam's shoulder, giving the muscle a firm squeeze. It's oddly comforting coming from a man wearing only hockey pants and a mustache straight out of a 1970's porno.

Adam shrugs. “Nah, you didn’t know, I’ll be fine.” It's impossible to know who on the team knows the full extent of his injury. It was announced when he retired but he's not sure if anyone on the team read the press release. No one ever brings up his injury.

“No, we have to have your back. Rans! Get over here!” Justin hadn't gone far and is back at Adam's side in a flash. He immediately feels more at ease. Knight places his other hand on Justin's shoulder and addresses him seriously. “You are hereby charged with the sacred god damn duty of keeping this man safe. Do you accept?” He asks.

Justin's biting his lip to keep from laughing but he manages to nod gravely. “I accept.”

Knight whoops, the sound immediately echoing around the rink. “Fuck yeah. Let’s get this fucking thing started.” He slaps them both on the back before running back over to the initiates to begin the proceedings.

Bittle sidles up to him when Justin gets distracted by the frogs bickering. The forward’s shoulders are slumped as he looks down at the tupperware he’s holding. “I can’t believe Shitty won’t let me give them just one lil’ sweater! I was freezing during this part.”

“I don’t have much experience with Samwell traditions, but I don’t think there are pies in hazing.” Adam says, hands Justin the beer Larissa had given him as he speaks. Justin takes it seamlessly, almost as if he'd been expecting it.

“Maybe not, but…” Bittle trails off, looking up at him with a calculating expression. “It would make me feel a whole lot better if just one of the frogs got some pie.” He sways, rocking up to his toes. “And Shitty said you’re a frog.” He continues, looking far too pleased with himself.

“He said that, but that doesn’t make it true.” Adam says, worried by the glint in his eye. Bittle might crumple into a ball at the first sign of physicality but now he's advancing on Adam with a steely determination. Adam might be taller and broader but he has a sinking suspicion he's not going to get out of this unscathed.

“But you’re a freshman, and I’m a sophomore, which means I get to make you do whatever I want because I’m hazing you! You’re being hazed, Coach Birkholtz!” Bittle attempts something akin to an evil laugh, but it's more endearing than frightening. Adam crosses his arms and looks down at him, one eyebrow raised.

“You know, calling me coach really takes the wind out of the sails of your sophomore authority.” He points out. Bittle frowns and draws the stack of tupperware and sweaters close to his chest.

“You’re being hazed, Holtz!” Bittle tries, sounding triumphant until he looks up at Adam. His face falls, and Adam realizes he must be doing that wistful thing again. “I’m sorry, did I get it wrong? Ransom always called you that when he watched your games.” Justin’s currently shotgunning the beer three feet away from them but he sputters when Bittle drops that piece of information, white foam dripping down his chin and throat. Adam coughs and looks down at the ice, trying desperately not to think about Justin watching a game just for him, maybe even wearing his jersey, and fuck, if he lets himself go down this path he'll have to lay on the ice to avoid embarrassment. Adam shakes his head forcefully, trying to knock the mounting fantasies away as Justin cleans himself off with one of the spare bandanas.

“No, that’s me. Well, that was me. It’s, uh, it’s been a while since someone called me that.” Adam looks down at the ice, raising his shoulders in a sheepish shrug. Eric Bittle is five feet and six and a half inches of Southern comfort and it feels safe to admit that he's not that guy anymore.

Bittle just nods, kind gaze trained on Adam's face. “We can call you something else." He says. "What other nicknames have you had? It feels weird to use your first name."

Adam can understand that. “Boys back in Juniors called me Birker.” He says with a wince, remembering the terrible nickname. Thankfully Bittle automatically shakes his head as Justin balks.

“Back in Toronto the boys all called me Ranser.” Justin commiserates, finally recovered from the onslaught of foam from his fumbled shotgun. Knight chooses that moment to wander by, sunglasses hanging off one ear and beer foam in his mustache.

“Oh, shit! Ransom,” He throws himself against Justin, wrapping one arm around his torso as he points to Adam with the other. “And Holster. Sick nicknames." Knight presses a sloppy kiss to Ransom's forehead, wandering off as quickly as he'd appeared. Adam barely notices him leave, too focused on the syllables echoing in his head long after the rink swallows the original sounds. Justin's staring straight at him, frozen.

Ransom and Holster. It's perfect. Something unknots in Holster's chest, some long-forgotten ball of tension he's been carrying around since he arrived at the first practice of the year. The shadowy corners of the rink seem brighter, the moonlight streaming through the windows more ethereal. Ransom's smiling and he is, too, and everything that seemed so wrong about his presence at Hazeapalooza fades away.

“Holster, you’re being hazed!” Bitty crows with joy, laughing in a way that would be maniacal if it wasn't so endearing.

“All right, all right, what horrors will you enact upon me?” Holster holds up his hands in surrender, completely at Bitty's mercy. He’s just a freshman, after all.

“You have to eat pie! So much of it! Before it gets cold.” Bitty thrusts the tupperware into his hands and opens the lid. The smell of fresh-baked pie wafts out immediately. He can tell that the crust is still perfectly crisp and flaky even though the warm pie’s been sitting in its own steam.

“Lay it on me, Bitty.” He says, and Bitty's smile grows impossibly wider. Yeah, Adam’s dreamed of returning to the ice a million times, but he never, not once, thought he’d end up eating still-warm-from-the-oven pie as he watches a mostly-naked Jack Zimmermann howl with his classmates. It’s nice to be Holster, for a little while. He's not sure how long it will last after tonight but for now, it's harmless. Most of the team won't even remember he's there, judging by the rate at which the cooler of beers empties. He watches the ceremony with the team but peels off when they decide to go back to the Haus.

"Holster!" Adam turns, body already attuned to the name. Justi - Ransom's jogging up to him, cheeks flushed. His sunglasses are hanging from the collar of his shirt and he's lost his bandanna somewhere in the chaos of initiation but he's smiling, clear and bright, and Holster can't help but grin in return. "I'm really glad you came, dude. Did you have fun?" He asks, idly rubbing his hands over his bare biceps to warm up now that they're out of the rink.

"I did. I didn't expect it, but I did." Holster says. Ransom's smile grows wider, and he holds out a fist for Holster to bump before he runs off to re-join the team. Adam feels warm as he wanders out to his car and drives home, his knuckles tingling long after he arrives at his apartment.

The first roadie is a deeply confusing experience.

Adam spends the first half of the bus ride in the front with Hall and Murray, bent over a clipboard as they determine the lineup and discuss various plays. It's only the first away game of the season so team cohesion isn't quite where it needs to be, but Adam knows that after a hard fought game and a night in a crappy hotel the team will be closer than ever. He discusses the state of the defensive line until his knee protests too much, and Hall and Murray finish up without him as he makes his way to the only open pair of seats that's tucked firmly in the middle of the bus. The team stares as he makes his way back, but the second he stretches out his leg on the seat they all seem to realize why he's ventured back there and the chatter picks up again. Justin is curled up in the row across from him, knees tucked against his chest as he devours the textbook in front of him, but before Adam can weigh the pros and cons of disturbing him Chow's head pops up from behind his head rest. Bittle's appears a moment later and he immediately gives Adam a small hand pie. It's still warm from the oven despite the fact that they've been in the bust for several hours, and Bittle just responds to his questioning look with a shrug.

"My moomaw - my grandma, that is - says that'll cure any ailment." Bittle's voice is matter of fact, as if his moomaw's advice is law. Adam nods, a little relieved that someone's actually acknowledging his injury, the huge, life altering thing that affects him every single day that no one ever wants to talk about.

"My grandma's the same way with her kneidel." Adam says. He's tried to keep the personal talk to minimum with the players, but even he can't pass up an opportunity to talk about his grandmother's cooking. Bittle's eyes light up and he immediately launches into a string of questions about the recipe, hardly stopping to breathe or to wait for Adam's answers. He's just asked about the texture for the third time when Jack cuts in.

He's seated next to Knight across the aisle from Bittle and Chow and doesn't look up from his book when he speaks. "Kneidel is another word for matzo balls, Bittle. You tried some at Passover last year." His voice is matter-of-fact but not cold, reminding but not chastising.

Shitty, who Adam had hoped was asleep, stirs in his seat. He leans against Jack, entering his space easily as he flops on top of the book. "Fuck yeah! Zimmerball soup was the tits!"

