#I remember reading posters and ads on the street and struggling with it

[motsimages]

Best thing of having kids around is that you completely forgot the experiences they are going through. You may remember some detail or some moment, but very often, it's just not there. And then you spend time with a kid who is learning something and you go "I was like that too once, I did that mistake". You don't remember, but you know you must have walked that path in a very similar way.

[matchamorphosis]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥

[requested hc] from 🍭 nonnie ⟶ you and Johnny spend Christmas together after a messy break up and try to resolve things.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — johnny storm × woc!reader

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 — 18+, angst + fluff. steamy scenes. a bit of jealous!johnny. crying. commitment issues. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 — 7.8K

𝐰. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — thank you so much for the request 🍭 nonnie! the header isn’t mine! anyways I hope you enjoy reading! ♡ + p.s || do not repost or plagiarize my work on any other fanfic platform such as: wattpad, ao3, tumblr, etc or steal any of my work in whatever shape or form. ♡♡♡  

The warmth of the lobby enveloped your shivering body.

Snowflakes laced in ice that lace once were etched on the fabric of your scarf begin to melt as you manage to shake off the icy breeze of the swirling winds of snow.

Dashing eyes strike against the extravagant décor of the venue- decorated in it’s traces of silver tinsel as golden light from the chandeliers create a shimmering contrast against the red crimson carpets. Accommodating handsomely with the white marble pillars wrapped in green sage wields.

It comes to no surprise how the perfectionist of the main lobbyists and general mangers go all out during the holidays. A low sigh slips past your lips as your put your hand against your head to ease your pounding head— you don’t want to think of how mentally draining your job is, especially when you’ve just got home.

During this time of the year, your pristine job was somehow more demanding and the daily struggle of aggravating traffic, iced street and crowded sidewalks of New York City didn’t help.

Not to mention this time of the year wasn’t the most cheerful for you, your ex-boyfriend— well lets not say ex-boyfriend, more so your once potential partner who you’re still seeing despite it ruining all your ideal expectations of love— wasn’t adding to the holiday cheerfulness.

It’s difficult to explain yours and Johnny’s relationship, you both are continuously occupied with both your jobs, individual interests, spiraling social circles and emotional commitments to maintain a real relationship.

There would be romantic dates, special quality time and those happy memories that made your heart flutter inside your chest however you still had different lives. When you two were together you both couldn’t help but wish it wasn’t always this way, you two used to be so connected and lovesick for each other.

 Now your heart ached tremendously whenever your eyes would always find cheery couples window shopping for presents or gifts. Their gloved fingers laced together as they laughed and whispered sweet nothings in each other’s ears. Radiating their intimate love bubble that seemed to make you yearn for him.

 You wouldn’t even think about the numerous kissing figures plastered on Christmas rom com movie posters around every theatre you wanted to occupy your thoughts at. The abundance of love letters from secret admirers in your downtown office from desperate male co-workers.

Not to forget the numerous occasion of dangling mistletoe that you obliviously stood under besides bashful faces who weren’t Johnny, who weren’t the special someone you want— yet desperately trying not to remember.

It’s difficult trying to forget Johnny, is isn’t as simple task when comparing his impact to your previous relationships and break ups. You tried every aspect in the rulebook ever since you both broke up: from shopping and dining with beloved friends, calls with family members, wearing your face mask and painting your finger and toe nails.

Those worked for the blissful moment but they always led you to feeling that empty pit in your stomach. Craving a certain warm touch that these rather amazing time passers couldn’t fill in or replace.

It seems that you’ll be spending this holiday season alone.

Walking through the sitting area, blocking out the aggressions and empty threats of the rich folks too faultless to pull their heads down from their dense clouds to notice how entitled they sound.

They bicker with desperate clerks and anxious maintenance staff attempting to seek some fragment of approval or resolutions to their problems. Today they seemed to be fighting about why the snow storm prevented their taxis from arriving earlier. 

Your attitude manages to brighten up when the receptionist counter comes within vision. Heart pacing in it’s soothing beat when the iridescent gleam of the desks encourage your rushing mind to have a light conversation with the perky clerks.

Throughout your years living in this apartment each year there was a new desk keeper. Mostly an intern to gain experience of organization and leadership skills to move up to management and you loved the new clerks. Most of them were commonly around your age and sparking friendships were remarkably easy.

Not only did your generation relate to numerous social and economic struggles but New York had a magical way of platonically pulling two people together in making friendships. Nevermind the thought of creating these friendships with desk clerks- you weren’t just able to sneak not just finely wrapped peppermint chocolate from the receptionist sweets jar but to talk hours upon hours about the bitchy clients you both had to deal with.

This years newest desk keepers were Freddy and Anna and like the many others before them they were hilarious, preppy and never failed to make you smile and cackle with one of his literature teasers and ironic jokes. 

The walk up to the wide receptionist counter neatly kept with the exception of a vase of vivid French hydrangeas. As you hoped to see Freddy’s brown curls or the glossy raven of Anna’s intricate braids, they weren’t there. Usually they’d be laying back comfortably behind their makeshift leather seats, reading their books of the week to keep themselves busy.

However you’re slightly disappointed to see Mrs. Quincy, your urge to speak and tease the scene only igniting furthermore behind you. As well as solemnly pity the rest of the hardworking staff who have to unfortunately bare with the snobs. The interest deflated completely when your eyes make contact through the elderly woman’s thin spectacles.

“Hello Ms. y/l/n,” her voice smooths and you greet her back with the same warmth.

The bull point pen in her hand fills out the columns of whatever keeping her eyes away from yours. Settling your elbow on the counter to rest your chin underneath, examining her cursive handwriting.

“May I help you with anything Ms. y/l/n? Besides your willingness to taunt about the folks drawing the end to my patience?” those words have you playfully scoffing, a hand coming to spread across your cashmere sweater in defense.

“Me? Make fun of them? How could I do such a brash thing?” you speak and you notice the small curl at the end of the elderly woman’s wrinkled yet graceful dimples.

Attention solely focused on folding the paper she wrote on to be placed in an envelope which will then be stamped with a emerald wax seal. Your hand sneakily plucks two finely wrapped candies from the jar of peppermint chocolate bark.

A small smirk crossing your lips that’s quickly wiped away when the women quirks a brow your direction. Making you take your hands behind your back to hide your harmless act.

“Consider those your last peppermints of the season young lady. I had to refill the jar twice this month due to you, Anna and Freddy’s snacking. I do not allow sweet sprites running around and hijacking the candy jar. Especially when they aren’t children,” Mrs. quincy's tone stern yet considering.

“Then trust that i’ll enjoy this last pleasure, mrs. quincy! Enjoy it I might as the trees from last seasons ago clung onto their precious leaves! I shall cherish these tooth rotting sweets the moment their in my mouth then mourb them as they rest in my stomach,” your emphasized tone is finished with a small pout that pulls at your buttery glossed lips a slight.

Mrs. Quincy’s amused chuckle and sarcastic mhmm breaks your cinematic persona, manifested based upon the denial of your vital sugar access. Plopping the refreshing chocolate bark into your mouth, enjoying how it practically melts on your tongue.

“y/n I can’t put a finger to anyone who compares to the same idealism you entertain and torture the staff with. no matter how much I have to listen to Freddy or Anna’s virtues you take the cake,” the elderly woman languidly sighs, you grin to yourself before a giggle bursts from your lips.

“Thank you, its very sweet if you think of it. Especially if those words are coming from you,” you smile as the elderly women tiredly smile and laugh.

Somewhat making you question if you are adding or taking years off her life with your conversation. “Speaking of Anna and Freddy... do you know where they are?” your manicured fingers and polished nails fiddle with the lilac wrapper distractingly.

As if your question didn’t want to be answered at all, you’re hoping they still might be around.

 “I ended their shifts hours ago. I figured they would want to spend some time together, they have quite a chemistry. I had Helen and Benjamin replace them. As you can see them attempting to maintain the mess behind you,”

Mrs. Quincy states before checking the computer besides her, clicking away at the keyboard as she scolds the verbal fight still persisting getting louder. Your heart plummets hearing the answer, you were hoping they would be willing to go out and rush through the night at the same club you three usually go to.

In attempt to forget any past or recent ugly relationships that tore and ripped your hearts, drown yourself in champagne and disco. Meet a handsome stranger who reminded you of the fire manipulating superhero but couldn’t make the butterflies in your stomach break free.

It seems that Freddy and Anna decided to go out together and do all the couple things you were trying to ignore the past weeks. Even though you undoubtedly and genuinely wanted someone to share them with someone.

Well not just any someone, you want your Johnny.

The sudden quiet from the lack of your chatter mouth has the elderly women raising her head in concern. Glancing softly to your features riddled with a sort of gloom that display every bit of sentiment you were missing out on.

“y/n? Are you doing okay dear?” her sudden question now clearing the foggy thoughts crowding your head.

You shake your head, not to answer the question but to snap yourself out of the bubbling broil of your emotions getting the better of you. “Mhmm! Yeah i’m doing okay, j-just,” your small smile can’t hide the fact that you’re moments away from shedding tears.

“Just feeling alone for the holidays?” the elderly woman breaks your state, you lift your head up to meet your red eyes with her sympathetic ones.

Nodding your head you don’t feel comfortable with sharing the other jagged complicated piece to your heartache. 

“Sweetheart don’t worry your heart about it. It might be difficult but the seasons come and go, time always manages to make us stronger.”

Mrs. Quincy softly speaks and your pouting disposition that once broke into tears ease up with a tight lipped crooked smile.

“There’s nothing wrong with spending the holidays alone, you don’t have to worry about what to cook for many people and sure don’t have to rely on someone for a present.” your once quivering frown transformed uncontrolled crooked smile is indeed a sight for sore eyes.

The wistful ice that frosted your dysphoric heart begins to thaw for just a moment. Grateful to have someone to speak on a little seam of your wavering benevolence.

“Mrs. Quincy i’m sorry for-” your remark is paused as the clerk takes your hand into hers.

The sudden action miraculously settling your beating heart and blitzing thoughts. A firm support squeeze wraps your cold fingers in her warm ones but you wished it was Johnny’s before she opens and places a handful of wrapped peppermint chocolates in your palm. 

“If you want to talk more just know I am always willing to listen,” standing up, she wraps her blazer arms around your shoulders in a soft hug and you return the warm embrace before taking account of her word many minutes ago.

“I thought you said I had enough chocolate for the season?” you spoke before pulling away, squinting your eyes at the women in playful suspicion. 

“Lets just say its a little sweet start to the special surprise waiting for you,” the elder woman smiled, as if to herself before getting straight back to work.

You softly smile down on the chocolates in your hand before saying your goodbyes and heading to the elevators. It seemed you were the only person entering and for some unknown marvelous reason there was a warm comfort in the empty space.

Pulling your phone from your bag, you pressed your index finger to the button to your floor. Little vibrations spark throughout your body when the faint smooth hum of the elevator rises up, you search through your recent feed and you scrunch your brows to find nothing on Johnny.

No photos of him dancing at some high end club with numerous woman at his arms and no drunk posts revealing a bit too much private information that he’s publicly announcing. 

But what has your heart stopping in your chest is the missed call you’ve received three hours ago from Johnny— how on earth have you not noticed this? 

Opening up your contacts quickly to find Johnny's contact your heart paces and skips like a skimming stone at the thought of pressing your thumb on the number. Hesitation floods your head, your bottom lip creeping between your teeth in thought.

Is it too late to call back?

Tears once again springing your eyes as you stared down at his profile before pressing the power button. Shutting your phone down before slowly sinking down to your knees until you sit on the floor. 

Perhaps so.

The truth is the only thing that’s keeping you from furthering pouring your heart out. There isn’t anything you can change, you can’t change the decision you’ve made to break up with Johnny. The only thing you can do right now is calm your breathing and wiped your tears, make yourself happy in the moment.

 Once your floor came and the stainless steal doors opened was the uplifting schedule you planned specially for yourself. Whatever that you loved that truly and genuinely made you feel at peace with your mind was added to the list of things to do tonight.  

Jingling keys in hand, you’re quick to unlock your door and lock it shut behind you. Tired from the tears you’ve shed but you’re hoping with a long and hot bath everything will wash away.

That is until you take in the savory smell of food and the faint low voice of someone singing from afar. Your mind rushes to apprehend and to think straight but you’re also quick to grab the taser kept in the third drawer of the tabletom besides you.

Following the singing your hand in a firm grasp on the taser, your finger resting against the side widgets. Waiting to squeeze at any given danger, it seems the singing is in the kitchen.

The thumping in your heart pounds inside your chest as you enter the area, without much to grasp on besides worrying about your own life on the line— what you didn’t expect as you turn your body is facing the back of a dancing figure. 

