“I don’t know what I expected.” Peggy says. Her bag drops to the floorboards by her feet and Stan twists from his spot on the sofa.
“What’s she doing here?” It’s directed at Ginsberg, but he’s staring at Peggy.
“She stabbed her boyfriend with a bayonet.”
Stan lights a joint and shrugs. And then he smiles, holds it out to the new girl, “Want some?”
“Um,” Peggy steps forward tentatively. Her shoes clack so she kicks them off. “Sure.”
She falls asleep squished between them that evening, her head on Stan’s shoulder and legs across Ginsberg’s lap.
A year passes. They buy a bigger couch. At some time or another Bob Benson claims the fourth room, and somehow the parking space too.
But it’s ok, because he introduces them to a little game he likes to call True American. It’s seventy five percent drinking, a fifth Candy Land, and the floor is molten lava.
It takes Stan a week to introduce a strip version. “One, two, three, JFK!”
“FDR,” they shout back in kind.
Peggy kisses Stan and Stan kisses Peggy.
This is not a big deal. Bob made them do it, mostly likely, and they were drunk and people are stupid, right? “That never happened.” Peggy says.
“Come on, Olson, you’ll dream about it nightly.”
“This is becoming telenovela,” Ginsberg sighs when he sits down next to her at the breakfast table.
She shoves the cereal in his direction. “What the fuck do you know about telenovela?”
His response is muffled by Stan’s morning chorus. He’s loud when he wakes up, strange and primal noises echo from his bedroom, and then the bathroom where they’re supplemented by the strains of his morning shit. Peggy catches Ginsberg’s eye and grimaces. “Don’t look at me like that,” he says, “You went there.”
“I did not go there.”
“You want to.”
She downs her orange juice, three days out of date. There’s a week worth of post on the table that needs sorting, four packets of cigarettes and an empty bottle of rum. Peggy considers each in turn, decides to leave them all. She swings her legs off the chair and Ginsberg sighs again, “Telenovela.”
Ginsberg goes into the office the evening of the fourth of July, and fuck only knows where Bob is. Stan gets in around eight, flopping down next to Peggy with two beers in his hand. “Everything you hear in True American is a lie,” he quotes from the rules scrawled on the wall. He’s using his sexy voice and Peggy takes a large gulp of beer.
“What?”
He repositions himself so he’s sitting facing her, his legs crossed on the couch. “Last time we played we kissed.”
She eyes him sideways, “Get there.”
“And you said it never happened.” He grins, leans close to her ear. “Which means it did.”
She squirms and does her best to avoid him, but he only leans closer. “What are you doing?” She says when his lips find her shoulder and Peggy’s beginning to understand how he's conned so many women into bed.
THIS IS OFFICIALLY TOO MUCH FOR ME, OH. MY. GOD. It's like you crawled into my brain and found all the disjointed thoughts I had about this scenario and then managed to make sense of it and go one further! This is just so awesome, I want to reread it forever.
“Everything you hear in True American is a lie,” he quotes from the rules scrawled on the wall. He’s using his sexy voice and Peggy takes a large gulp of beer.
Like, I maybe gasped when I read that. I might be rereading this again. Right now.
hahah I'm taking that as a compliment!!! But yes I'm really glad I didn't disappoint bc this prompt is so wonderful and ahhhh thank you so much, dude!
(But yes Bob Benson totally just turns up halfway through S1 of this AU and nobody ever questions it and I'd never realised before now how perfectly this AU makes sense)
“I don’t know what I expected.” Peggy says. Her bag drops to the floorboards by her feet and Stan twists from his spot on the sofa.
“What’s she doing here?” It’s directed at Ginsberg, but he’s staring at Peggy.
“She stabbed her boyfriend with a bayonet.”
Stan lights a joint and shrugs. And then he smiles, holds it out to the new girl, “Want some?”
“Um,” Peggy steps forward tentatively. Her shoes clack so she kicks them off. “Sure.”
She falls asleep squished between them that evening, her head on Stan’s shoulder and legs across Ginsberg’s lap.
A year passes. They buy a bigger couch. At some time or another Bob Benson claims the fourth room, and somehow the parking space too.
But it’s ok, because he introduces them to a little game he likes to call True American. It’s seventy five percent drinking, a fifth Candy Land, and the floor is molten lava.
It takes Stan a week to introduce a strip version. “One, two, three, JFK!”
“FDR,” they shout back in kind.
Peggy kisses Stan and Stan kisses Peggy.
This is not a big deal. Bob made them do it, mostly likely, and they were drunk and people are stupid, right? “That never happened.” Peggy says.
“Come on, Olson, you’ll dream about it nightly.”
“This is becoming telenovela,” Ginsberg sighs when he sits down next to her at the breakfast table.
She shoves the cereal in his direction. “What the fuck do you know about telenovela?”
His response is muffled by Stan’s morning chorus. He’s loud when he wakes up, strange and primal noises echo from his bedroom, and then the bathroom where they’re supplemented by the strains of his morning shit. Peggy catches Ginsberg’s eye and grimaces. “Don’t look at me like that,” he says, “You went there.”
“I did not go there.”
“You want to.”
She downs her orange juice, three days out of date. There’s a week worth of post on the table that needs sorting, four packets of cigarettes and an empty bottle of rum. Peggy considers each in turn, decides to leave them all. She swings her legs off the chair and Ginsberg sighs again, “Telenovela.”
Ginsberg goes into the office the evening of the fourth of July, and fuck only knows where Bob is. Stan gets in around eight, flopping down next to Peggy with two beers in his hand. “Everything you hear in True American is a lie,” he quotes from the rules scrawled on the wall. He’s using his sexy voice and Peggy takes a large gulp of beer.
“What?”
He repositions himself so he’s sitting facing her, his legs crossed on the couch. “Last time we played we kissed.”
She eyes him sideways, “Get there.”
“And you said it never happened.” He grins, leans close to her ear. “Which means it did.”
She squirms and does her best to avoid him, but he only leans closer. “What are you doing?” She says when his lips find her shoulder and Peggy’s beginning to understand how he's conned so many women into bed.
“Are you a true American, Olson?”
end.
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“Everything you hear in True American is a lie,” he quotes from the rules scrawled on the wall. He’s using his sexy voice and Peggy takes a large gulp of beer.
Like, I maybe gasped when I read that. I might be rereading this again. Right now.
Reply
(But yes Bob Benson totally just turns up halfway through S1 of this AU and nobody ever questions it and I'd never realised before now how perfectly this AU makes sense)
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