The conversation turns to last year's Haus-wide Manischewitz-heavy celebration, but Jack just turns the page and settles in his seat. It's astonishing how he can capture the team's attention with a few words but always relinquishes it the moment he's finished.

Adam leans his head back against the cool glass of the window and takes a bite of the hand pie. Blueberry, just like he'd mentioned at the first practice. The filling is warm and sweet and perfect and the crust gets all over his pullover and later, when he's brushing the final crumbs out of his beard in the home team's guest facilities after he's changed into his suit, he's surprised to find it may have actually worked.. He bends his knees experimentally, relieved that the muscles aren't seizing up after the long bus ride. He knows better than to put too much stock in it; there will be more ups and downs to come.

He stares at his reflection as he ties his tie, studying his own face intently. He looks better than he has in a while, but that's probably more to do with the fact he got his haircut at an actual barber shop instead of doing it himself. The navy suit he's wearing looks nondescript; he's hoping between the beard and the neutral color he won't stand out much.

The dressing room is a whirlwind of activity as the boys rush back and forth to find their gear. Jack's taping his stick with an intensity that's frankly frightening and Chow's eyeing a wayward puck warily as Knight's latest profane-laced rant carries over the general din of thirty-odd men clamoring about. He stops by Nurse and Pointdexter's booths to make sure they haven't started fighting yet (they have), swings by Bittle to give him a word of encouragement (I'm still thinking we can make a play out of that), and ends up by Justin just as he's lacing up his skates.

"Nursey and Dex still fighting?" Justin asks offhand as he ties the laces with sure movements. He looks up just as Adam's about to reply, eyes growing wide. Adam turns, concerned that something terrible is happening directly behind him, but all he sees is Ollie and Wicks taping each others shinguards. Weird, but not at all enough to warrant Justin's wide-eyed stare. When he turns Justin is looking him up and down, eyes tracing over the lines of his suit, and -- oh.

He must look better than he thought.

Adam coughs, once, and waits until Ransom's eyes are back on his face before replying. "They were, but I calmed them down."

Justin looks up at him in surprise, eyebrows almost reaching his hairline. Oh, no. He's cute. "How'd you manage that?"

"You just have to remind them why they work well together." Adam explains with a half-shrug. Justin looks dubious and glances over at the frogs, but they're both pulling on their uniforms in relative peace. "Since we've got this three man rotation going you'll be there as a buffer." Adam says as he sits down in the empty cubby beside Justin, stretching his leg out in front of him. Standing for the next three periods isn't going to be pleasant. Justin's eyes flicker down to his knee; Adam can tell he's already planning Monday's water aerobics class in his mind.

"So I have to keep them from fighting and play?" Justin asks, lips turning down in a worried frown. He's been caught between the freshman too many times to count.

Adam immediately shakes his head. "No, I'll keep them from fighting. You just play and when they see your focus, they'll be focused, too." True to Adam's word, Nurse and Pointdexter are both concentrated on the game from the first puck drop to the last buzzer. They bicker between periods but Adam's always within earshot, stepping in to diffuse any chirps that threaten to become more. He's just switched their gloves back to the rightful owner (how on earth did they manage to trade mid-game?) when Larissa appears by his elbow. She's a steady, calming presence in the chaos of the dressing room.

"Hey, Larissa, did you see where I left that whiteboard?" He asks, glancing around the immediate area. He moves a bag to the side with his foot, hoping it hasn't fallen to the floor. The manager is silent beside him, but when he turns she's gazing up at him head on. "Larissa." Adam repeats, confused by her silence. They stare at each other, as Adam scrolls back through every interaction he's ever had with her, trying to determine what he's done wrong. Nothing's changed, they've barely even interacted one one one since -

Adam sighs, wondering if his appearance at Hazeapalooza will finally stop haunting him. He glances around the room and leans in, hoping no one will hear him. "Lardo, do you know where my whiteboard is?" Adam tries.

The change is instantaneous. She immediately turns towards him, lips turned up in a satisfied smile. "It's right by Ransom's cubby, and here," she reaches into her pocket and produces a marker. "Is your marker. Let me know if you need anything else, Holster." He takes the marker and she's gone, walking to check in with Jack with another roll of tape already in her hand. Adam doesn't have time to dwell on the interaction, confusing as it was, and he whistles for the defensemen to gather around while he goes over their plays.

One victory later Adam's laying on a lumpy hotel bed, staring up at the ceiling while HGTV plays in the background. It's either that or QVC, and the last thing Adam needs is to order a bunch of shit he doesn't need because he's trying to distract himself from the strange place he's found himself. Just when he'd thought he'd let go of Holtz for good he'd suddenly become Holster. It's not just a nickname - it never is for hockey players. It's two syllables of possibility and a giant step over the line of professionalism and worst of all, he loves it.

When he'd been hurt last June he hadn't just lost his career; Adam had, for the first time in his life, found himself without a team. Holtz had the Schooners, Birker had the Waterloo Black Hawks, and Adam has no one but Holster - Holster has Samwell Men's Hockey.

Adam closes his eyes and lets himself imagine it: living in the Haus, having his own jersey, playing with them instead of coaching them. It feels right, too right, like there's a whole life just waiting for him in some alternate universe. Adam groans and heaves himself out of bed, needing to put some distance between himself and those thoughts. He can spiral all he wants when he gets back to his apartment, but on the road he has to keep it together.

Sighing, Adam grabs the ice bucket and his key and steps out into the hall. The fluorescent lights are harsh compared to the soft glow of the television he'd become accustomed to over the last hour. He rubs his eyes as he wanders towards the ice machine, knee protesting every step. When he turns the corner he jerks in surprise, unprepared to find Murray standing in front of the ice machine in a SMH sweatshirt and mussed hair. Murray nods, a quick greeting. They stand in silence, both waiting for the churning machine to fill the bucket.

"Good work tonight, Holster." Murray says suddenly, a sly smile playing on his lips. Adam almost drops the ice bucket. Murray just laughs softly, shoulders shaking as the ice machine grumbles beneath his hands. "Yeah, I overheard Larissa's power play." He explains, releasing the button once his ice bucket is full. The machine quiets to a soft hum.

"I know it's unprofessional," Adam begins, shrugging helplessly. "They just...decided." He says lamely, not wanting to lie but unable to say that he got the nickname when he joined in at initiation. Murray just laughs again and shakes his head.

"No, I think it's fine. You're not much older than they are, after all." Adam's stomach drops as his world tilts to the side, and Murray's standing there holding a bucket of ice like he hasn't just changed everything. "It's good for you to be close to them. They look up to you, you know." Murray says. He claps a hand on Adam's shoulder as he passes by, leaving Adam by himself but not quite as alone as before.

#water aerobics au #always halfway to go #ayeeeee it's long #and it took a while to get here but #here friends #my thursday gift to you #holsom fanfic #omgcp #check please!#check please fanfic #adam holster birkholtz #holsom af #justin ransom oluransi #noel writes

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heavnofhell · 7 years

Text

For Every Little Wonder

Inspired by a headcanon developed with @whatisitlikeinyourfunnylilbrains and based in our verse “Bless This Home” (Homemade Heaven)

{also tagging @charlie-bradcherry (our many fluffy discussions contributed greatly) @theboyk-ng and @soulllesssam

There are many things about Earth and humanity that Lucifer is still learning, some of it eagerly, but most of it, begrudgingly. Sam has given him a mobile phone - one which the human programmed first. Of course, it hasn’t taken Lucifer long to understand the basic functions of the device, taking to technology surprisingly quickly when he has a reason. In this case, the main purpose it to keep Sam company while he’s having a slow day at work, sending him text messages (which he refers to as texted messages, regardless of the number of times Sam has corrected him) or answering his calls during his breaks.

Ever one to encourage the advancement of knowledge, Sam is keen to show the Archangel all of the little gadgets and luxuries of modern-day society. After the mobile phone is mastered, he moves on to the PC he keeps at home. Lucifer doesn’t take to this quite so quickly, and after a few articles and videos that make even Sam question the sanity of humanity, the man decides that this is something better left unexplored.