A dancing figure that has you dropping the taser to the ground in shock, you stand in place stunned as if you used the weapon on yourself. A little part of your lips open as you watch the man oblivious of your presence from the opposite side of the kitchen, dance along to the Christmas music.

The kitchen itself seems to be clouded in a spicy aromatic tang, smells of roasted duck, pan fried dumplings, and brewing beef stock fill your nose but your eyes latch on the figure that still has his back on you.

The same man you’ve thought and believed was too late to get back together with is right here. Taking quiet steps closer to be unnoticed, you wildly grin as Johnny loudly hums along at what you believe to be a Darlene Love.

Singing aloud the lyrics and cheery holiday related chorus, you examine the numerous pans and pots filled with sizzling and steaming food he’s occupied with. The smile you have on only spreads wider as he tastes a bit of the ramen soup and clenches his fist to his chest in self approval before breaking into another dance number.  

Looking down to his cassette player in front of you, near an abundance of finished cuisines in china bowls and plates. It seems even though your standing no less than a foot away from him, his occupied attention keeps him uninformed of your presence and your heart melts.

Johnny’s really here, no more than an extended arms width away but it seems that your mind rushes in the main question: wait but why is he here?   

You don’t think on an answer but act to receive one, grabbing the cord connecting the headphones to the cassette guide, you pull it out.

As a result the loud christmas number of the rhythmical saxophone, upbeat tambourines, and the strong lyrical voice of Darlene Love accompanies the smell of far east cuisine in the kitchen. 

Although you stare at your lover, still dancing until Johnny stops and lifts his headphones in examination before taking them off questioningly. Staring down at the ear pieces in his hands, he turns around and you trace all his features effortlessly. 

The slight crooked slope of nose, the dark freckles on his cheeks and neck, the firm sharpness of his jaw was etched in your mind. A giggle slips through your lips and the sound is a snap for Johnny’s eyes to meet yours and jump back in sudden apprehension.

His own lips gape open in shock just like yours, they match his widen blue eyes whilst a fierce red blush dawns against his cheeks, lower neck and the tips of ears. Another laugh and grin pulls Johnny into your arms and he presses a kiss to your forehead.

The sweet sentiment makes your the little dewdrop tears sprout little green saplings of happiness. Before you two broke up a garden used to bloom in your heart from all the kisses you’ve gifted Johnny and he gifted you. When you two parted the flowers seemed to wilt and die, now they seem to be sprouting once more.

Those eyes of yours that Johnny’s always hypnotized by pooling into his burning blue glance, the feeling of drowning in each others admiration makes you both bashfully pull away. Sentiments of embarrassment and contentment rise like bread, Johnny can’t help but take your sweater clad figure and wrap you up into his arms.

“y/n, I know now isn’t the time to ask a question but I really need to know something.” Johnny’s voice hums as you lay your head on his chest, the little action makes him forget the pans behind him sizzling and the stock pots boiling.

The truth is, Johnny is equally as unsure to whatever he’s feeling and why he’s felt so alone and heartbroken now that you’re gone. This feeling is good, it feels fucking incredible but is it good for you both when you two are so terrified of how much potential this love can hold?

How come every-time Johnny seems to long for you he had to neglect and deprive himself of it? Not today and not right now though, the woman who’s captivated his heart that he nowadays only sees in his dreams is scrunching her fingers in the material of his shirt, she’s hearing his heart beat thump in his chest.

“Yes Johnny?” you ask, lifting your head from his chest to look up at him but before Johnny could answer the stock pot of broth suddenly boils over.

Creating a giant hiss and Johnny turns around quickly to tend to it. “I didn’t know you could cook.” Johnny’s ears catch on your soft whisper, and his face heats up when you turns his head over his shoulder and receiving a wink from you.

“When we broke up, Sue suggested I get a hobby besides going out to clubs and drinking. I remembered how calm I felt when I helped you cook so I joined a few classes. I don’t look too bad in an apron right?” Johnny smirks and you giggle, shaking your head no as you watch him tend to his cooking.

“Not too bad Storm. I’ve got to say all this doesn’t look bad, I mean nothing is burnt and my apartment isn’t on fire so that’s incredibly relieving.” your fingers play with the kiss the chef apron he has on and you’re not one to deny him of that.

“Come on I set fire to your toaster one time I am begging you to let that accident go.” Johnny playfully rolls his eyes at that as he defends his now controllable fire wielding abilities.

“You’re a walking fire hazard Johnny, but you’re my cute walking fire hazard.” your lips press a soft and sweet kiss on Johnny’s cheek, leaving a ruby red lip print on his skin that’s almost the same color of his burning blush.

Enjoying the stutters and stammers in his speech, where was the smooth charmer the tabloids and cosmopolitans described him? Johnny thinks, he’s nothing but a fool when he’s around you, but a lovesick fool that you don’t mind.

More conversation and laughter flood the kitchen as Johnny insists you go upstairs and get yourself ready for the other half of the night while he cleans up. And by other half of the night Johnny means eating the cake he bought while you guys cuddle up on the couch and watch whatever’s on TV.

It wasn’t long for you to take that hot bath you wanted, but let’s say is took some time for you to pick out what you wanted to wear. Johnny wasn’t picky about anything, he’s still insist that whatever you’ll wear will be on the floor by the end of the night.

You settled with a lacy set that you bought with your friends, knowing that Johnny will loose his mind about it but you’ll be happy if the night also want end with sex. Throwing one of his sweaters on you, you head down the stairs and into the kitchen to see how dinner is holding up.

That is until you see the kitchen clean and Johnny not there, you call out his name but the soft music of slow piano catches your ears. Stepping from the kitchen, you head to where the music gets louder and louder with your curious step.

The dining room pours golden light into the apartment, you enter and your eyes latch on the candle-lit table filled with your comfort food and the turntable playing your favorite piano ballad.

Tiny serving pots filled with homemade ramen soups curl up in soothing steam. Trays of sautéed dumplings and seafood buttered and sprinkled with toasted sesame seeds and chopped spring onions. The varieties of dishes seemed to take up the modest sized dining table.

Then your eyes greet with the person who created all this, sitting at the opposite end of the table those same eyes lace and gloss with astonishment. Forgetting the many dishes he’s made himself to adore you in just his oversized sweater.

“You look beautiful,” his words encased with idoltry, a bashful smile crosses your lips and you fiddle with the hem of the baggy article before stepping slowly.

“You say that as if I’m not wearing your old sweater,” taking a seat where Johnny placed your plate and utensils.

The image of the romantic candles in their high golden holders flickers at the same rhythm as your fluttering heart. Johnny’s lips yearn to find a sacred home pressed against yours each moment your eyes latch onto each other.

“You can wear anything and I’ll still think I’m the luckiest guy in the world,” Johnny is pleased, not only by the smile the comment got from you but being honest with himself for once.

It makes his heart throb tremendously, his one hand cupping his jaw as he does nothing but admire the women sitting across the table from him.

The delicate golden aurora of the burning candles cast the dark and defined shadows of your facial features. Those glimmering stars in your eyes that shine impossibly bright when they reflect against the flames. 

A bright diamond that ever graced the twilight sky, you made the moon gleam in envy. Johnny’s velvety tone once again pulls the strings of your heart, peering down to your empty bowl you two begin to set your plates.

Smiling and letting out a giggle when you would grab for something at the same time of Johnny, your fingers meeting his. It felt similar to sparking embers that enveloped the butterflies in your stomach with earnest sincerity.

“Oh, ladies first!” Johnny burst out an apology, allowing you to take as much you wanted but you just rub his hands and lean over the table to give him a kiss.

“Thank you for this Johnny, you’re such a sweetheart.” another smile spreads across his face, forgetting why he felt so foreign and distant to the warmth of your love.

The moments of clarity when you listened to Johnny roar with laughter with a teaseful joke from you, the white gleam of his teethed grin like a crackling fire encouraging you to open up to him— and you both did.

Spoke endlessly what you have been up to the past month, involving family and friends interactions, work— not to mention your brilliant idea you pitched that pleased the administrators so much they gave you a promotion.

“How are things going with Paul and Michael? Are they still, um, you know— Working with you?” Johnny asks, his hands fidget with the chopsticks in his hands.

“You mean do they still flirt with me? Surprisingly no, my coffee breaks have been quite lonely.” you can see the relief in his eyes and the crooked smile that appears on his face. “What would happen if they did though?” you sigh and it fades the soft boyish smile into a hard smirk.

“Sweetheart you and I both know that Dumbass One and Dumbass Two wouldn’t know how to handle you. If they did they wouldn’t know how short their dicks end to how short you entertain them.”

A hearty laugh shakes your body when he still kept on if you were seeing someone at the moment. Extremely amused at the sudden interest of your dating life you answered honestly. That you weren’t seeing anyone but he wouldn’t know the underlying fact beneath it, because you wanted to be with him.

Noticing the smile on Johnny’s face at the corner of your eye while finishing your first bowl of ramen with many sides of buttery duck and spicy prawns. There was a poised amenity when you bite into your potstickers and him his sushi as you kept throwing jokes and recent stories.

Most certainly taking opportunities to eye the muscled lineament of his physique you shift and rub your thighs together. Knowing the sweater he’s wearing hugs all the right areas of muscle you want to run your hands through, press your lips to— and you’re equally as oblivious to Johnny’s stares as he wonders what you have under his sweater. 

Johnny’s heart sheaths in blazing contentment, devouring every atom and sensible nerve in his body when you smile at his jokes and stories— with not just those lips he wishes to feverishly kiss— but the suffice showing in recognition within the astral abyss of your irises. 

Johnny fidgets and struggles with using his metal chopsticks, “It’s like this Johnny.” you gesture but even when copying your fingers along each stick they fail to pick up a piece of food without the sushi or spring rolls falling on his lap or flicking across the table.

“Who knew the amount of time I’ve eaten anything with these things around you I haven’t gotten the hand of these things.” he resolved the matter with settling down the metal tongs and his plate of sushi aside to grasp the emergency fork in one hand and a porcelain gad in the other.

“Everything tastes amazing Johnny. You know, the easiest way to a persons heart is through their stomach.” you praise and relish in the way his smile gets crooked.

You enjoy showering the playboy in compliments that made his face redden and shy smile gleam with pride. It made you feel special knowing he’d never react this way when any other person would compliment him.

This heroic superhero gets praised every single day yet it’s just one simple compliment that makes him turn into a puddle of warmth. Little cupid bow hearts generating above his head, his blue flamed hues never leaving yours. Champagne glasses began reaching past the limit of what you believe to be your fifth refill.

It’s sudden when you feel large arms wrap around bodice to stop you once you announce you were going to get another bottle from the kitchen. The flaming ability twining his bloodstream under his sensual skin makes his hands feel like soothing embers through the thin fabric of his tee shirt.

 Those same hands tenderly griping and stroking the dip of your waist, pulling your back closer to his chest as his head snuggles into the crook of your neck. You don’t know if it’s the sparking alcohol swimming through his veins to result in him pressing wet kisses to your neck.

“I’ve got a present for you,” Johnny’s lips brush against your ear, it makes you lift your head up in confusion, you thought the dinner was the surprise but you’re mistaken.

Carrying you up by your thighs, his warm hands gripe the smooth flesh of your calves his stolen sweater doesn’t cover. Mouth opening to ask him what he’s doing but a hushed and satisfied hum slips through your lips at the warm sensations of his open palms holding your hips in a somewhat possessive demeanor.

Settling you comfortably down on his lap as he takes his seat to. A warm hand gently holds your waist in place and before you can ask him what his surprise is he’s digging his hand through his pockets to reveal a small wrapped box.

The ruby red wrapping paper finished with a silver bow captivates your eyes and before you can look into Johnny’s lovesick pools, you take his hand in your own.

“Johnny you didn’t have to get me anything, this dinner is the best christmas gift I had in a long time-” your reason is cut off when a single hand lifts to cup your cheek to keep your eyes on his.

“I had to treat you to something, baby. I didn’t just plan to make you dinner you know,” he laughs and you bite your lip to keep your lips from grinning, your silence a major tell your evaluating all the times he broke your heart and you broke his.

“But Johnny I didn’t get you anything-”

“You already gave me my gift. This is it! Spending Christmas with you, eating dinner together like we used to, talking like we used to. There’s nothing else I want more than being with you.” his words only pursue your episode of speechlessness.

Taking keen note of your watering eyes he knew they were the window to your relentless demons. The beating pace of your heart and the slight quiver of your lips. Johnny doesn’t know what else to do but to cup your soft face in the comfort of his large hands and press his mouth against the blissful heaven of your lips.

a switch flips in your mind

That moment of trying to block him and his relentlessness out was vanished when you suddenly kiss back. Fingers trace the short spike of his scalp, holding him so close to you as the heat of his mouth is too inviting for you to not give in. 