He does show him, however, the convenience of online shopping - explaining to Lucifer that this was how he and his brother would obtain some rare artifacts they needed when all else failed. He stands just behind the seated Archangel, a small smile on his lips as he watches him scroll and click his way through the endless offerings on the website. Once again, however, he feels the sting of his good intentions when, with furrowed brows and parted lips, Lucifer looks up from the photo of a throw pillow adorned with an image of a shirtless Nicolas Cage, his sapphire eyes both amused and confused.

“That’s uh...” Sam stammers for a response, clearing his throat and swallowing down hard as his cheeks tinge the lightest pink. “Let’s go check on the dogs, yeah?” He leans over, reaching out and quickly closing the laptop, dropping a kiss to Lucifer’s temple as he mutters quietly, “And quit looking at me like that.”

He leaves it alone after that, deciding that, just maybe, Lucifer is better off being naive to the web culture - he’s replaced enough of their appliances already, all guilty of pushing the Archangel just beyond his patience threshold. But then, one day, while working at the firm, his phone vibrates with a notification, an email message alerting him of a charge to his checking card. The amount is negligible, something around thirty dollars, and he makes a mental note to call the bank later - one which he quickly forgets.

It’s not until a week later, when he comes home after a particularly trying day - one which prompted him to skip out an hour early - that the little mystery reveals itself. Early or not, Lucifer rarely missed the sound (or was simply a feeling?) of Sam walking down their driveway and through the door. But today is different. Today, the Archangel is nowhere to be seen.

“Lucifer?” Sam calls for his other half, but the downstairs rooms are eerily quiet. For just one fraction of a second, Sam feels that old, familiar rush of panic - an almost paranoid reaction that could only come from living a life that teetered on the precipice of death and destruction. He takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly and silently reassuring himself. Lucifer is an Archangel. He’s fine.

The racing heartbeat beneath his ribcage belies the cool calm he’s pushed onto his features, and he moves with footsteps that are far more hurried than they would be on a usual day. Subconsciously (or maybe he knows exactly what he’s doing), he scans each room for signs of struggle, looking for anything out of place. It almost disturbs him more when he sees everything is just as it always is, but he keeps moving.

There is a part of him that wants to call out to the angel again, but he’s still in hunter mode, despite his best attempts, and disturbing the silence would feel too haphazard and sloppy. He moves through the living room and back into the dogs’ room. When he finds it devoid of life, he walks to the far end, looking through the window to see their pets are out in the yard, a few sleeping, others playing, but no sign of Lucifer.

While he would normally be sure to greet the little pack, he simply can’t bring himself to spare the time right now. Moving quickly back through the room, he pushes his way back into the living room, leaving the door open behind him as he heads straight for the staircase, ascending the steps with a light, swift gait.

He makes for their bedroom immediately, and at this point, he is absolutely certain he’ll open the door and find the Archangel perched on his normal place upon the window seat. Unfortunately, that isn’t the case. Sam pushes the partially open door, stepping into an empty room, his brows furrowing as he considers what this might mean.

He isn’t given time to leap to any conclusions, however, the sound of quiet splashing reaching his ears through the closed bathroom door. Of course. The shower. It is Lucifer’s safe haven - a place that makes him feel at peace when the claws of his memories dig a little too deep. It is unusual for him to shower alone when he has the option of waiting for the human to offer him company (which Sam always does), and Sam can’t help but wonder if something has happened to upset his angel.

He approaches the door, knocking softly and waiting just a moment before letting himself in. The sight that greets him stops him dead in his tracks, his jaw dropping slightly as he simply stares in silence.

The Archangel is sitting on the floor in the middle of their enormous, tiled shower, his legs crossed and a large, pink bottle next to him, another lying on its side a few feet away. There is maybe half a foot of water around him; not that one could tell from simply looking, the view obstructed by the plethora of bubbles that surround him.

And they are everywhere - they are covering every last inch of the tiles, and they are clinging to the pale skin of the Archangel, dripping down his torso, and shining brightly in his hair. Sam looks on for another moment, watching curiously as Lucifer picks up the bottle beside him and turns it upside down, squeezing ample amounts of pink gel into the pool he’s created.

“Lucifer...” Sam’s voice breaks through the sound of the running water, the faucet still set to run on full blast, causing the bubbles to swirl and grow. At once, the Archangel’s eyes turn up to the human, his hands loosening their grip on the bottle as he stares up at his other half in silence. But he doesn’t need to say anything - his eyes are soft and happy, his blond hair is in complete disarray, and his cheeks are flushed and rosy from the heat of the bath.

Before he even takes a moment to reconsider, Sam is moving right into the shower, his socks soaked through in a heartbeat, his clothing soon to follow as he kneels down and pulls the slightly bemused Archangel into a sudden hug.

“Sam - your clothing -”

“What are you doing, sweetheart?” Sam chuckles quietly, pulling back again and looking his Archangel over with an amused smile, his eyes filled with relief.

“It’s bubble bath.” Lucifer lifts the bottle as a way of explanation, his own expression turning uncertain as he watches Sam’s reaction. “I found it on the computer. And since we don’t have a bathtub...” He gestures vaguely toward the center of the shower, and Sam’s eyes follow, another laugh tumbling from his lips when he sees a piece of Tupperware covering the drain. He turns back, shaking his head and reaching up to brush the bubbles out of Lucifer’s hair, glancing to the bottle in his hand and laughing yet again when he sees the label.

“Johnson’s? Luci - you smell like a baby.”

“I... what?” Lucifer scrunches his nose in confusion, looking between the bottle in his hand and Sam’s entertained expression.

“Nevermind.” Sam smiles, leaning closer to kiss his forehead. With a sigh, he sits back on his heels, reaching up to begin unbuttoning his shirt with a small shrug. “Mind if I join you?”

“I think you already have.” Lucifer chuckles this time, taking a dollop of suds in his hand and plopping them carelessly onto Sam’s head. “And now you smell like a baby.”

“No - now I smell like a curious Archangel who is far more tech-savvy than I’d been led to believe.”

“...fair enough.” Sam shook his head at the response, shrugging off his shirt and tossing it as close to the sink as he could manage before turning back to admire the Archangel again.

“You’re free to buy whatever you want. Just... maybe check with me before you order anything too wild, okay?” He leaned closer to place another kiss on Lucifer’s damp skin, but stopped short when he saw the look of amused guilt in his icy eyes.

“Lucifer... what is it?” Sam’s tone was even and stern, but there was a tiny curve to the corners of his mouth, his brow raised in expectation.

“Does this mean you’d like me to send back the Custom Nicolas Cage Pillowcase Standard Size of 20 inches by 30 inches? Because, Sam - I gotta tell ya - it really goes with the theme you’ve got going in the guest bedroom.”

{A/N: guys. WHY??? }

#samifer #Sam Winchester #Lucifer #ficlet #fluff #supernatural fanfiction #spn fic #so much fluff you are gonna rot your teeth

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gododoyoung-blog · 6 years

Text

Renjun isn’t really looking forward to having a roommate during his second year at college. He’d thought his good luck streak to get single dorms for his first year would never end, but alas, he was unfortunately very wrong. Despite being a very sociable person, he doesn’t like people getting too close into his personal space. Objectively, he knows he might be a bit… odd to others. Of course, to his own self he thinks he’s normal and everyone else is weird. But judging by the looks on his friends faces when he’s caught talking to himself in a language that isn’t Korean, he suspects that to the outside world he’s rather strange.

So, Renjun doesn’t really want to deal with anyone in such close quarters. His dorm is his safe haven where he can shed the constraints of ‘normal’ society and fully be himself. He doesn’t want to have to hide in his own dorm, after all this is pretty much his home now.

He’s told that his new roommates name is Na Jaemin and that’s all the information he has. He whines about it to his friends, but they mostly just laugh at him. They’re full of positivity though, reassuring him that everything will be fine; his roommate will be awesome and accept him just fine. Renjun isn’t so sure. He loves his small group of friends, he really does and is grateful that he has them. But, it was pure luck that caused them to get together, and Renjun hasn’t been feeling very lucky lately. Renjun just nods along and manages a smile because their optimism is appreciated, even if he doesn’t share it.

When Renjun thought about what type of roommate he’d get, he toyed with the idea of jocks, wannabe scene kids, hipsters and everything in between. In a moment of pure insanity, he even toyed with the idea of getting someone who was just like him. But never, in his wildest dreams, did he factor in the possibility that his new roommate would be attractive. No one ever told him that his roommate was going to look this good.

Na Jaemin is the vision of beauty as he stands in the hall. He’s a little taller than Renjun, with light brown hair and two piercings on the edge of each ear and his eyes rimmed with smudged black. Jaemin is probably the most beautiful and interesting-looking person Renjun has ever seen and he immediately wants to start to recite Shakespeare’s sonnets to him, but he doesn’t think that would go over very well. He’s not very sure how long he stands there just staring at him, wondering what he ever did to deserve such a gorgeous roommate.

The slight trance is broken by the sound of Jaemin clearing his throat. “Uh, are you going to let me in?” Jaemin asks, his eyebrow is raised but there’s a look of amusement on his face that makes Renjun blush just a little bit. Not that he’d admit it.

“Yes, yes, of course.” Renjun says, stumbling over the words as he steps back and holds the door open wider so Jaemin and his bags can get in. “You, uh, you need help with anything?”

“Just, uh, help me get all the other stuff in?” Jaemin asks, turning to look at him with a small grateful smile. “And then just tell me where everything goes, and I think I should be good.”

Renjun’s blush deepens slightly as he goes to help Jaemin with the rest of his stuff and he doesn’t really know why.

(Renjun has a night-time ritual of saying goodnight to every object in the room. He tries to do it quietly the night Jaemin arrives but he’s still caught. Renjun tries to ‘just kidding’ his way out of the awkward situation, but after Jaemin looks at him weirdly for a few moments, he just shrugs and joins in.

Renjun’s pretty sure there are tears in his eyes as he watches Jaemin say goodnight to the fake flower on Renjun’s desk.)

It’s no surprise to Renjun that Jaemin fits in with his little group of friends like a well-worn glove. As the days go by, it’s almost as if there was a Jaemin shaped hole just waiting to be filled. He can’t even believe that he was so apprehensive about having a roommate. Jaemin is pretty much perfect. He’s kind and does his share of the chores without complaint and doesn’t make Renjun feel uneasy in his own dorm.

His main concern about having a roommate was how they’d react to Renjun’s idiosyncrasies, but he begins to realise that maybe he never had to worry about that all. Jaemin doesn’t understand him, but he doesn’t make fun of him or make Renjun feel like he’s ‘less than’. Often times Renjun is on the receiving end of Jaemin’s confused yet amused smile, but never is he on the receiving end of mocking and vicious teasing. Sometimes, when they meet up for lunch, Jaemin asks him what stories Renjun’s giant stuffed moomin had to share but the question is never malicious in nature. Renjun’s sure that Jaemin isn’t really interested, he thinks Jaemin’s doing it more for Renjun’s sake, but the other guy listens attentively when Renjun gives his answer and asks all the right questions and that makes Renjun feel really, really nice.

(One night, Renjun comes back late from classes to find Jaemin sitting on his bed and talking to his moomin. When Renjun asks what’s going on, Jaemin looks up at him with a blush and a slight smile. “He missed you, so I was trying to cheer him up.” If it were anyone else, Renjun would think they were making fun of him. But he knows, he knows, Jaemin means what he says and Renjun can’t help but love him a little bit.)

Renjun begins to realize that having a roommate as nice and sweet as Jaemin is a good thing. However, having a roommate as attractive and gorgeous as Jaemin is decidedly Not A Good Thing. Renjun’s never really had to deal with this before; he’s dated, he’s had sex, he’s crushed on people. But the sheer level of attraction he has for Jaemin takes him by surprise sometimes. It doesn’t help that he often sees Jaemin shirtless and sometimes in just his underwear.

Once, Jamein walked in from training, sweaty and breathing hard. He took his shirt off and Renjun was nearly overcome with his desire to lick every inch of Jaemin’s skin. Even though Renjun’s brain doesn’t work like everyone else’s, he can tell that having such an intense attraction to his friend and roommate cannot end well. He tries his hardest to push all the thoughts of what he wants Jaemin to do to him - what he wants to do to Jaemin from his mind, but when Jaemin walks around their room looking as good as he does, it’s probably the most difficult thing Renjun’s ever had to do.

He knows that Jaemin would probably never feel the same way. Yes, Jaemin appears to be fond enough of him, but Jaemin is honestly way out of his league. He’s beautiful and normal and their worlds just won’t mesh.

It doesn’t stop Renjun from wanting.

Even on days when they don’t have lectures together, Jaemin walks with Renjun to class. Often times it’s completely out of Jaemin’s way, but Jaemin doesn’t question the weird things that Renjun does so Renjun extends the same courtesy to him. They walk side by side with synced strides, their hands brush every so often and Renjun tries not to giggle.

“You’re sure you have everything you need for this quiz, right?” Jaemin asks. Renjun thinks he worries too much, but he won’t admit that he kind of likes having someone like Jaemin be concerned about him. “You checked before you left the dorm?”

“I’m positive.” Renjun replies, nodding. “I checked twice, you watched me remember?”

“I’m just making sure you’re all prepared.”

“Ah, Nana, if you keep this up I’m going to think that maybe you like me,” Renjun says in a singsong voice, he hopes that Jaemin can’t tell that he maybe wants that to be true. Just a little bit. “I’m flattered. “

“Shut up, you dork.” Jaemin says, shoving his shoulder a little but there’s that amused and fond look on his face that’s always directed at Renjun. It makes Renjun’s heart flutter but he refuses to acknowledge it. “Fine, I’ll just not give two fucks about you anymore. Seriously, I don’t know how you managed before I came along.”

“Pretty easily, actually,” Renjun begins, but he’s cut off by someone shouting.

“Hey, weirdo!” The voice says, harsh and cutting, aiming to hurt. “Still talking to desks and shit? How’s your imaginary friend?”

Renjun freezes in his tracks. He’s dealt with low-key mocking before during college, but nothing like this. Around him he can hear people laughing and it takes him back to high school. At his sides, his fingers clench into fists; his nails bite into his palms. They’re still mocking him, but he can’t hear what they’re saying through the rush of blood in his ears. He wants to run and find somewhere safe, but he can’t run. He’s in college, he’s an adult, and he has to face this.

But he can’t face it, he’s never been able to face it. He can feel tears springing to his eyes and he kind of wants to die or at least disappear. He doesn’t do these things on purpose, he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself. He can’t help it when the flowers sing and the sky tell him stories and the desks ask him about his day.

“You got something to say?” Another voice cuts through the sea of taunting and Renjun knows it’s Jaemin, can hear him clear as day. He’s acutely aware of Jaemin somehow. Jaemin sounds angry, very angry, and far away. Renjun looks up to see that Jaemin has left his side and is walking towards the instigator. “You got something to say, asshole? You think you’re fucking funny?”

The guy laughs. “And who exactly do you think you are? Hey, weirdo, you actually make a human friend?”

Renjun’s not sure what happens next, but suddenly, Jaemin has the guy up against the wall with his face toward it and his arm twisted painfully behind his back. Jaemin presses in hard and the guy lets out a cry and Renjun winces. “Apologize. Right fucking now. Or I swear to god I’ll make you regret any mean thing you ever even thought about him.”

Renjun’s never heard Jaemin sound so positively livid, it’s like he’s seething with anger and Renjun’s a little scared even though the wrath isn’t directed at him. The guy mumbles something, Renjun can’t even be sure actual words left his mouth but he wants this to be over so he nods sharply, acting as if he heard and accepted it. But Jaemin snorts, twists the arm more and Renjun hears a sickening pop. “I couldn’t fucking hear you, and I’m right behind you. Apologize properly, douchebag.”

“That’s not necessary, Jaemin,” Renjun pleads, wanting nothing more than to just get to his class. “Jaemin please.”

“No. This is necessary, Injunnie.” Jaemin says, but he doesn’t look away from the offender. “He needs to apologize.”

“I’m sorry.” The guy says, just a tad louder, but Renjun hears him and he nods again, hoping it will get Jaemin off his case.

“Good.” Jaemin says, his voice sickly sweet and dripping dark promise. “Was that so hard? Now.” He leans in close, hissing into the guy’s ear but loud enough that everyone can hear. Renjun can feel the tension rolling off him in waves. “If I ever hear you making fun of him again, I will kick your ass.” He steps away and looks at all the stunned bystanders. “That goes for all of you! If I hear any of you, making fun of Renjun again I’m kicking all of your asses. You don’t even deserve to have his name in your mouth. You hear me?”