The warmth of his tongue entering your mouth and clashing against yours is the same as his warm wandering hands tracing your backs outline. Leaving a delicious trail of vibrating heat on your skin until they find their destination below the hem of the sweater Johnny wants to rip off you.

The heat is all over you, he’s all over you.

It’s enveloping you in this euphoric dream of blazing kisses and searing gropes of his hands at your curves and you pulling him impossibly close until your core suddenly grinds against his thigh. The single hand that holds the chiseled side of his face, you flinch back a bit at the searing temperature of his jaw. 

Erotic fire seems to be blanketing you in a rippling heat wave, from his thick arms that wrap around your body. Tensed thighs that you’re grinding your soaked pussy over and his chest he pulls you onto. Sweat hazing your body and your temperature rising causing you to pant and moan against his mouth when both his hands snake under the baggy sweater and finally rip it.

A gasp leaving your lips at the sudden tear and the coolness of the rooms air hits your skin. Staring down hungrily at the intricate lace that emphasizes the plumpness of your breasts and the deep richness of your skin. The sensation of coolness is diminished quickly by not only his burning lustful stare but his talented, roaming hands.

Wandering through the smooth soft skin adorned with delicate straps at your spine, hips and ass. With each second that passes, a groan slipping from his mouth when you bite his bottom lip that’s quickly replaced with a hiss when your fingers stroke his bulge.

You can’t help but wander what the once soft kiss is turning into— because this doesn’t make sense.

You both want to bury the unsureness and staggering relentless that breaches your relationships solicitudes but this wasn’t the best way to handle it. No matter what your bodies need and crave, after this session of fucking your instincts are going to lead you to another repeated cycle of heartbreak.

The both of you can’t do this without confronting the issue that pulls you both apart. It’s another swift snap and with that his hands release themselves off your skin and your lips freeing his cherry mouth. Too much has happened and now you’re both seeking an apology for a dispute you both aren’t certain of. 

“I’m sorry,” Johnny voice croaks but you shake your head in retaliation, trying to push his hands away even though you’re hearts hungry for their warmth.

“No i-it’s me who should be apologizing-” your disagreement being cut off with his raised defensive hand and firm spoken no, stopping you until you glare at the man you’re heart and mind is fighting over.

“Johnny I’m the one who broke things off—” a similar fire burns in his eyes and it compares to the hotness of his palms.

His curled fingers on your hips keeping you in place on his lap, to stop you from running away from your heart and him.

“But I’m the one who let you leave. I know whatever we have, this relationship, it’s difficult and- shit it sometimes drives me insane and I do crazy things like break inside your apartment and cook you all your favorite things because its what makes you happy and whatever makes you happy makes me happy! It’s a crazy I can live! Just please—” the speed of Johnny’s agile words comes to a halt when he doesn’t know what to say next.

How can he excuse the hurt you lashed onto him and how can he excuse the pained moments he has burdened you? 

“Johnny this just can’t work, we can’t do this. I know you’re trying to fix what I broke but you can’t just keep doing that!” 

“Doing what? Loving you? Caring about us?” his widen glassy blue eyes emphasizing whatever hurt that cut him deep from your answer.

Your mouth opens to speak but no words can reiterate whatever your coursing head can come up with. “Don’t you understand that I still love you? Don’t you know I love you?” the alcohol coming to its crashing breakthrough into this agonizing climax.

Whatever euphoria glazed in neediness and touch starved-ness in your once lovestruck atoms is replaced with ache. You can feel the emotional pull the alcohol has on the both of you, your eyes stinging with tears and the invisible wall you’re putting up between you and your complicated lover.

It’s nothing but a bullet to Johnny’s heart

“Don’t you love me y/n?” those words are broken, bruised as his lips from your passionate kiss, it leaves your throat tightening in pain.

how were you suppose to answer that?

you do love him. You loved him the first moment you saw him and you love him now in this session of glassy eyes and plummeting hearts, but nothing can be that simple for the both of you.

“I love you Johnny, I really do. That isn’t the problem,” your answer soft and low, Johnny’s brows scrunch in confusion until they relax peering down at your broken state.

“Then what’s the problem? Can’t you at least tell me that?” his hands meet yours, lacing your fingers with his before giving you a supportive warm squeeze.

A drips from your waterline to your cheek and a free hand lifts to wipe the liquid crystal away with his thumb.

“Do you want to tell me?” you’ve never felt so vulnerable, so naked to the uncomforting truth under his eyes its tearing your head and heart inside out.

“Please don’t be mad if I say it,” but those silent words are only igniting fear within him, his face in his hands and yours gripping his shoulder tightly, you’re tired of keeping it in but too scared to let the fact go.

“Baby just say it! Whatever’s going on inside your head just tell me!” that command snapped something in your mind.

“My problem is we both hurt each other! I can’t commit to a relationship that not only hurts me but the person I love to! It eats me alive every single day how much I wanna be with you but I can’t because i’m not even happy with myself!” 

You don’t miss the glisten of tears in Johnny’s eyes with the last spoken sentence but you’re far from done. You’ve been keeping this inside you for far too long for your heart to handle and as scared as you were letting it all out his hand continued to lock with yours.

“And as much as I tried before- how much I tried to convince myself to just rely on you for that happiness it only made things worse. Because no matter how much I know you forgave me then each day, whenever I woke up besides you I knew I hurt you. I hurt you because I didn’t realize that you depended on me to,” 

Starlight tears streaming down your lovers eyes, they evaporate quickly once they drizzle down to his clenched jaw. Finally taking the pressured words you’ve kept buried for so long and bursting his own heart when you exclude a shaking sob after every sentence.

“And no matter how much you’ve hurt me it doesn’t compare to the amount of times i’ve pushed you out. It doesn’t match up to all the times you forced yourself to stay with me-”

“THAT’S NOT TRUE.” his roar doesn’t make you back down, if anything it only just fuels your need to make him understand.

“YOU KNOW IT’S TRUE.” you scream back but he just puts his face in his hands.

Shaking his head in them his body shakes and his muffled cries and sniffs make the thunderstorm in your heart sink like an ship swallowed by a big bad wave. 

Lips quiver knowing you hurt your lover again, your hands attempt to calm his trembling shoulders. Trying desperately to peel his hands away from his face and whispering apology after apology until he finally frees them.

The sight of his rosy face dawned with his reddish eyes that overtake the usual calming blue strike and tear at your insides. As much as Johnny hated to see you cry it hurt you more when he cried, because Johnny never wants to let anyone know he cries, let alone you.

“How can you think that? What does it even mean? I’ve forced myself to love you? What the fuck are trying to convince yourself y/n?”

Johnny pisces, waiting for you to answer before shaking his head. Clearly so upset and angered that you don’t seem to have an answer, despite that he holds onto your hands tighter.

“Don’t ever say that I forced myself to love you. Don’t disregard my feelings for you just so you can convince yourself that you don’t deserve me even though you give me your everything.” 

A rigid breath excludes your lips, eyes tried and sore from crying your little heart out to take into account of his words.

He was right

For all this time you were trying so hard to convince yourself that you didn’t deserve his love but never thought that it hurt him when you didn’t. Never thought that he felt unworthy of love when you dismissed his feelings to cater to your own demons.

Wrapping your arms around his neck you pull him to you, apologizing till his tears stopped dropping. Stroking your fingers through his scalp until his sniffles weren’t heard, pressing your lips to his temple until his burning temperature came back to normal.

Laying your head on his chest for what seemed like hours you two enjoy the sight of the city through the wide windows of the dining room. The candles dying long ago you sit on Johnny’s lap in silence and in the dark.

you both don’t mind it

It was indeed calming as his rising body heat wraps you like a blanket as his hands rubbing soothing circles at the small of your back. Keeping you nice and warm and safe with every kiss he presses to the crown of your head and lips.

“Johnny, I’m sorry.”

The vow is so broken and fragmented when it excludes your mouth but it’s wonderous how it makes his heart swell in contentment.

“I love you, y/n l/n.”

You can feel his heart fluttering against yours and it makes a smile pull on your lips.

“I love you to, Johnny Storm.”

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[dreamaboutwhathappens]

the man was FILLED with easter eggs and metaphors. here they are!

1. being in the room where it happens

in the lyric video for the man, we see a woman working so hard to try and get to where all the men are -- on top, both physically and metaphorically. in the music video, we see The Man starting out here, just another normal day at the office. another normal day in charge, and on top.

2. “i’d be a fearless leader”

The Man not so much as walks into the room and makes a few comments before getting applause for his work. at the same time, every desk in this office can be seen with a mountain of papers, files, and books stacked on top of them. for all the hard work that these people are doing in this office, The Man gets all the applause for a fraction of it.

3. the subway

now, obviously what we have here is what you have on any and every subway or other form of local transportation -- that one asshole who feels entitled to take up as much space as he wants at the discomfort of everyone around him. while i could get into how mansplaining is a metaphor for men feeling the right to take up more space in society then women, i won’t. instead, i want to focus on all the little details on this subway that tell men they can. at the very, very top of the frame, we see text at the bottom of an ad that says “because you DESERVE what you want” and the posters on either side of The Man tell us “mother nature doesn’t stand a chance” and “capitalize on the feeling”. this is how society treats men. they should get to do whatever they want, based only on their feelings or wants. this notion will become important in the subway station.

shoutout to the girl in the miss americana hoodie! i think we can safely say she’s listening to lover on her headphones.

4. the newspaper

for this image, i turned the brightness WAYYY up so we could read the newspaper. the leading headline is “what man won the year in celebrity dating?” with the caption “who crushed it this year?” one headline says “years most eligible CEO’s” and another says “men in love in sports”. now, i don’t have to tell you that taylor swift was vilified for her relationships. these headlines show the difference between how men and women are treated when it comes to relationships. what’s it like to brag about getting bitches and models?

on the back cover, we see a contrast between how men and women are viewed in society. the ad dedicated towards men has a very strong and tough vibe to it, and the article beneath it carries the title “it’s men against boys with no ladies around.” in fact, the only mention we get of said “ladies” is in the “style section” where we see two sexy, rail thin women posing at fashion shows. while society views men for their strength, women are supposed to be objects of beauty and desire, and nothing more. 

5. here lies taylor swift’s reputation (and all her previous albums)

now, obviously, the sign says “missing, if found, please return to taylor swift” and grafitied on the walls are the names of the albums whose masters taylor does not own. remember when those ads on the subway told men that you DESERVE what you want? that’s what empowered The Men who stole taylor’s masters to take them. they wanted them, after all! let’s also remember that The Man is can be seen pissing on the wall in this shot. it’s a metaphor for The Men who own taylor’s old albums and are essentially pissing on all her hard work. we can also see “KARMA” written in big letters in the middle of all the albums, which invokes a lyric from look what you made me do: “all i think about is karma, and then the world moves on but one things for sure, maybe i got mine but you’ll all get yours”. pretty sure karma is coming for The Men who own taylor’s masters.

if you look closely, you can also see a sign to the left of The Man that says no scooters! sc*oter bra*n is not welcome at the 13th street station

6. “i’d be just like leo in st. tropez”

for your viewing pleasure, i have included an image of leo in st. tropez. we can see women in bikinis, and every sort of expensive, luxurious form of leisure you could think of. during the verse where we see The Man on the yacht, she sings “they’d say i hustled, put in the work, they wouldn’t shake their heads and question how much of this i deserve”. this is reminiscent of The Man when he was in the office and how, no matter how much work he did or didn’t do, he is heralded as a genius. the point of saying she’d be just like leo in st. tropez is not to try and call out leonardo dicaprio for going a cruise and having some fun. people should be entitled to celebrate and vacation however they please. the point is that women should be able to do the same thing.

7. The Man’s “walk of shame”

this is a metaphor for how men in society are treated when they take a misstep. while women can be criminalized and thrown the wolves, it appears that men always have people on their team, and in this case, hands lining up to be high-fived. men often are not held to the same standards as women, and even when they do something wrong, they face very little backlash for it, and normally have their own set of groupies or supporters telling them that they were really in the right (and they are allowed to believe it).

at the back of the hallway, there hangs a portrait of The Man pointing at the camera, as if to say “you ARE the man.” it feels like uncle sam, but in a “ i want YOU for us army whatever your heart desires” kind of way.

8. world’s greatest dad

the bar for men is so low that when they do the very minimum (in this case, merely look after their own child), they get commended for it. imagine if this were a woman. would she be applauded? no, she would probably be reprimanded for being on her phone and ignoring her child, like The Man did here.

9. bragging

this one is pretty self-explanatory. what’s it like to brag about raking in dollars and getting bitches and models? what’s it like when it’s all good if you’re bad and it’s okay if you’re mad? in this scene, we see The Man telling all his buddies about the bitches and models and dollars, and then freaking out on somebody. 

10. raking in dollars

who's on the 100 dollar bill? he is! the serial number on this bill also ends in 13. i thought there might be more hidden goodies here, but if there are, the video isn’t in high enough resolution to tell. the only other thing i can make out was that it said “for motion picture use only” which i thought would be an easter egg until i rendered it in photoshop and could read it clearly. oh well!

11. raising money for the women’s charity

a problem we see in society a lot is people of privilege being an ally only by action, not by everyday behavior. here, we see The Man benefitting a women’s charity, but all throughout the video we haven’t seen him go out of his way to respect or give a voice to women. even in this shot, a woman stands on the sidelines while The Man takes all the glory. while he raises money for women, he has no other character traits that show he actually cares about them. 

in a different shot of this scene, a water bottle from taylor’s merch can be seen on the sideline.

12. the unimpressed umpire

this is taylor’s dad! his name is scott. in a video full of mediocre men, scott is our resident Good Man :)

13. the freakout

in 2018, serena williams unleashed on an umpire who accused her of cheating and stuck her with her third penalty of the game -- penalties the whole crowd was certain she did not deserve. she even said at the time “To lose a game for saying that, it’s not fair. How many other men do things? There’s a lot of men out here who have said a lot of things. It’s because I am a woman, and that’s not right.” this is a DIRECT representation of this. it’s as they say, it’s all good if you’re bad, and it’s okay if you’re mad.

14. the hat

the hat our tennis attendant is seen wearing says “TS” in big letters, and in a circle around it, it says “i’d be a fearless leader, i’d be an alpha type.” taylor’s dad can also be seen wearing this hat.

15. the one where lover is NOT the happy couple’s first dance

first of all, this shit makes me SO uncomfortable. this is obviously an allusion to all the men who marry MUCH younger women, which is poignant because, again, taylor suffers mercilessly for her relationship choices, and they’re nowhere near as abhorrent as this. something also worth mentioning: scott borchetta is turning 58 this year. i’ll let you figure the rest out.

16. mr americana

any taylor swift fan will know that in january, taylor released a documentary with an intimate perspective on her life titled “miss americana” which focused a lot on the struggles taylor has overcome in her career. choosing miss americana to be a part of this video is a wise choice, because it highlights those same struggles that taylor is tackling in this music video. we can probably assume that mr americana faces significantly less struggles.

every part of this poster has been revamped to be man-centered, even down to the star role - tyler swift, not taylor.

17. take two

here, our director tells The Man that he needs to be sexier, and more likable. this reflects criticism that taylor and other women in the public eye hear almost daily. as i mentioned before, women in society are valued only as objects of beauty and desire, and here, we see the script flipped to bring that to light. 

in this final scene, we leave the fantasy world of the music video that The Man is starring in, and go to what appears to be a woman-dominated world, insinuating that the universe of the music video is one opposite to our own. this drives home the claim that if taylor were the man, she would be the man.

18. dwayne the rock johnson

i thought that having the rock voice The Man was really poignant. think about the rock’s career -- started out as a wrestler, is now an actor, but he’s known for his kindness and his dedication to social justice. if you asked me if he had ever been a part of any scandal, i would tell you no. and that’s exactly who The Man is. that’s exactly who this song is about, and that’s who taylor is. she has had an insanely successful career spanning over a decade, crossing into multiple different genres and fields, and excelling at all of it. she’s friendly, hard working, a social justice warrior, and a philanthropist. but all of those things are pushed aside in favor of the negative. using the rock as The Man was the perfect way of finishing off the statement,

“if i was a man, i’d be the man.”

[desdemonafictional]

2020 Fanfic Year End Summary

Hey ho let’s go

Nev does these every year and I think they’re interesting, so for the first time I’m gonna give it a go too. I feel like this has been the longest fucking year--the Zine feels like it was two years ago and last January feels like it was ten years ago.

I’m gonna answer some questions and do a little reflection on the year 

This year I technically finished Icarus with 2k words of a 36k story, and after that I went on to produce 197k words not even COUNTING the stuff from GPAU which I do not know how to divide up for 2020. 

That’s 23 fics in one year, 8 of which were cowriting projects. This year has been, objectively, insane. By comparison, in 2019 I produced 17 fics and at the time I thought THAT was doing pretty impressive work. Now it’s not my best year by sheer number of titles--2018 was an oil boom while I was into JTHM and I actually put out 25 fics that year, some of which were short oneshots and some of which were two- or three-shots. But in terms of words? 2020 knocked them all out of the park. Which is absolutely something I owe to my amazing friends who let me ride around in their brains like the parasite I am.

In 2018 I started cowriting with Chokopopo, in 2019 I started cowriting with Neveralarch, and in 2020 I just did a fucking ton more of that with no looking back. It’s so incredibly motivating to have someone to show your progress to! And to have someone to hand the project over to when you’re stuck. If I hadn’t had Nev to bounce off of, most of this fic wouldn’t have been thought up at all, let alone finished. And don’t even get me started on GPAU! Choko and Zephyr and me have done such amazing things with “Welcome! Everything is fine”, and I can’t wait to be able to wrap that up and leave it for posterity.

I switched job positions around July of this year, and it’s changed the way I produce fic. Not sure if it’s good yet or not. I was never actually under a stay at home order this year because I work for a state agency, so to a degree I’ve missed out on the ways that quarantine affected other writers. I think I was fortunate?

Best Title 

Ahhh this is tough, I put a lot of effort into my titles this year--I promised myself in 2019 I was going to stop using song lyrics for fic titles because they make songs loop in my brain and it’s self inflicted torment, which is a promise I... mostly kept. “Dress Your Idol in Gold and Ashes” is the one I put most effort into probably, because I kept toying around with it trying to find something that was evocative of the right pagan imagery, and also the idea that got me started on the fic was a passage in a text book about the daily dressing of an idol statue in ancient Egypt.

“Broke My Last Glass Jaw” gets special mention because I named it after an essay that I wrote in undergrad for my African American Lit course, in which I broke down themes of the spoiled american dream via the lens of 90′s rap.

Worst Title

“Take one for the Team” is definitely my laziest title. It’s just super self indulgent kink fic, no character arc or anything, so I couldn’t find a good image or phrase to bring in for the title. Also I remember I really wanted to post it quickly, since it was a response to some art I was looking at, and I wanted the artist to see. I’m sure I could have done better with the title.

I did end up titling “Fear and Delight” after a song but I forgive myself because I literally only wrote the fic because the song existed first.

Best Summary

Some of these summaries I wrote and a some I did not, but of the ones that I wrote I think.... “ I'm All Full Up on Yesterdays, Don't Sing Me No More Blues” is the best one. It launches you directly into the action, while preserving the surprise reveal at the end of chapter 1. I actually wrote chapter one with this summary in mind, so it was baked in there from the start.

Jazz turned in his seat, cube at his lips, just in time to spot the white pursuit vehicle steaming and panting in the doorway. “Jazz of Staniz,” the enforcer shouted, “surrender the matrix and come quietly!”

Jazz knocked back his drink. “Well!” he said to the open-mouthed bartender, “time to split!”

Worst Summary

I mean, summaries are hard for everyone, right? That’s the thing we all universally struggle with, I think? I usually end up liking mine, and this year I was less afraid to just let a section of the story speak for itself. Anyway the worst one is “ Broke My Last Glass Jaw” by virtue of the fact that I had to come back months later and add another line because I wasn’t satisfied with how it was reaching audiences.

After the war, Impactor is at loose ends.

(They were friends once, weren't they? After all this time, Impactor wonders if Megatron hasn't managed to forget.)

I really wanted that one line to say it all, but honestly it requires a lot of trust in me as the author and most of the people who pass by the fic in the archive aren’t gonna know me from adam. The second line clarifies what kind of story it’s going to be in terms of tone and theme.

Best First Line

I’m pretty ambivalent about most of my first lines. Since Nev already pointed out the first line in “ Apotheosis”, I have to admit, it is pretty good. It gets off to a real jaunty start.

“Excuse me,” Starscream said, striding down the steps of the senate chambers with his cape flaring out behind him, “get your cowcatcher out of his face, you tin-plated amateur despot, he’s with me.”

I also like the audacity of a run on sentence that is the opening to “ Desecrate You”

Ratchet clicks the video because it was auto-recommended, and because First Aid is always dropping hopeful hints that he wants her to watch his show when he’s supposed to be grading papers, and because something about the title (“This is Definitely a Hoax! None of this is Real! Short Cut Footage Episode”) makes her wonder why the hell someone who runs a Ghost Hunting youtube channel would bill their own hard work as a hoax right out of the bag.

Worst First Line

Definitely the least interesting is from “Tantric Sex, and Other Mysteries of the Divine”. I guess it’s another fic where I was really eager to get to the meat of the fic, and so I just went back after I was done with the fic and wrote a paragraph of bare bones setting context so we could move on already.

It’s game night at Swerve’s, and Nightbeat is out in the thick of the crew for once, getting the lay of the land.

I have the same problem in a few fics, which probably arises from the fact that when I read a fic, I often skim the first paragraph or so to see if I really want to commit to the read. So I sometimes write like I’m expecting the audience to do that too. I probably need to work on that. Man, I even did it in Sexy Staycation.

Best Last Line

I like endings! I usually have a good gut instinct for where stories should end, and how to pace that, and what image I want to close the fic on. Often times I’ll be writing a story and feeling really lukewarm about it, and then the ending will come to me, and I’ll feel totally won over by it. That happened with my Suicide Squad fic years ago. So this is for the most part me picking the best of the things I already like. “Broke My Last Glass Jaw” has a good pithy one; I like how it isolates this moment as a moment of choice, and how it’s also ambiguous whether he will change because of this or whether he’s doomed to go back to his predetermined pattern.

And despite the unguarded door and the empty inviting streets beyond, where no one wants or expects anything of him but his feterless bitter trog onward into the next waiting prison cell, Impactor lays down, and Impactor does.

Special mention goes to “ The Sky Dark in its Eclipse : Orange Light Remix”, because the ending section is one of the big changes I brought to the remix, and I’m really happy with how it alters the shape of the narrative and also how it changes the focus of Rung’s arc. Most of the actual words in this fic were written by Choko in 2018, so this is like a collab in slow motion--I changed loadstone moments mostly, some of the framing, all of the backstory, and updated the setting for Cybertron. But the ending is all me.

On the morning of Intro to Psych finals, while Hot Rod hums and taps and scrolls back and forth through his test on the front row of the testing hall, Rung will sit behind his desk and brush the dust from the rotors of his fateful archetype, and start the long process of putting the pieces together once and for all.

Worst Last Line

Again, I like my endings, so this is really the worst of the best. The original ending line I wrote for “ All Our Urgent Restless Sighing” was:

Deadlock’s finials twitched. “...I am a reasonable amount of interested,” he said, “in this topic.”

And in the beta process, Nev came back in and added the line about Ratchet and cuddling, which was a big hit with the readers it seems like. So clearly I benefitted from some help there haha!

Looking back, did you write more or less than you thought you would this year?

you know what, I definitely wrote more than I thought I would. I didn’t see “Don’t Sing Me No More Blues” coming at all, and that was once a month for most of the year. I was hoping that I would be able to write a few things outside of Transformers, because I always worry that my long spans of hyperfixation are driving away my longtime readers... and I did manage to get one hxh thing written that was good, and one hxh thing started that is mediocre so far. So I guess I’ll call that good enough.

 What’s your favorite story this year? Not the most popular, just your favorite.

hmm I’m really proud of the Pharma chapter me and Choko put together for GPAU--the body horror, the tragedy, the lotus eater machine plot. But even though that felt like a whole ass story of its own, I guess it’s only a chapter at the end of the day. So my favorite story would be “Apotheosis”. It’s just SO much, and we had SO many things we wanted to do, and somehow we managed to do them ALL. Corpses! Children! God! It’s got everything! The only thing it doesn’t have is the idea that literally started us plotting out the fic. And that was “ritual public sex with Starscream and Rung”. Oh well. Maybe someday. Probably not.

Okay, Now your most popular story

Ha! I tend to view the success of a fic more based on its bookmark ratio than its hit count, but by the numbers, unsurprisingly, “ Don't Sing Me No More Blues” is my most popular fic of the year at a whopping 3k hits and 113 bookmarks. Well, it is jazz/prowl which means it has a built in audience of considerable size, and it also updated seven times this year which increases its net range, so no surprise. But I think people also just really vibed with it--it’s very much a product of the times we are living in, and I don’t think it could have been written in any year except for 2020. 