There’s a murmur around the crowd and Jaemin barks, “Do I make myself clear?” A chorus of yes sounds and Jaemin nods sharply, letting the guy’s arm go and making his way back to Renjun. He puts his arm around Renjun’s shoulders. “Let’s go, Injunnie.” He says, his voice is suddenly soft and fond, in direct contrast to the sharp force it was earlier.

“Why did you do that?” Renjun asks, feeling smaller than ever. “You really didn’t need to do that. He’s just an idiot, I have human friends. I have you and the others.”

“I could see you weren’t going to do anything.” Jaemin replies. “You can’t let people treat you like that, Injunnie.”

“It doesn’t happen often,” Renjun insists through a mumble. “This is the first time since high school that someone did something like that.”

“Well it shouldn’t have happened.” Jaemin says sternly. “You’re fantastic, fucking fantastic. You’re unique and amazing and people who can’t see how great you are don’t deserve to even think about you. And you shouldn’t worry about how they perceive you. If people can’t realize how awesome you are, then it’s their loss.”

Renjun bites his lip, looking down at the ground. His friends are the best, but he’s never had someone who believed in him like Jaemin does. He turns to Jaemin and gives him a small smile. “Thanks, Nana.” He says quietly.

Jaemin smiles at him, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Anytime, Injunnie.”

They continue walking to Renjun’s class, Jaemin’s arm around Renjun’s shoulder and Renjun feels like he might be falling in love just a little bit.

“Hey, Injunnie?” Jaemin asks, as they near Renjun’s lecture hall. “Do you have an imaginary friend?”

Renjun blushes but nods. “Yeah…”

“How come you haven’t introduced me? What’s their name?”

Renjun looks at Jaemin, looks for any possible sign that he’s being teased. But Jaemin looks dead serious, and Renjun doesn’t think that Jaemin would start making fun of him now. Rejun bites his lip. “Her name is Zhi Ruo. She’s been through a lot. She’s very shy.”

Jaemin hums, nodding. When they get to Renjun’s lecture hall, Jaemin opens the door for him. “Well, tell her I’d be delighted to meet her,” he says to Renjun with a smile before closing the door in behind him.

(Later that night, Zhi Ruo’s too shy to actually talk to Jaemin, so Renjun has to be their liaison. When Jaemin has to leave to go to get ready for bed, Zhi Ruo confides in Renjun that she likes Jaemin a lot and thinks Jaemin is good for him. Renjun wants to ask what she means by that, but he’s not sure he’s ready to hear her answer.)

“I think I have a crush on Jaemin.” Is how Renjun greets Chenle as he barges into his dorm room. Jaemin’s been living with him for a few months, and as Renjun spends more time with him, he can actually feel the crush forming. He blushes around Jaemin more than he should and that amused smile that graces Jaemin’s face when Renjun does something the world deems as silly makes Renjun’s heart flutters in his chest. Jaemin indulges his quirks more than anyone ever has before. He’s even tried to learn Renjun’s secret language, and it makes the butterflies appear whenever Renjun gets a text from Jaemin in said language.

“I’m sorry,” Chenle says, not looking up from where he’s working on a research paper. “I’m supposed to be surprised?”

“Dude.” Renjun replies, closes the door behind him and flops onto Chenle’s bed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s kinda obvious.” Chenle tells him, still not looking up from his research paper. “You’re totally smitten by the guy. When Sooyoung from his foundation class asked him out for coffee I thought you were going to strangle her. The look on your face, oh my god, I’ve never seen you look so murderous. Not even when Jeno accidentally got paint all over your final assignment last year.”

“She’s not good for him.” Renjun murmurs into Chenle’s pillow.

“And why not?”

“I don’t know. But I’ll figure it out.”

Chenle laughs at him and Renjun can hear the sound of the chair spinning around. “You’re so gone for him, dude.” He says when Renjun lifts his head to look at his friend. “And it’s pretty obvious. Kind of disgustingly obvious, if I’m honest.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.” Renjun sounds, but it sounds unconvincing even to his own ears.

“Yeah, yeah,” Renjun’s best friend chuckles. “I don’t know, man, you could try asking the others but they’d probably tell you the same thing. You’re pretty obvious with your little crush, you get heart eyes whenever you see him.”

“That’s not true.” Renjun mumbles, pressing his face into Chenle’s pillow again.

It’s probably true. Who is he kidding?

“I hope you don’t have any work to do tonight, Injunnie.” Jaemin announces as he walks into their room. “Well, even if you do have work to do, you’re not doing it.” Renjun looks up from his phone to see Jaemin grinning at him and holding two bottles that look like vodka bottles but are filled with a cloudy liquid.

“What the fuck is that?” Renjun asks, wrinkling his nose as he puts his phone away. Whatever it is, he’s probably going to drink it if Jaemin tells him to.

“Homemade cake vodka,” Jamein says proudly as he closes the door behind him with his foot and makes his way over to Renjun’s bed. He hands one of the bottles to Renjun and sits on the corner of the bed. “My friend from one of my classes made some bottles of these and gave me a couple.” He sounds so excited, and even though Renjun isn’t a really drinker he doesn’t want to ruin Jaemin’s fun.

“So,” Renjun says, rolling the bottle between his hands. “What are we going to do with them?”

“We’re gonna drink them, duh.” Jaemin says, opening up the bottle he’s holding. “Let’s play a game or something. Ever heard of two truths and a lie?” He takes a swig from his bottle as he waits for Renjun’s answer. “God, that’s delicious.” He murmurs, licking his lips as he takes another drink.

“No.” Renjun answers, trying and failing not to watch the motion of Jaemin’s swallows. “What’s that?”

“Okay, so, like,” Jaemin begins. “It’s a fun way to get to learn more about each other too. Basically, for example, I say three things; two of them are truths, and one of them is a lie. You have to guess what the lie is. If you get it right, I have to drink. If you get it wrong, you have to drink. Make sense?”

Renjun nods, forcing himself to meet Jaemin’s gaze. “Makes sense, yeah. Can you go first?”

Jaemin nods, sipping the vodka once more and grinning at Renjun. His face is already slightly flushed from the alcohol and Renjun desperately wants to kiss the apples of his cheeks. “I look forward to learning more about you, Huang Renjun.”

An hour passes and Renjun learns that Jaemin had his first kiss at twelve, cried when Rue died in the hunger games, broke both arms and legs during various skating accidents, and a multitude of other insights into Jaemin’s life. An hour passes and Renjun and Jaemin are also very, very drunk.

“Okay, okay,” Renjun says, hiccupping once. Somewhere around the half hour and forty five minute mark, he got the hiccups and they laughed about it for at least five minutes. “My turn. Do you even have any vodka left?”

“I’ve got enough,” Jaemin replies, taking a sip even when he shouldn’t have been. “Go for it.”

“Alright, alright,” Renjun follows Jaemin’s example and sips from his bottle. “Number one, I had a pet rock named Su-lin. Number two! I was on my school jenga team. And three! When I first saw you, I thought you were the most beautiful, entrancing and gorgeous person I ever laid eyes on. I still think that.”

Jaemin scoffs. “This is easy. The third one is the lie, you filthy fibber.”

Renjun looks at him with as sly a smile as he can manage. “Drink.” He says proudly.

Wide eyes look at him in astonishment. “You’re serious?” Jaemin says incredulously. “Are you fucking with me, c’mon play fair.”

Renjun chuckles. “I’m serious, man. Drink the vodka, you’re wrong.” He leans into Jaemin a little as the other guy shakes his head and takes a drink. “I wanna go again.” Renjun asks, and he begins his statements without waiting for Jaemin to reply. “I’m gonna do two lies and a truth. One, my middle name is Voldemort. Two, I have all seasons of dance moms on Netflix. Three, I kinda maybe wish you’d like me back.”

There’s a moment of silence before Jaemin answers. “Number three’s the truth.” And his voice is very, very soft; if Renjun were sober it’d probably be reason enough to pause and take a step back. But he’s not sober, he’s really fucking hammered, so he just giggles and nods. “You’re right, Nana.”

Before he can take his punishment drink, it’s really not a punishment because the cake vodka tastes so good, Jaemin leans in and kisses him.