“Dress Your Idol” has 58 bookmarks, by the way. I’m extremely proud of that fic for having such a high bookmark to view ratio. I guess the people who did read it liked it a lot.

Story most underappreciated in its Time.

Okay nothing is as under-exposed as the stuff I produced in JTHM, so I’m definitely not complaining. It’s hard to think about leaving TF because TF is such an enthusiastic community. That said, “ Neggnog Cozy” did not get eyeballs. I’m not surprised, it’s short and it’s gen, and Thundercracker doesn’t have the built in audience of say Starscream. Still, I thought it was really funny and cute and I would have liked it if more people would have given it a chance.

Story that could have been better

Oh, “ Melusine Among the Tombs” for sure. I went into that with only the first chapter planned and immediately after realized that I had no idea where the fic was going and also I had lost my grip on canon characterization after a couple years going rusty in other fandoms. I plan to finish it eventually, but I need a better plan than “wing it???” first.

Sexiest Story

I wrote SO much weird kink this year. Like. Shout out to past me for writing some pretty spicy JTHM fic, but this year I really leaned into how weird you can plausibly get with an all robot all alien cast. 

“ The Sensual Machine” is the most unabashedly horny because it was written specifically for a weird kink themed zine that I was an editor on. “Desecrate You” is also quite horny but I almost exclusively wrote the frame device for that, so I don’t get sexy credit lmao. “Fear and Delight” was a big hit with all the hxh readers and I think it has an element of sexiness more so than pure horniness--its has a kind of glamour and style to it.

Most fun story

“Starscream's Sexy Staycation” is by far the most unabashedly comic and sexy and silly and low stakes. It has one of my favorite kinks, a beautiful stupid moment of Ratchet suffering, and Rung calling safeword which is something new and fresh and I want a lot more of it in the world.

Did any stories shift your perceptions of the characters?

“ Lacunae” was given to me as a yule gift prompt with the express intention of explaining who the fuck Carmilla’s mother was, and what the deal is with Carmilla as well. This would have forced me to reevaluate my understanding of the novel except for the TEENSY insignificant fact that I realized I had never finished reading Carmilla, somehow, and ended up reading it for the first time in December in preparation for yule. So uh. Hmm.

I think “ Don't Sing Me No More Blues” made me think about Prowl in a different way. I wasn’t really expecting him to be this hard-edged idealist when I started out on the fic. He was originally going to be much more like the autistic coded Prowl of “The Cop and the Cryptid,” one of my favorite fics ever. Also, I started writing the fic about a month before the riots and police protest kicked off in America this year, and it really caused me to zero in on how Prowl being part of a system like that affects his relationship to the world and other characters.

Hardest Story to Write

“ Elegy for Actaeon of the Hounds” took me a total of six months to write from start to finish. I don’t know why. Well, It’s partly because there are three involved sex scenes and sex scenes are actually very difficult and time consuming for me to write. It’s also partly because I kept wanting it to have a character arc, and I kept getting stumped on how to handle that. Beauty and the Beast plot lift? Have Rodimus be a rabbit? Eventually I settled on the version that kept the cast tightly cinched down around Megatron and Rung, and I’m happy with the result.

Easiest Story to Write

When we were writing “Apotheosis” it felt like we were on FIRE, we were so productive and we started three other projects between us while it was in motion. But “Take One For the Team” was absolutely the most fun to write, it basically wrote itself

Most Overdue Story

“Champagne in the Final Days of Rome” was based off a conversation I had with Nev pretty early on in our friendship--Discord says it was June 2019, so that’s uhhh ten months between discussion to actual writing? And it still didn’t turn out to be the fic we were originally outlining, haha.

Oh god you know what was really the most overdue? The last chapter of “Icarus; or, Look Who's Digging His Own Grave”. It was literally a year, January to January, between chapter 12 and 13. For a while I thought maybe I was just going to have to leave it there, without resolving the time loop problem at all.

Did you take writing risks this year? What did you learn from them?

Writing for the zine was a big risk. I remember Nev had to reassure me at least twice that what I was writing wasn’t too weird or off-topic or embarrassing to be part of the project. Now, of course, I’m very happy with it. But my god I was nervous to post something that was like.... straight up actually bimboification applied to one of the most popular toy characters of all time.

What I learned from this is that people love horny shit, are READY to take a chance on a weird fic when its in the right wrapping paper, and when in doubt you CAN sell people on a kink they’re not really into by making the kink actually a reflection of a character arc. Are you writing this down?

Do you have any goals for writing in the new year?

Finish GPAU!!!!!!

I’d like to FINALLY sit down and do some hard work on my original fiction. I’ve been kind of waiting for the tf hyperfixation to wane so I could move forward, and I think that process is in motion now. But who knows. If Rung shows up in the new comics I might get nerfed again.

Other than that I’d like to write at least one fanfic that isn’t TF, and I would like to get this really crunchy Rung/Pharma fic off the ground so I can make some people CRY

[boldly-ho]

Another Life - Chapter 17

Fandom: What We Do in the Shadows 

Pairing: Vladislav x Reader

Series Rating: E

Word Count: 1863

Chapter Summary: Stu finds out.

A/N: I won’t be posting next week, but I’ll be back to my normal schedule the week after. As always, cross-posted to AO3.

You woke up at a decent hour for once. Both exhausted from your nightmare and its accompanying fitful sleep, and out of a desire to avoid Deacon and Viago, you’d actually gone to bed early the previous night. For the first time in a while, you wouldn’t have to choose between eating either breakfast or lunch. Flatting with four vampires led to a lot of late nights.

Checking your phone, you found a number of texts from late last night. Petyr had sent you a loose apology for scaring you half to death when you woke him up. Viago sent a text asking if you were free next Friday for the drinking game night. You shot him a quick reply confirming your availability.

A third text was from an unknown number, received early this morning. You opened the message, reading, ‘Hey Y/N. This is Stu. I got your number from Deacon. Are you free for lunch today? I need to talk to you about something.’

You paused, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. For a brief moment you were filled with anxiety. Was Stu asking you out on a date? Not that there was anything wrong with Stu, of course, he just wasn’t your type, and you really didn’t want things to be weird. But no, that couldn’t be it. Thankfully. ‘I need to talk to you about something.’ That wasn’t a date, but it could be something bad, something serious. Was Stu in trouble? Your anxiety flared anew.

You drafted a reply. ‘Hey Stu. Lunch is fine. Does noon work? What do you need to talk about?’

His response was immediate. He ignored your question but confirmed for noon and sent you the address of a café. You thumbs-upped his text and set the phone aside, chewing on the inside of your lower lip in concern.

~

You struggled with your groceries, one paper bag in each arm. You were nearly running down the sidewalk. The condensation from the thawing ice cream was wearing the structural integrity of one of the bags, and you desperately wanted to make it back to the flat before the bottom inevitably gave out. You’d forgotten your reusable bags at home, and were now at the mercies of paper. And paper, apparently, had few mercies.

You felt the contents shifting, and further picked up your speed, probably looking quite ridiculous as you more or less sprinted down the street, clutching the disintegrating bags to your chest. It was all for naught, though, as the bottom of the bag gave out, spilling a carton of ice cream, a quart of milk, and a boatload of produce onto the pavement.

You let out a loud sigh of exasperation, startling a passerby.

You leaned against a wooden telephone post, surveying the damage before getting to work. You added what you could to the other bag, resigning yourself to cleaning all the produce immediately upon arriving home. You decided to carry the ice cream and milk in your hands, not wanting to damage the other bag with either weight or moisture.

Standing once again, with your groceries balanced somehow even more precariously than before, you resumed your trek home. Or, more accurately, you attempted to resume your trek home. Instead, you took a half a step, but were yanked back to the telephone pole by your pants. Awkwardly turning around with your arms full, you found that your pants were caught on a staple that was holding up one of the many posters covering the post.

You sighed, setting down your groceries again, and taking extra care not to tear your pants, or worse, de-pants yourself. Turning around as best you could, you began working at the staple. After a few minutes, and one near-catastrophe with a would-be splinter, you managed to work the staple loose from the post. Unfortunately, it was still stuck to your pants, now holding a poster to your backside. You tore the sheet of paper from yourself and decided to remove the staple from your clothing at home. You were about to crumple it up and toss it away when something about it grabbed your attention.

It was a missing person poster. A woman named Kura had gone missing over a year ago, and her family was willing to pay a hefty sum of money for any information leading to her safe return. While obviously sad, that hadn’t been what garnered your attention. It was the photograph, large and centered on the poster, that drew you in. The woman in the photo had bright, brown eyes, and a wide, happy smile. You’d never seen her before.

But you recognized her.

Had you known her? You reread the information on the poster. You couldn’t have known her. She was last seen just days after you moved out of your flat with Dawn. Unless you met her in that brief window of time. Would that be enough for you to remember her so viscerally, even now?

Unless, of course, you’d known her after she was ‘last seen.’

That thought chilled you.

What had you been involved in? Had she wound up in something shady? Had you? Or worse, had you been, even just partially, responsible for her having gone missing?

You couldn’t rule that horrifying possibility out.

You felt light-headed.

~

You sat alone at the café, anxiously drumming your fingers against the table. Checking your phone, you saw you there were still six minutes to go before you were supposed to meet. You looked to the door anyway, repeating this pattern for the next four minutes until Stu arrived two minutes early.

“Hi, Y/N,” he greeted, slightly redder than usual. Perhaps he had rushed here? “Have you ordered yet?”

“No. I was a little early, so I thought I’d wait for you.”

Gesturing behind himself towards the counter, he offered, “I can buy. What would you like?”

“No, no, I can buy my own,” you brushed off his generosity.

“I wanted to meet, and at the last minute. I can buy. What are you having?”

“Thank you. I’ll have a smoothie, and I’ve never been here, so whatever you recommend, I guess.”

“Sure thing.” Stu went up to the counter, placing the order and paying, before returning with his coffee, your smoothie, and two caprese melts.

“Thanks, Stu. So what’s up? Is everything alright?”

You bit into the caprese melt. Damn, Stu had good taste.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” His tone did little to convince you that this was true. He’s stared down at his yet untouched sandwich. You waited for him to go on. If he was this insistent on meeting, you trusted he’d decide to share his thoughts eventually. When he spoke again, he said, “Nick told me about the whole vampire thing last night.”

You stopped mid-chew, swallowing almost too much sandwich. ‘The whole vampire thing.’ That was certainly a fitting name for it.

You looked up from your plate, eyes searching Stu’s face. What was he looking for here? Did he still need to figure out whether or not this was all actually true, or did he just need the companionship of another human stuck in this bizarre limbo between the real and the supernatural? Until you knew where he was at, there really wasn’t any way to go forward.

“And did you… believe him?”

Stu nodded quickly. “Yeah. He showed me, uh…” He faltered.

You nodded. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.” You had only known Nick for a short period of time, but in that time you were able to discern that he’s quite the showboat. So, you were willing to venture a guess that his demonstration of vampirism was a bit less gentle than Vladislav’s. “Are you okay?” you asked Stu.

“Yeah. Just shaken.”

You offered him a small smile. “I can relate.”

“That’s why I wanted to talk to you. You get on with your flatmates so well, and you’ve known about this for longer than me, obviously. I thought it might be easier to talk to another human about this than with a- well, with Nick or one of the guys.”

You smiled wider, ready to play the part of expert even though you didn’t feel it. “What do you want to know?”

“Nick told me most of what I wanted to know. There were a few things I didn’t think of at the time, or just didn’t want to ask.” He paused before continuing. “How often do they have to… drink….?” He asked, struggling to chose the correct word.

“Eat,” you answered.

“Eat, then. How often do they do that?”

“It depends,” you replied, glad you had recently learned the answer to that one. “Nick eats pretty much everyday, but that’s only since he’s such a new vampire. He’ll eat less after a few years. Vladislav, Viago, and Deacon only eat a few times a week.”

Stu looked away, down toward his very vegetarian meal. You could guess how he was feeling.

Continuing, you said, “Petyr eats even less than that, like once or twice a month, though sometimes he eats small animals in between. I don’t know if that’s just due to his age, or what. I think he might be a different kind than the others, but I don’t really know.”

A woman walking past your table threw you an alarmed look, but you ignored her.

“Petyr?” Stu asked, confused.

“Oh, right! You’ve never met Petyr. He flats with us. He’s really old, like 8000 years or more. He looks really freaky, like Nosferatu-esque, but he’s a cool guy.”