Even in his drunken state, Renjun is stunned. But, he’s a joyous kind of stunned and he laughs into Jaemin’s mouth, happy and bright as he kisses back. Somehow, they manage to get their nearly empty bottles on Renjun’s bedside table before falling into each other. Jaemin’s on top of Renjun and cupping his face as he kisses him again. Renjun can taste the sweet alcohol on his breath.

“You’re not fucking around right?” Jaemin gasps into his mouth. “You mean what you said?”

“Every word.” Renjun manages breathily as he kisses Jaemin desperately. “Every single word, Na Jaemin.”

“Good.” Jaemin replies, nipping at Renjun’s lower lip and then soothing it with his tongue. Jaemin alternates between licking into Renjun’s mouth hungrily and sucking on his lower lip and tongue. He pins Renjun to the bed with his body, rocking his hips lightly onto Renjun’s and smiling when Renjun lets out a choked whimper. Jaemin changes his kisses every so often, and the lack of a constant motion threatens to make Renjun lose his mind, Jaemin kisses him slow and deep all seeking tongue and then vicious and almost all teeth. Jaemin’s hands move from Renjun’s face down his body, digging into his sides and making Renjun arch into him desperately.

Renjun can’t help the way his own hands start wandering, he slides his fingers under Jaemin’s shirt and drags his fingers over the planes of Jaemin’s abs. He can feel the muscles flex as Jaemin moves and it makes his already racing heart beat even faster. Renjun desperately wants to get the shirt off, wants to see all of Jaemin and he whines softly as he tugs at the hem of Jaemin’s shirt.

Jaemin doesn’t indulge him, though. When Jaemin pulls away from the kiss, he mouths at the sharp line of Renjun’s jaw before kissing down to his neck. He bites down gently at the pulse point, not to mark but just to hear Renjun’s soft cry. Jaemin doesn’t suck hard enough to leave a bruise, but just hard enough for Renjun’s dick to strain nearly painfully against the seam of his jeans. Jaemin captures Renjun’s lips in a frantic, sloppy kiss once more before finally pulling away and taking his shirt off.

A soft sigh leaves Renjun’s lips as his fingers run over Jaemin’s skin, a part of him really wants to taste but he decides to save that for another time. Jaemin leans in to kiss him hard and rough again. “Now you.” Jaemin demands and Renjun shivers. Jaemin’s fingers brush against Renjun’s skin as they get his shirt off and it’s like electricity kissing at his skin.

The press of skin to skin is nearly overwhelming, and Renjun presses his fingers into Jaemin’s sides as the other begins rocking his hips down. Even through the barrier of two sets of jeans and the haze of alcohol in his brain, Renjun is acutely aware of the hard line of Jaemin’s cock pressing against his own. “Fuck,” he murmurs shakily, his own hips rolling up to meet Jaemin’s.

Jaemin lets out a shuddering breath above him. “Yeah, like that.” He says lowly. Somehow, Jaemin manages to undo both their jeans, and Renjun has the presence of mind to lift his hips so Jaemin can push his pants and boxers down. Renjun lets out a soft moan as his cock’s finally free and nearly chokes when Jaemin wraps his hand loosely around his erection. An embarrassing whimper leaves Renjun’s lips as he desperately fucks into Jaemin’s hand.

Renjun reaches out to push Jaemin’s own jeans down, and lets out a stuttered moan when he realizes that Jaemin was going commando. “Jesus.” Renjun manages, wrapping his hand around Jaemin’s dick and twisting slightly, drawing a rough moan from the other man.

Jaemin pushes his hand away. “Let me.” He says quietly, leaning in to kiss Renjun slowly and Renjun feels like his head is spinning. He can feel Jaemin’s cock slide against his, slick from precome and then Jaemin’s hand wraps around both their cocks and Renjun’s body jolts as pleasure shocks through him. He moans Jaemin’s name helplessly, rolling his hips up and gasping at the drag of his cock against Jaemin’s.

“So eager~,” Jaemin’s words penetrate through the haze of bliss and booze and something awakens in Renjun. Something that yearns to be praised and he arches into Jaemin, pulling the other boy down to kiss him frantically. “You’re so fucking eager.” Jaemin says against his lips, and maybe Renjun should be embarrassed, but he can’t help that it’s the truth.

Renjun wraps his arms around Jaemin, and his legs hook around Jaemin’s waist as they rub off on each other. “I wanted to do that since the first day I saw you.” Jaemin hisses into Renjun’s ear and Renjun whimpers quietly, writhing beneath Jaemin helplessly. “You’re fucking gorgeous like this,” Jaemin continues, rocking his hips down onto Renjun’s. And Renjun tries his best to reciprocate, digging his nails into Jaemin’s back as he rolls his hips. “Yeah, just like that, come on.” Jaemin’s saying, encouraging him and Renjun can feel himself falling apart.

Renjun’s eyes flutter closed as he lets himself be carried on wave after wave of ceaseless pleasure. His mouth falls open on a silent cry as Jaemin’s hand strokes them both. He does cry out when Jaemin’s fist tightens around his cock. “Look at me.” Jaemin says on a low growl, and who is Renjun to disobey such a command? Renjun manages to open his eyes and the look of pure lust on Jaemin’s face makes him shiver. He’s never felt so wanted in his entire life and Jaemin keeps his gaze locked on Renjun’s as he continues to grind against him.

“Want you to look at me when I make you come.” Jaemin says in a rough voice, rutting against Renjun harder now, but with slow long strokes. Jaemin’s dark gaze is intense as it holds Renjun in place. Renjun couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. Jaemin is captivating and enticing and nothing else in the world existed except for him. He whimpers and whines as Jaemin’s hand strokes them both, flicking his wrist and squeezing lightly on the upstroke. Renjun digs his nails into Jaemin’s skin, unable to worry about leaving marks, and pants out Jaemin’s name in between moans. “Fuck..fuck...fuck.” He breathes out like a mantra, mindless to what he was even saying, only aware of Jaemin and his body and the way he was making him feel. Renjun cries out, the pleasure building up now, and his body tensing up, desperate for relief.

Jaemin rolls his hips into Renjun’s almost leisurely, the friction of his cock against Renjun’s driving him close to tears. He hitches Renjun’s leg up higher and stares at him with eyes full of love. Come for me, Renjun. Just like this.”

And Jaemin does something positively sinful with his hips and Renjun’s coming with a loud cry of Jaemin’s name. “Fuck, you’re so fucking beautiful.” He hears Jaemin say. Jaemin lets go of their cocks and Renjun can feel Jaemin rutting against the sweat slick groove his hip before he’s coming with a low moan of Renjun’s name. Renjun’s still riding on the high of his orgasm, his hips twitching slightly, when Jaemin leans in to kiss him. They’re more just mouthing at each other’s lips and breathing each other’s air.

“I love you.” Jaemin murmurs before sliding off Renjun’s body. He helps Renjun get his pants all the way off and tosses them away, followed quickly by his own before gently manoeuvring Renjun into the little spoon position. Renjun’s practically asleep, but he can feel Jaemin press close to his back and his arm come around to curl almost possessively around Renjun’s waist.

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theastonishingkylejackson · 6 years

Text

K.M. Woods

– Written By K.M. Woods, Staff Writer for The Astonishing Tales Digital Magazine

Disclaimer: This piece includes profanity and language that some may find offensive.

Comedian Dave Chappelle

Dave Chappelle, in minute twenty-six of The Bird Revelation, says, “Everybody gets mad that I say these jokes, but you gotta understand that this is the best time to say them. More now than ever, and I know there is some comedians in the back. M***********, you have a responsibility to speak recklessly. Otherwise, my kids may never know what reckless talk sounds like. I didn’t come here to be right. I just came here to f*** around.”

This rendered the intimate audience silent. The sound of listening.

An audible change in momentum comes in minute twenty-six.

What I find interesting about this particular moment is that in the twenty-five minutes prior, Chappelle weaves through a mine field of topics that most of us would avoid like the smelly guy in class: The #MeToo movement, players kneeling during the national anthem, victim blaming, tiki torch whites, Harvey Weinstein, and the missing conclusion to the Netflix series House of Cards, cut short by Spacey’s allegations of sexual assault.

Dave killed the room by swerving through these topics with ease. So, why at this particular moment, is the crowd rendered silent?