“Like Nosferatu?” he repeated. He seemed dumbfounded, but you could hardly hold that against him. “So how old are the others then?”

“I don’t remember exactly.” You realized you should put their birthdays in your phone, and made a mental note to do so. “Vladislav is 800 something. Viago is over three hundred, closer to 400, maybe. And Deacon is 150 or 160 or something like that. And, obviously, you’d know Nick’s age better than me.”

“Right, yeah. How long have you known? About vampires?”

“Not long. I was just looking for a flat. I actually figured they were delusional and thought that they were vampires, but not that they actually were,” you laughed. “It was actually the day Nick got turned that I found out it was all real.”

Any sense of humor you’d just had quickly disappeared, and you forced down the rising urge to apologize to Stu for what happened to his friend. It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t do anything to stop it. Those words were becoming a sort of mantra to you.

“Do you ever…” he trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished.

“Do I ever what?”

“No. Sorry. I shouldn’t pry. It isn’t really my business.”

“It’s fine. Pry away. You’re the only other human I know who’s in a similar situation.”

He smiled at you, and you returned the gesture. You supposed there were worse things to experience camaraderie over.

“Do you ever feel guilty?” he asked. “About the people they kill? Not that it’s your fault, or our faults, of course, I just-“

You interrupted him with your answer.

“Every day.”

[doyouever-daydream]

I’m every woman.

A/N So today is the International Women’s Day and I felt inspired to write something, I tried to incorporate as many women that appeared on Criminal Minds but failed to include them all. I’m going to start writing reader insert imagines for my CM Bingo prompts so SSA y/n y/l makes her first appearance here. 

Today I’ll be attending my first Women’s March so that obvioulsy inspired this imagine, if any of you are going to the Women’s March please be safe and thank you for taking the streets and suppporting the cause (the current situation in my country is pretty fucked up so this year is even more important to me to try and do anything I can so women can have the same rights as any human being)

English is not my first language and although I love writing and spent most of my teenage years writing fanfiction, everything I wrote was in Spanish so it took me years to finally decide to post my writing in another language, I’m still super insecure but I want to share it so, apologies for any mistakes (also it is currently 3:00 AM so I am practically writing with my eyes closed), I believe it is important for women to speak up and take actions so they can be heard and there are equal rights so that’s how this imagine was inspired. Also these female characters have inspired me as a woman so I hope you can enjoy this! 

Warnings: I mean I don’t think this qualifies as warning but talks of feminism

Word count: 2201

“I’m every woman, it’s all in me, anything you want done baby, I’ll do it naturally.”

It was a Saturday night and Chaka Khan’s song played in the background at Penelope’s and Luke’s apartment, it was a special girl’s night, all of them, even Kristy was there while Matt and Luke baby sat the kids.

“Wine and sign making? This is my kind of girl’s night!” Garcia was ecstatic that all of them were going to the Women’s March.

“I know! Although I’m not sure I’m creative enough to do this” JJ stared at her blank poster.

“Come on, JJ, you can do this! Put feminist AF” Emily was already a little tipsy and was clueless as to what her sign would say but she was excited.

“Actually yeah, I think something like that will be fine, what about you, Tara?” JJ looked at Tara who looked as if she was struggling to decide.

“I don’t know, there’s so much I would like to say but unfortunately I can’t write an entire sermon”

“Same, girl, I’m so torn up, not only about what to write but how to decorate, Garcia here has like a million of art supplies we could use, I’m about to turn up a 9 year old and put glitter on all of your signs.” y/n grabbed one of Garcia’s boxes an eyed the glitter selection her dear friend pulled out.

“YES! Glitter and colors and stickers and ugh, I love you y/n, let’s throw biodegradable glitter as a protest!” Penelope hugged y/n while the rest of the gang decided what to put.

“I’ll need your help with Chloe’s and Lily’s signs! So Penelope and y/n, unleash all of your creativity on her signs” y/n smirked.

“I already know what I’ll write for one of them, tell me what you think, girls just wanna have fun” She paused “…damental human rights”

“I HATE YOU, you should’ve told me to put that” JJ teased.

“I’ll be honest and say that I saw it on instagram but thought it would be cute to put it on one of the girl’s sign.” y/n confessed while she started drawing on her poster.

“She’s drawing already, man, I wish I was as artsy as you are” Tara tried to see what she was drawing but couldn’t make a figure just yet.

“Oh, oh, OH, I got it, y/n will not be the only one using music” JJ started writing on her poster “Check this out” She lifted up her poster that read ‘ok, ladies, now let’s get in formation’.

“I still think you should add my idea” Emily laid comfortably in Penelope’s couch while seeing her friends work on her signs and siping on her glass of wine. “We should’ve brought donuts”

“Oh, I can call someone to pick up some” Penelope already had her phone and was, apparently, sending a text.

“Who else is coming? I thought it was only us?” y/n asked while she kept drawing.

“I invited an old friend but she only just told me she could make it” Now everyone was eyeing Garcia while she smiled proudly.

“Who? Linda Barnes?” Emily’s sarcasm had everyone laughing.

“Nope, but it’s a surprise, let’s continue please.”

“You know what? I already know what I’m gonna put on mine, back when I worked in San Francisco, I had this really annoying co worker, whose name I can’t remember but he was a pain in the ass that constantly went around joking with everyone in the office about how I had the biggest case of resting bitch face, not only did I have to endure that but also his misogynistic jokes” When Tara finished writing on her poster she showed it to her friends.

Resisting

Bitch

Face.

“I’m gonna decorate the shit out of it now” She proceeded to grab cut outs from magazines that Garcia had.

“I love it Tara, and I love being here with you, thanks for counting me in Penelope” Kristy was happy to hang out with these women that she considered her friends.

“Nonsense, you’re part of the girl power gang, we’re family, now, what do you think about my progress?” Everyone turned to see Garcia’s sign, it read: destroy the patriarchy, not the planet.

“Penelope Grace Garcia, you are perfect” y/n stated and everyone agreed with her.

“It’s totally you.”

“Ah, see? Baby girl is a great feminist and ambientalist” Penelope smiled proudly while she painted flowers.

“You know? I’m inspired, I’m gonna start working on that sign, that is until the donuts arrive” Emily sat straight while she put the glass on Garcia’s coffee table and then went to get her poster.

“I finished mine” Kristy said proudly while she held her sign up: ‘women belong in all places where decisions are being made’

“You are a genius, woman” JJ was in awe of all her friends.

“I love it, Kristy” y/n finally speaked up after being very focused designing her sign “I know I’ve told you this many times but growing up I was a tomboy, I loved playing in the dirt, climbing trees, playing I was a spy, I had bunch of guy friends, I loved, I still love baseball with my life, and other sports, I truly believe ‘all clothes are unisex if you stop being a little bitch about it’ and because of that I’ve had to put up with a million comments about how ‘weird’ I am because despite all of that I also like wearing makeup and other ‘feminine stuff’, I grew up being an ‘enigma’ to some people because I like boy stuff and girls stuff and I always hated when they told me bullshit like that, I always refused to accept there were stuff for girls and boys, now after giving you this lecture as if I was presenting my dissertation, look at my sign”

I eat gender norms for breakfast

y/n accompanied the quote with a drawing of a cereal box adorned with blue and pink glitter.

“SLAY” Emily cheered. “I feel you, y/n, I grew up speaking my mind and sometimes that wasn’t well received because I wasn’t a man, it drove me insane, it still does, as much as the brass wants to believe they are ok with having women in charge, they’re not completely convinced, you know?”

“You are a total boss bitch, and we love you” Tara commented while she raised her glass.

“Yes, Emily Prentiss, one day you’ll be THE boss bitch of the FBI, I know it” y/n added as the doorbell rang.

“Ooh, my surprise for you is here” Penelope hurried to the door and when she opened it she shrieked in delight when she saw Alex Blake standing there.

“Hello ladies” She entered the apartment and went to say hi to everyone, introducing Kristy to their former teammate, since she was the only one that did not know her, Prentiss had met her before and y/n was also familiar with her as they’ve worked together when y/n worked for the Crisis Negotiation Unit.

“It’s so nice to see you, Alex, how you’ve been?” JJ asked while offering her a glass of wine.

“Great, I am back teaching at Georgetown, James is also teaching there and we’re very happy to be back from Massachusetts”

After catching up with Alex’s life and the rest of them trying to sum up everything the BAU had been through during her absence time flew by quickly.

“I can’t believe you didn’t joined the BAU when I was there, it would’ve been incredible to work with you Tara, you as well, y/n” She smiled fondly at the two women she had known for the longest time out of the rest.

“It’s known to everyone that has worked with me that I learned so much from the both of you, I can’t believe that now you are my friends and here we are, making signs for the Women’s March”

“Hearing you talk about working together at the BAU almost makes me want to join you, girls” Kristy joked “If only the cases you worked weren’t so dark” They all laughed.

“There have been incredible ladies in that unit” y/n admired the women that had been before.

“I remember when Elle Greenaway joined the BAU boys club and I wasn’t so lonely during our cases anymore”

“I miss Elle so much” Garcia sighed while she reminisced on her friend that grew apart from them.

“I never got to work with her during her time in the Bureau but I heard she was a badass” y/n said wondering what had happened to her.

“She was” JJ added.

“Talking about awesome BAU ladies, the other day I saw Jordan, remember her?” Emily looked at Penelope and JJ.

“No way! I haven’t seen her since she came to our rescue when I was on maternity leave”

“I’ve seen her a couple times, she’s worked her way up, I think she’s also unit chief but I can’t remember which unit, she also has an adorable son, once we bumped into each other and showed me some pictures”

“Ashley Seaver also worked briefly with the BAU, didn’t she?” y/n asked.

“Oh yeah, Seaver! She was nice” Emily said.

“Reid had a crush on her” And as soon as those words came out of Penelope’s mouth she regretted them, she didn’t want to make y/n uncomfortable, not that y/n and Reid were anything but Garcia knew they were pining for each other but were too stubborn to act on their feelings.

“I know her, we’re not friends friends but I like her very much, we have some mutual friends, she’s married now, still working for the FBI at a field office” y/n said making a mental note to call her soon.

“Isn’t it amazing knowing how many women are kicking ass in their jobs and making our country a better place?” Kristy said.

“You’re a part of that change Kristy, you should’ve worked at the FBI”

“Oh no, just one FBI agent is enough in our family but thank you for the trust, now I need ideas for the girls signs, y/n has already helped me with one but I still have one to go”

“What about fight like a girl? Matt has told me how much Lily loves Taekwondo” JJ suggested.

“Actually that’s perfect” Kristy went to write that on the poster her little girl would be holding during the march.

“You know, tomorrow Lily and Chloe will not be alone, Kate is bringing Kelly along with her and Meg.”

“I wished she was here” JJ really wanted to see Kate, it had been a while since she had seen her.

“She had to cancel last minute, poor Kelly has a stomach bug” Penelope lamented their friend couldn’t joined them.

“Alex, do you know what you’re putting on your sign?” Tara questioned.

“Actually yeah, I’ve thought about it all the way here, let me get on with it so we can help you clean and then we continue talking?”

They all agreed and went to finish their signs, after a half an hour later they were all done.

It’s time to ovary-act.

“I’m telling you I live surrounded by incredible women, ugh, I love all of you, mis mujeres” Penelope had learned a few Spanish from Luke.

“I couldn’t resist a little wordplay, after all I’m a linguist” Alex was proud of her idea as the others reassured her it was witty.

“You know what? I’m not that drunk that I actually thought deeply about mine, but I finally got it, and while I’m not that drunk I’m drunk enough to make a speech so prepare” She stood up straight while everyone turned to see her “All my life, no matter where I lived, men have tried to intimidate me just because I am a woman and I’ve always fought against those dicks that try to tell me what I can and can’t do, even when it came to my own fucking body, they felt entitled to give their opinion, it’s time we show them and our next generations that we will not accept being silenced, we have the right to speak and be heard and we’ll rule the world, mes amis.” She jokingly raised her glass while y/n grabbed Prentiss sign so she could show it to the rest of their friends.

Vulva la résistance

The rest of the girls cheered on Emily, they were now standing beside each other, with their arms resting on their friends shoulders.

JJ and Penelope went back as far as 15 years, 14 with Emily and y/n, apart from Tara and Alex, had only met these incredible women a little over a year but she was amazed by the amount of courage they had, she felt extremely lucky to be surrounded by women that did it all. Absolutely all.

Truth was being a woman in the FBI, hell, being a woman anywhere wasn’t always easy, but having a support network like the one they had created made life a little easier, knowing if anything happened all they had to do was look beside them and there would be another woman lending a helping hand.