“You know who’s the most uncomfortable mother fucker in the room? The nigga that’s right. I was right at an orgy once. Nobody fucked me,” said Dave Chappelle, minute eighteen, The Bird Revelation

While I can’t claim to know Dave Chappelle, I have not an inch of doubt in my mind of his affinity for the truth, and how important it is, especially in these times.

The crowd inside the Belly Room of LA’s world famous Comedy Store went silent, and though many may have had pre-conceived biases or opinions against what he was saying, they went silent because the truth can be loud and uncomfortable.

Dave Chapelle is hardly the first comedian to prove this fact, however, he is one of the few great enough at what he does to make such truths be heard over the voices of the offended folks.

Despite how many people may get offended, Chappelle’s experience on the stand-up stage and ability to think through an idea to the end makes his jokes potent and relevant, regardless of how much they may hurt someone’s feelings. In my mind, this puts him on the short list of great comedians with similar, equally as powerful, abilities.

George Carlin, Richard Pryor, and Lenny Bruce. All three of these greats faced harsh scrutiny for the words they spoke. Lenny Bruce and George Carlin were arrested for it. And if you go back and listen to their old specials, you’ll find you can hear (or not hear) similar silences in their crowds, just like the one in The Bird Revelation. The sound of open ears, listening.

This is not to say that this grandiose wisdom of ‘THE TRUTH MUST BE HEARD’ is why these great comedians say the things they do. While they are aware that they have a responsibility to say what they know to be true, the intention behind every joke is the same…to make someone laugh.

Chappelle opens the special by saying it.

“Sometimes, the funniest thing to say is mean. It’s a tough position to be in. So, I say a lot of mean things, but you guys got to remember. I’m not saying it to be mean. I’m saying it because it’s funny,” Chapelle said.

So why is it important for the Dave Chappelles, Lenny Bruces, George Carlins, and Richard Pryors of the world to speak these unpopular opinions while also making you laugh at them? I think there’s a couple of reasons…the most important being it makes real change, for it makes people think in a way they haven’t before.

When Carlin was revitalizing his act in the early 1970s, his mind came across seven words that were anything but popular. Some might even call them ‘trigger’ words of the time. And you can bet your ass, they offended plenty of folks. The now historic seven words, which we can all google what they were, were spoken out loud, on television, on stage, and on the radio to many ears that were not ready for them.

Were they crude…yes. Dirty…absolutely. Funny… “Well, hell yeah!” as Carlin would put it. Now, the seven dirty words that you shouldn’t say on television, probably wouldn’t seem important to many, especially the folks offended by them.

But what speaking these words led to was a supreme court case in 1978. FCC v. Pacifica Foundation, where the court concluded that broadcasters could broadcast indecent material between the hours of 10 pm and 6 am, giving people like Carlin the airtime to do just what it is that they do.

Make people laugh.

Around the same time, Richard Pryor was on stage addressing an issue that’s still as relevant today as it was in his time. On his 1974 Album That N*****’s Crazy, which won the Grammy for Best Comedy Album, Pryor addresses, not only police brutality against black folks, but also white folk’s ignorance to it happening.

Kyle Woods believes in harsh truths from comedians…. and also being shirtless….

This brings me to my second reason as to why its important to speak about these unpopular opinions. Because it brings awareness to potent, difficult issues in a way that sits with you.

The recalling or retelling of something that makes you laugh forces you, not only to know the words, but know the context of the issue you’re addressing. Pryor was wildly popular by both black and white audiences, and I can imagine that for many of his white fans, this bit could have been the open window of empathy into the everyday life of a black man or woman. For his black fans, the assurance of knowing that someone, and someone in the spotlight at that, is aware that the issue is, indeed, going down. That you’re not alone in knowing.

Yet, censoring these issues or telling someone they don’t have the right to speak about them only leaves them undiscussed and without solutions. In The Bird Revelation, the same issue is addressed when Chappelle talks about Colin Kaepernick, and NFL players kneeling during the national anthem (a protest of police brutality against black people).

“Brittle spirit. I could kill every white person in America at one time. You know how I’d do it? I’d just wait for the Superbowl. And right when they sing the national anthem, I’d have OJ Simpson walk to the 50-yard line…(he acts out OJ taking a knee with bad knees, therefore, killing the white people who just can’t handle it)

This term ‘Brittle Spirit’ is used many times throughout the special. It’s a term not often used for it implies weakness in someone. And in a society when many find it inappropriate to assume that anyone could be weak, it gets touchy at points. Chappelle uses ‘Brittle Spirit’ to describe white people and the way they combat the police brutality argument. He uses it to describe some women in the way they combat sexual assault.

Harsh issues bring harsh truths. And anyone can understand from reading this how harsh these topics are. How much pain has come from them.

But we must realize that a lack of empathy and a heightening of fear is what keeps these issues alive and relevant. Chappelle says himself, “Fear does not make a lasting peace.”

The undertone of the special appears to address, not an individual ‘Brittle Spirit’ in particular, but our society as a collective. A society of ‘Brittle Spirit.’

We can’t fix the issues of our current day (some that have lived on for years and years) if we are too afraid to talk about the issues, and why wouldn’t people be afraid to talk about them in a society where they are reprimanded for doing so. If we fear these issues, we can’t expect to make a lasting peace with them. Powerful on Chappelle’s part, he uses examples such as Apartheid in South Africa (A system of institutionalized racism) and his own departure from the Chapelle Show to prove that even in times of weakness, a strong and resilient spirit can overcome any harsh issue.

“You motherfuckers need truth and reconciliation with one another.”

There’s only so many words that can encompass a masterpiece without droning on about it. Realistically, witnessing the masterpiece is something far more powerful than writing about it, and I’d recommend that you do so. If there was any word I’d use to describe The Bird Revelation…it would be just that. Powerful. Though I can recall and recollect Chappelle’s works from the past (Killing Them Softly, Chappelle’s Show, etc.) and they’ll immediately bring me back to those memories of laughing late at night, non-stop, The Bird Revelation, to me, was something far more important.

I laughed. Absolutely I did, but even heavier than the laughter was the catharsis it left me with once it was over.

In my brain (take the opinion with a grain of salt), it certainly cemented Dave Chappelle as one of the true Greats of stand-up comedy.

Like Carlin, Pryor, and Bruce, I believe his words will live on long past his career and life, inspiring new comics for generations, and opening the minds of those who may not have otherwise.

That is, if they’re open to hearing harsh truths.

I’m The Astonishing K.M. Woods Of The Astonishing Tales Digital Magazine and I Approve This Message!

Want To Leave Some Feedback On This Article? Be Kind, Be ASTONISHING? Fill Out The Form Below And Leave A Comment On This Article!

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Harsh Truths Are The Reason We Need More Comedians On The Stage - Written By K.M. Woods, Staff Writer for The Astonishing Tales Digital Magazine Disclaimer: This piece includes profanity and language that some may find offensive.

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thedramafilesblog-blog · 7 years

Text

Appearing before The Dramacourt: While You Were Sleeping Eps 13, 14, 15 and 16

***If this is your first time browsing The Drama Files, please read The Rules section first for our reviewing and rating system***

***Disclaimer***: This analysis based on Canadian law. This is also NOT LEGAL ADVICE for anyone and this drama is FICTIONAL.

Issues:

Whether the law gives you the right to hire a lawyer of your choice.

Whether getting home and seeing a cute doggy ransack your house is a pleasant surprise.

Whether comparing a prosecutor’s robes to a choir was perfect.

Whether Suzy jumping to conclusions about Hak Young being the murderer is her being a good reporter.

Whether a witness can behave like a defense lawyer during an initial investigation (or ever).

Whether you can prosecute just anyone even if there isn’t enough evidence to charge the person because you have no other suspects.

The Rule(s):

Yes. But the lawyer gets to decide whether to accept your case or not.

Not really. But if it’s a super cute doggy it’s much easier to forgive!

Yes. Absolutely hilarious.

Hell No.

No. That’s not the point of being summoned as a witness.

HELL NO! What is wrong with this drama?!?