[moonbeambucky]

Spills and Drills

Pairing: Dentist!Bucky Barnes x Reader [AU] Word Count: 4862 Warnings: fluff

Summary: Although you love sleeping in you learn that sometimes good things come to those who wake up early.

A/N: This is my submission for @teamcap4bucky Teamcap4bucky’s 2k Celebration Writing Challenge! My prompt was “Why are you staring at me?” Thank you as always to Sam @buckyofthemyscira for beta reading, I love you 3000! 💕 gif not mine

Hushed are the voices around you as the movie theatre lights dim to make way for the bright screen illuminating the upcoming releases. You’re comfortable in the red leather seat, with your hand digging into the bag of popcorn in your lap. The melted butter makes the salt stick to your fingers but you don’t mind at all, sucking them clean into your mouth after each handful.

Your name is called, no, shouted over the heavy thwong of the music in the movie trailer. You nearly jumped in your seat wondering why Shuri is practically screaming your name. As you turn to face her everything seems wrong. She’s wearing the same white dress she wore for her sixteenth birthday party, the white one with the fishnet collar her mother thought was a little too casual for the celebration. Shuri would always be her little princess even if she didn’t dress like one.

“What are you doing?” you questioned as she continued to shout your name. “Stop. No. Shuri, stop it!”

With a gasping breath you’re jolted awake, squinting one eye open to see Shuri standing above you, her palms are still pushing against your shoulders.

“Y/N wake up!”

Oh, it was just a dream. The tension in your body relaxes as you nuzzle your face back into the softness of your pillow. “Shuri stop, lemme sleep, it’s Saturday,” you groaned.

“I know it is, I was sleeping too until your alarm woke me up. That thing has been going off for twenty minutes. Don’t you have an appointment to go to?”

Your eyes shot open. “Shit!”

You get up, throwing the blankets off yourself as fast as possible to get out of bed. Why you decided to make your appointment at 8am you’ll never truly understand. If I get up early I’ll have the whole day to be productive, you mock yourself in your head.

With a wide yawn Shuri leaves your room, saying she’s headed back to bed. Your own bed looks so inviting, it’s calling out for you to come back. It was very tempting to cancel the appointment and go back to sleep but you wouldn’t.

Your dentist is a really nice man who worked with you a few years ago during an emergency visit when you didn’t have insurance. He reduced his fees to the bare minimum and even then let you pay him off over the course of a few months. He had a small practice in Brooklyn he ran with his wife and in the world of cheap deals on Groupon you knew he was struggling a bit.

In less than a minute you were dressed and rushing in to the bathroom to wash the sleep from your face and give a thorough brushing to your teeth. Morning breath was still heavy on your tongue so you made sure to scrape that well too. Checking your phone for the time you realized you might be cutting it close to your appointment, so you grabbed what you needed and headed out.

The subway ride was quick but you still had a few blocks to walk once you got out. The street was a lot busier than you expected especially for so early in the morning but that was mainly due to a new popular cafe that recently opened. The lines were crazy long and as much as you wanted to try their Instagrammable treats you figured you’d wait a little bit for the hype to die down.

Checking your phone once more you realized you had one minute to go and two long blocks to still walk. You picked up the pace and turned the corner at the cafe, looking down to secure your phone back in your bag and not paying attention to the person coming out of the door.

You collided with a solid frame, getting knocked back a bit but thankfully not falling. A dentist appointment is enough, you certainly didn’t need a visit to the emergency room. Something did fall however, the two cups of coffee the man was holding.

“I’m so sorry!” you blurted out, looking down at the mess on the ground, with coffee spilling out from the overturned cups.

Glancing up you saw the man standing there, still holding the now empty coffee tray in his hand, with his mouth gaping open in shock. Your own mouth dropped open while staring at what was possibly the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.

Tall and well built, looking unfairly good in a sharp black suit with a simple white button down, casually left open at the top. His rich brown hair was cropped short with perfectly groomed stubble covering his jawline.

Realizing you were gawking at him you shook yourself free from his handsome aura and prompted yourself to actually speak.

“I’m so sorry, please let me pay you for them,” you offered, digging your hand into your bag to pull out some money.

“No need, it was my fault,” he replied, with the words falling from his perfectly pink lips like silk. “Did I spill any on you?”

You were definitely sure this was your fault but the sincerity of his tone combined with the sweetest look those incredible blue eyes were giving you would make you believe anything he said. In response to his question you shook your head, not knowing if you were even telling the truth since you couldn’t bother to pull your gaze away from him again.

“I’m glad to hear that. Could I buy you a coffee for your trouble? Although it might take a while with this line,” he chuckled.

Yes is what you wanted to say. You would have waited in a month long line if it meant you’d be with this incredibly handsome man but you were definitely late to your appointment by now and you simply wouldn’t cancel on your dentist like that.

“I’m sorry I have to go,” you quickly trailed off as your feet began to carry you in the direction you needed to be. “Again, I’m so sorry about the coffee!”

You really wished you had woken up earlier, maybe then you would have had a spare moment to actually talk to the hot guy and try your luck at getting his number. He did offer to buy you a coffee so that seemed promising but then you remembered the two cups spilled on the ground. Two cups of coffee for one person didn’t seem completely unlikely but a guy as hot as that is definitely in a relationship. Oh well.

By the time you reached the office you were slightly out of breath after deciding that you should speed walk the rest of the way there to make up for lost time. It didn’t help that you picked the wrong jacket to wear on the awfully sunny morning.

It took a moment to steady your breathing before you rang the bell and were buzzed in.

“Dr. Barnes!” you exclaimed, not expecting to see him behind the reception desk where his wife usually is. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

“That’s alright Y/N, it’s a just a few minutes,” he confirmed, checking the watch on his wrist.

You followed Dr. Barnes down the hallway whose walls were lined with posters of people smiling, showing off bright white teeth that advertised all kinds of dental products and procedures.

“My next appointment actually cancelled,” he said, turning his head back a bit as he continued to take you to the examination room. “Turns out they didn’t want to get up this early on a Saturday.”

“I can’t imagine anyone that would,” you remarked with light sarcasm while sharing a smile.

The exam room had recently been redecorated with beigey-grey wood running throughout the floor. The former textured blue wall paper was gone, replaced by a fresh coat of light grey paint on all but one wall that was a deep teal blue. Dr. Barnes’ old desk and bulky computer were replaced by a modern floating desk and a monitor that was clearly a touch screen, though a wireless keyboard and mouse were on top of the polished surface.

You knew Dr. Barnes wasn’t comfortable with new technology. His flip phone made you laugh every time you saw it but it only added to his endearing charm. His wife Winnie adapted faster to her new phone though she has asked you the occasional question or two.

“The room looks great,” you said, hanging up your jacket on the small hook on the wall. “Did Winnie do this?”

His lips were pulled into a smile as he shook his head, “No, my son actually.”

You sat in the dental chair getting yourself comfortable as Dr. Barnes pressed a button for the automatic cup filler beside you as he continued, “He’s been back for a while now.”

Dr. Barnes would often talk about his children as he made small talk during the exam. His son James had gone to college in Indiana and also studied dentistry. Dr. Barnes had hoped James would eventually work at the family practice.

“…If only he learned to be on time,” Dr. Barnes sighed.

He glanced over at the frame on his desk, an picture of his family from over a decade ago when the kids were younger. From your angle you could see bright happy faces and James smiling with mouth full of metal. The poor kid ticked off all the boxes that made up an awkward teen, braces, acne and a lanky body with long stringy hair that looked like it needed a good wash. Rebecca, his daughter, thankfully didn’t look like she had any of the problems her brother did, and Winnie looked as radiant then as she did now.

“Where is Winnie anyway?” you wondered.

Dr. Barnes smiled at the mention of his wife’s name and you found it endearing to see how clearly in love they were. “Sleeping in this morning. Rebecca’s asked her to come along later while she looks for a wedding dress. Knowing my daughter, Win’s gonna need as much rest as possible!”

His fingers slowly clacked away at the keyboard, making you smile as he used both index fingers to slowly type out your name.”

“With Becca engaged I keep telling James he needs to catch up.”

“I’m sure he appreciates it,” you chuckled.

Dr. Barnes pressed the backspace key a few times, clearly unable to have a conversation while he was concentrating on typing. He let his hands rest in his lap for a moment, running his thumb along the gold band that has long since settled in the groove it created on his finger all those years ago.

“I just want to see him settle down with someone nice,” he said, pressing his lips together to form a tight smile.

You know he meant well and having had similar conversations with your own parents you can only assume the conversations are just as awkward for James as they are for you. A few times you’ve tried to explain to your parents how dating is much different today from their time but they don’t always understand. The conversation about why “nice guys” on the internet don’t actually exist seemed to have gone over their heads so you definitely understand James’ suffering.

“If it makes you feel better my parents say the same thing.”

Dr. Barnes’ sparkling blue eyes lit up at you words, as a smile slowly spread across his face. “Well, can I interest you in my son? He’s much better looking than I am and not a single cavity!”

“No cavities you say? That’s the first thing I look for in a man.”

The crinkles surrounding his eyes were prominent as Dr. Barnes gave a bellowing laugh. After finally pulling up your chart he briefly went over your medical history before taking x-rays. He placed the lead vest on your body and positioned the arm of the machine in place so he could begin. The sound of an ancient ringtone stopped his actions and Dr. Barnes excused himself to take the call in another room.

The weighted vest was comforting against your still sleepy form easing your eyes to gently shut. It would have been very easy to fall asleep but the dentist’s office was not the place for a nap. Instead you forced your eyes open, with a gasp caught in your throat as your jaw dropped in shock at what you saw.

Standing in the hallway in front your exam room was the man you bumped into outside the cafe, holding another tray with two cups of coffee. All thoughts about his looks went away because no matter how blue those eyes were or how chiseled that jawline was he was clearly a crazy stalker.

“Dude, are you kidding me?” Your mouth hung open in shock as you continued to stare at him. “I asked if you wanted me to pay for the coffees and you said no so now you’re following me?!” What a psycho!

He stood there silently, gazing at you with a crazed look in his eyes.

“Why are you staring at me? You need to leave.”

The man did nothing but continue to stand there, his mouth hanging open in what you perceived as happy recognition. Who knows how many buildings he went to before finding the one you entered, and now that he was here what was he planning on doing to you?

Without thinking of the ramifications you shoved the lead vest off and grabbed the nearest dental tool on the tray. You wished it was the drill but instead it was one with a curved end. You’re not sure what it’s called but you know it’s sharp and you hoped it would do some damage to this lunatic if he tried to come closer.

The stranger’s mouth pulled into a wide smile as he dipped his head forward and let out a chuckle. His actions only made you more nervous so you gripped the tool even tighter and pointed it towards him in the most threatening way you could be with an instrument that scrapes tooth plaque.

“If you don’t leave right now I’m gonna call the cops!”  

You knew it was a stupid thing to say, since technically if you did call 911 it would take some time before any police arrived, and realistically you should have called for Dr. Barnes instead.

“I– ” he begins before he turns his head to the side seeing a figure walking towards him.

“James!” Dr. Barnes proclaimed from the hallway.

James? As in pimple-face braces James? As in George’s son James? Oh no.

A metallic clang rang out through the exam room as you dropped the dental tool back onto the tray and jumped back into the chair. Your heart was pounding furiously in your chest as you quickly pulled up the lead vest and replaced it across your body, trying not to look like you just threatened your dentist’s son with a pseudo weapon.

“Hi Dad,” James responded in that beautifully smooth voice you heard not long ago.

Dr. Barnes came into your line of sight and seeing the two together made you want to kick yourself for not realizing it earlier. Their eyes were identical as was the little dimple on their chins though James stood taller than his father, and where Dr. Barnes was lean James was obviously muscular. The integrity of that shirt was put to the test the moment he got dressed and you found yourself growing hot at the thought of the younger Barnes in a state where his body would not be covered with clothing.

Dr. Barnes folded his arms across his chest, frowning as he huffed, “You’re late.”

“Sorry, I was bringing you coffee and then…” James stopped to share a knowing look in your direction, your own eyes flared with panicked anticipation wondering what he was going to say.

“... I bumped into someone and knocked them right out of my hand, totally my fault. Had to wait back in line again.”

Dr. Barnes swiped his hand down his face as he let out an expected sigh, “My son, the klutz.” He turned his head towards you, seeing the small curve your lips were pulled into. “See Y/N, this is why he’s single,” he joked.

James turned a few shades pinker with embarrassment at his father’s comment, especially when he locked eyes with you, seeing your own crinkling with unspoken laughter.

“Well it was kind of you to bring coffee but I’d rather you show up on time,” Dr. Barnes remarked.