Analysis:

RedRosette: First off, 95% of episodes 13 and 14 were filler. There was no need to talk about regret and feeling guilty for an entire episode. The other 4% was strategically placed PPLs: Subway, some fancy water brand, and some Japanese department store brand. OMG it was so pointless. Did we really need to spend like 20 minutes of Lee Jong Suk and Suzy shopping for random things? What was the point of that to the drama? (See Jung So Min’s struggles with PPL as a drama writer in Because It’s My First Time. It seems so relevant here) Why is the writing going down the drain? The only really relevant 1% was in episode 14 where we find out that Woo Tak might have a secret too and isn’t all happiness and bubbles with him like we were led to believe.

Saving the day like…

He didn’t die thank God!

Was this really necessary?

They probably paid Production a shit ton of money because this had absolutely nothing to do with this drama.

Episodes 15 and 16 had some development. There were some legal problems that I wanted to raise (see Issues below), but mostly it confirmed the fact that I now hate Hong Joo’s character. She is unrealistic and is the worst “strong female” character. She throws tantrums when she doesn’t get what she wants, behaves like a child, and jumps to irrational conclusions. These are not qualities that you want people to emulate. You’d think that learning a grave life lesson as a child would mean that she wouldn’t make the same mistake in adulthood, but nope. Either that, or the writers really couldn’t come up with a better way to write in the connection to the “drowning” in childhood. People come on! This is not good character development. I can’t deal with her character. Jae Chan on the other hand, remained steadfast in his beliefs and remains a solidly written character when it comes to his job and general ethics and morality. Of course, all this goes out the window when he’s presented with the Hong Joo situation and suddenly he’s irrationally wanting to get into relationships without any explanation. Tbh, I seriously don’t get the attraction to Hong Joo. She’s a super annoying, bratty and a pretty terrible character all around. I don’t understand why all these guys are falling for her left, right and center. She’s the worst Candy-type to hit the screens in a while. Woo Tak got some development too. We didn’t see his big secret being revealed in these episodes so maybe something will come of it next week. But, I did have some problems with Woo Tak’s role in episode 16 (see Issue 5).

You guys needed a better plan and then maybe Woo Tak wouldn’t have gotten stabbed.

Being a hero like…

Entering into questionable deals like…

Ugh!

Spying on your neighbors with the lights turned off like…

Bring in that brotherly love!

We did also get more information about the childhood connection and now I’m pretty sure its the policeman they rescued who keeps sending Jae Chan money. These episodes were very difficult to watch in the sense that the plots were very slow and there was far too many slow-mo zooming in and out of the characters’ faces from different angles. Why? Seriously? Why? it’s not artsy, its just annoying if you don’t have a lot of time to watch a drama and you’re spending your lunch break watching it and all it is is zooming in and out of their faces OMG please just give us some plot development!!!

I’m calling it. It’s him.

What kind of 13 year has a license to ride a motorbike?

RedRosette J Aside: And yes we got too see more of Jang Hae In all smiles and in all of his shirtless glory thanksverymuch.

Issue 1: Whether the law gives you the right to hire a lawyer of your choice.

RedRosette J: Yes it does. When you are arrested or detained you have the right to counsel and you have a right to remain silent until you receive access to your counsel. The problem is that you can select a lawyer of your choice (or you get assigned a public defender if you can’t afford a lawyer) but the lawyer gets to decide whether to take your case on or not. If the lawyer feels that he or she doesn’t want to represent you, they can refuse to take your case. So while you do have a right to a lawyer, you do not have a right to a specific lawyer, which is really what the Chicken Killer was misunderstanding and why he kept screaming for Lee Yoo Beom. Buddy, that’s not how it works. Have a seat.

You have a right to counsel

But he gets to refuse your case

Asking for sentencing like…

When your co-worker does a good job

Issue 2: Whether getting home and seeing a cute doggy ransack your house is a pleasant surprise.

RedRosette J: It’s probably not going to be super pleasant, but that doggy was super super cute and adorable and it’s hard to look at a face like that and be angry about it. You’d literally just want to pick it up and cuddle it instead!

It’s a mess but he’s sooo cute! ❤ Robin!

Please give us a drama with Shin Jae Ha and Robin the Corgi kthanksbye.

Issue 3: Whether comparing a prosecutor’s robes to a choir was perfect.

RedRosette J: This was pretty funny. I actually LOL’d because I’d never thought about it like that. The whole imagination sequence was pretty funny too. I wish a real courtroom would suddenly burst into song like a musical. It might make things way more interesting sometimes!

Issue 4: Whether Suzy jumping to conclusions about Hak Young being the murderer is her being a good reporter.

RedRosette J: This is the furthest thing from being a good reporter. You can’t be drawing conclusions and reporting stuff on ongoing cases based on what you saw on TV. Hong Joo immediately jumped to the conclusion that Hak Young did it based on the CCTV footage and the fact that he threatened Woo Tak or whatever and refused to change her opinion. What the hell? Whatever happened to unbiased journalism? How can you be a reporter if you have already picked a side and you are creating a biased narrative? I just don’t get it. Then she goes and tells Jae Chan to make sure that he prosecutes the guy or “she’ll be disappointed in him.” What the hell? Let the man do his job and you go at least pretend to be a half decent reporter. I hated how she manipulated Jae Chan’s reliance on her belief in him to make sure he does what she wants. Ugh. Even after her whole flashback and being reminded of the fact that she was told (by Jae Chan) that you can’t do bad stuff to people simply because you dislike them, she gets upset when Jae Chan tries to explain to her why Hak Young was released. Are you kidding me? This is basic society 101. I think she’s a closeted psychopath. And yea she didn’t manipulate the media like Yoo Beom asked her to but she was still convinced that he was guilty. She doesn’t get to make that decision. That’s a decision to be made in a court of law. *takes deep breaths* Ugh. I can’t. I’m done with Hong Joo.

Being told not to be an idiot when you’re 13…

…but continues to be one in adulthood….

Issue 5: Whether a witness can behave like a defense lawyer during an initial investigation (or ever).

RedRosette J: OMG where do I start? Okay first of all, I really like Woo Tak, but honey you can’t be going in to a discovery (initial investigation) as a WITNESS and then start behaving like a DEFENSE LAWYER. That’s not how it works. In discovery, the prosecutor asks the witness questions based on what they saw and heard on the day or event in question and they are expected to answer truthfully. The witness doesn’t go and try to a) teach the prosecutor the law and b) act like they are defending the Accused. Again, that’s not how the system works. Also, what was with the line of questioning? It as totally off. Those are not questions you ask a witness. *sigh* Please. Writers. Get a better legal consultant. This is not how it works. Even if it’s for dramatic effect, it looks stupid.

Yes. We get it. Your friend needs help.

Showing up to provide testimony and getting fangirled like…

Witness is NOT Defense Counsel.

Issue 6: Whether you can prosecute just anyone even if there isn’t enough evidence to charge the person because you have no other suspects.

RedRosette J: OH MY GOD. What is wrong with the prosecutors in this drama? Just because there’s a dead body doesn’t mean that someone HAS to go down for doing it. In this case, the evidence was circumstantial. The guy happened to be there and was caught on CCTV around the time of death but there was no DNA or blood evidence linking him to the murder. Given all of this and the other evidence that they were talking about which CLEARLY did nothing to tie Hak Young to the murder, the prosecutors were still trying to make him go down for it because they had no other suspects. WTF? If there’s not enough evidence to convict someone, they walk. The evidence has to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that Hak Young killed her. That’s how the system works. There was so much doubt and speculation in this case! You don’t get to just keep someone in custody or even prosecute them just because you have no other suspects. I don’t get why the Chief Prosecutor was so hesitant to release the guy. Do your job. Honestly this drama has some TERRIBLE legal stuff….

There has to be evidence beyond a reasonable doubt that Hak Young did all this.

That’s not creepy at all….

When you’re innocent but no one believes you…

There isn’t enough evidence peeps. You HAVE to drop the charges!

RedRosette J Aside: I also forgot that there was a kiss scene finally and it was hella awkward. Not getting on this Ship you guys. Sorry.

Conclusion: Appeal Dismissed.

Rating: 2 = Yell At The Production And Writing Team (Producers: please stop with the close ups and multiple angles. We get that you guys are the camera gods. Writers: get better legal consultants)

File No: While-You-Were-Sleeping-EPS-13-to-16 Appearing before The Dramacourt: While You Were Sleeping Eps 13, 14, 15 and 16 ***If this is your first time browsing The Drama Files, please read

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