James followed his father into your exam room as Dr. Barnes officially introduced his son. “Y/N, this is my son, Dr. James Barnes.”

“Bucky,” he said, extending his hand towards you.

“N-nice to meet you,” you replied, unable to contain the nerves in your voice.

Once again Dr. Barnes shook his head at his son’s actions, mumbling under his breath about how “Bucky” is not a professional name. It was all in good fun however as you could see the love they had for each other.

Turning his attention towards you again Dr. Barnes asked if you would feel comfortable with James finishing the exam and cleaning. “That call was from Winnie. She locked her keys in the car. So much for sleeping in.”

Your veins carried fear throughout your body as panic rooted itself deep into your bones. It’s not that you didn’t trust James or whatever he wanted to be called, in doing his job and Dr. Barnes would never steer you wrong but the fact that you would be alone with the hottest guy you’ve ever seen as his fingers probed your mouth made you feel more than awkward.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” you lied through your ready to be examined teeth.

George smiled as he said goodbye, joking that he was going to call you later so you could let him know the truth about how James did during the exam.

The younger Barnes followed his father out of the room, telling you he would just need a minute to get ready, leaving you time to mentally prepare yourself.

You can do this Y/N. He’s just a hot guy. There are plenty of hot people out there. He’s just a normal guy with extraordinarily good looks. Don’t stare at him like he’s got a metal arm or something. Be cool.

Shrugging your shoulders you tried to physically shake off any lingering awkwardness, well as best as you could while still wearing the lead vest. With the morning you had you were glad you remembered to put on deodorant, especially now as you’re sweating in the chair, hoping the sweat stains under your arms that were definitely starting to form were not visible.

Footsteps echoed closer on the new wood flooring alerting you to sit up a bit more as you anticipated James’ arrival once more. He looked even better somehow, forgoing the suit jacket for a white lab coat.

“Time to get you out of that vest,” he said, scrunching his face up adorably as he corrected his words, “I mean, time to take the x-rays t-then you won’t need to wear the vest, heh.”

Responding with an awkward chuckle you felt slightly comforted by the fact that you weren’t the only one feeling nervous with the situation. You focused your eyes on the teal wall ahead, ignoring the way his deft fingers assembled the piece for the x-ray that would go in your mouth, holding a tense breath as he asked you to open your mouth and bite down.

Your mind was not helping you keep cool as it imagined his simple request in a more seductive scenario, hearing that smooth voice giving commands was not something you were turned off by.

You managed to make it through the rest of the x-rays with minimal squirming in your seat, as you combated visions of ripping his clothes off with thoughts of Shuri and her obsession with watching pimple popping videos. That girl may be a genius but there is definitely something wrong with her.

James’ fingers brushed against your arm as he finally took off the lead vest. “You’re hot,” he said causing your eyes to widen. “I mean from the vest,” he quickly mumbled.

Bucky was thankful his back was towards you as he hung the vest back up on the wall, rolling his eyes with embarrassment by his poor choice of words. It’s true, your body was feeling warm when his fingers gently skimmed across your skin but Bucky thought you were hot the moment you ran into each other outside the cafe.

He kicked himself for choosing to stand in line for coffee again instead of trying to talk with you before you left to give you his number. It took all the strength in the world not to drop the tray of coffee again when he saw you in the exam room. He’s truly never been happier to have been at work before.

Though Bucky had been practicing dentistry for quite a few years now being around you made him feel as nervous as he was during his first day of clinicals. He attempted to make small talk with you as he began the exam, an onerous task on your behalf as you could only communicate with a few sounds as your mouth hung open.

It was difficult not to look at James as he checked and cleaned your teeth. The bottom half of his handsome face was blocked by a mask but through his safety glasses you could still see those beautiful blue eyes, as clear as the ocean surrounding a tropical island.

Apparently you were lost in dreamy thought, unaware your tongue had strayed from where it was supposed to be during the cleaning.

“Stick your tongue out further,” he asked and you complied, focusing on the ceiling tiles above instead as he continued. “Okay, you can sit up and rinse now.”

Bringing the small cup to your lips you swished the water around your mouth and spit out a mess of saliva and blood.

“I never know what to do with my tongue,” you said, referencing your earlier action although hearing the words out of context you’re not sure if he knows what you mean. “D-during the exam!” you quickly added. “I know what to do with it.”

You heard a chuckle from behind, realizing your extra comment made things worse and you should probably never speak again.

Your mouth still felt unclean, though you couldn’t tell if it was leftover residue from the exam or the stupidity of your words. As you pressed the button to refill the cup you focused on the fact that in a few moments you would be getting your new toothbrush, paying the bill and leaving forever.

James spoke just as you began to pick up the cup, “Well, I’m happy to say your oral is good.”

The shock of his words caused your fingers to let go of the delicate cup, spilling water all over the floor.

“Health!” he shouted, catching his mistake. “Oral health!”

Bucky’s cheeks burned hotter than the sun and he didn’t need a mirror to know he was currently a deep crimson shade to match the level of embarrassment he felt. He wanted to disappear, magically teleport himself back to Indiana where he was not a bumbling idiot.

A gasp pulled his attention towards you as your hands simultaneously covered your gaping mouth while apologies spilled from your lips faster than the water.

“No, it’s okay, it’s my fault,” he apologized.

Bucky left the room, internally chastising himself for the ridiculous thing he said. He was thankful his father was not here to watch his descent into complete incompetence. There was something about you that made him act like a fool. He wondered if he could blame it on laughing gas, claim there was a leak in the nitrous oxide tank.

He opened the supply closet letting his shoulders slump as he exhaled a deep sigh. There was no way he could come back from this.

James returned with a large roll of paper towels in hand. Getting up from the chair you offered to help clean the spill but he insisted you didn’t have to. Instead you stood to the side, and despite how tempting it was to look at him bending over as he cleaned the floor you shut your eyes, pinched the bridge of your nose and wished you were still dreaming, hoping Shuri would wake you up from this nightmare.

His foot stepped on the pedal of the garbage as he dumped the saturated paper towels, pulling off his gloves to dump them as well. You still stood silently, inching your way out of the room, knowing you’ll have to find a new dentist because you could never face James or Dr. Barnes ever again.

Bucky rummaged through a drawer before turning towards you, “Do you want green or blue...or…. uhh, I’ve got orange,” he spoke of the toothbrushes.

“Doesn’t matter.” Get the toothbrush, pay the bill, leave forever.

James handed you a blue toothbrush and you wondered if it was a conscious choice, a reminder about his eyes even though this basic color falls short in comparison to the beauty of those sparkling sapphires.

Following him to the front you nodded quickly when he spoke about scheduling another appointment in six months. It didn’t matter, you would be cancelling it as the time neared. With the bill paid you gave him an awkward goodbye with a stupid wave that was immediately added to the long list of regrets for the day, and quickly ran out of the door.

A few hours later you were feeling better. You told Shuri everything the moment you got back to your apartment and even though reliving the disaster that was your morning made you feel embarrassed all over again, when she rolled off the bed from laughing so hard it allowed you to let go of everything and laugh along with her.

The buzzing of your phone on the table woke you from a nap you didn’t know you had taken. Seeing Dr. Barnes’ office number you remembered he said he would be calling you to check how things went.

“Hi, Dr. Barnes,” you said cheerily.

“Hi Y/N, this is Dr. Barnes. Not that Dr. Barnes though, it’s Bucky.”

“Oh, hi.” All of the nerves came rushing back as your heart raced with fear, wondering why he was calling you. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just you left your jacket in the office.”

You completely forgot about your jacket until you were nearly home and a gust of wind caused goosebumps to erupt all over your bare arms reminding you about the poor jacket you abandoned in the office. It was too late, the jacket was a lost cause, an innocent victim as a result of your awkwardness, now homeless because you were not going back for it.

“Oh… yeah,” you responded, trying to sound casual.

“That’s not the only reason I called.”

Bucky cleared his throat, forcing himself to say the apologies he’s been repeating in his head all day but this time to the person who needed to hear it.

“I wanted to apologize for today. I’m normally not…” He ruminated on his words, trying to think of something professional before settling on the truth “… a mess.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his admission and the sound eased some of the tension he felt immediately. If Bucky was being honest you thought you should do the same.

“Me too. I’d like to think I’m a lot more chill than I was today.”

“So threatening people with a sickle probe isn’t a normal part of your dental experience?” he joked, pulling more laughter from you. “In all seriousness, I’d like to return your jacket and maybe I could buy you that cup of coffee?”

Bucky’s voice went higher with uncertainty as he silently hoped you would say yes to his offer. The momentary silence was deafening as he waited for your answer.

“I’m not sure it’s a good idea…”

Bucky’s heart sunk to the floor. He was wrong to think you felt the same about him. Clearly you wanted to keep things professional, something he was clearly incapable of.

“…I heard coffee stains your teeth.”

Relief washed over him quickly, helping to slow the rapid beat of his anxious heart. His lips stretched wide across his face as he said, “Maybe it’s another excuse to see you again.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks and you chewed on your bottom lip to help contain the smile that threatened to spread all the way to Brooklyn. You decided to meet at a coffee shop in the middle, leaving you just enough time to get changed and attempt to look presentable again.

“I’ll see you soon Bucky,” you said, getting up and eyeing your closet for something to wear. “And I promise I won’t knock it over.”

“I hope not because it was definitely your fault this morning!”

A/N: Thank you for reading! Reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated :)

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[alexsmitposts]

The Emergence of the Technetronic Society of Humankind The world community is being transformed. The current pandemic is only another phase of a metamorphosis set in motion decades ago. The intersection of our physical and digital lives is the battleground, where the last hopes of freedom are being bludgeoned to death. Few can see this because most people are already casualties the old world order sacrificed before the altar of liberty. Most of you reading this introduction will sense a bit of melodrama. But I assure you, anything I could type out here pales in comparison to the skullduggery that has beset humankind the last half-century. The war for planet Earth is upon us, but the battlefield is not some desert in Syria or a swamp somewhere in Latin America. The battlefield is real and virtual. It’s in the streets of Portland, Oregon, and the pages of Facebook. The Third World War is taking place in Walmart. It’s spreading to every back yard in Florida and every apartment complex in Bucharest. We’ve taken up arms against one another over every facet of life, not just whether or not to wear protective masks. Working-Class Struggle Redux Some of you already see this. You understand because you were finally forced to unfriend that high school buddy who Tweets or shares Facebook posters revealing humankind’s ignorance and meanness. We’re back to being tribal, devolution is upon us, and the end is written on the slum wall and the internet version. Wall Street is making a killing, billionaires are gnashing their teeth and wringing their hands, and the so-called little people are boiling in a kettle about to explode. Amazingly, my words here can be proven. Nobody can call “fake news” on this author. No sir. In 1970 the legendary (notorious for some) Zbigniew Brzezinski wrote a book entitled, “BETWEEN TWO AGES: America’s Role in the Technetronic Era.” The author, who was one of the five or six most influential political celebrities of the latter part of the 20th century, is well known for his aversion for first the Soviet Union, and then the Russian Federation. Brzezinski’s book was an is a “how-to” book on methods for using computers and communications technologies as a means of transforming society. Though the book reads like an analysis by a technology outsider, the work is part of a wide-spanning strategy we see coming to competition today. Let’s look at an excerpt from the first section of the book where the former counselor to President Lyndon B. Johnson and President Jimmy Carter’s National Security Advisor delineates post-industrial America’s course: “In the technetronic society scientific and technical knowledge, in addition to enhancing production capabilities, quickly spills over to affect almost all aspects of life directly. Accordingly, both the growing capacity for the instant calculation of the most complex interactions and the increasing availability of biochemical means of human control augment the potential scope of consciously chosen direction, and thereby also the pressures to direct, to choose, and to change.” I won’t tax the reader here, but I encourage you to read the book yourself so that what I am presenting will sink in. Brzezinski, in no uncertain terms, is describing the fundamental transformation of society beginning sometime shortly before 1970, when he collated the information within the pages of the book. Remember, he was LBJ’s advisor. The Rise of the Techno-Bourgeoisie He continues in this section to refer to the past ideologies of the industrial age which built and sustained America and other democracies, to insist upon a more “modern” or “advanced” central ideology. Brzezinski, who most detractors would describe as a dinosaur or archaic, was discussing cybernetics replacing humans when Bill Gates was still at Lakeside Prep School being bullied and writing his first computer programs. I mention Gates for a purpose that may be obvious to some readers. This citation from Between Two Ages will transport the reader to my line of thinking here. Brzezinski writes knowingly: “In the emerging new society questions relating to the obsolescence of skills, security, vacations, leisure, and profit-sharing dominate the relationship, and the psychic well­being of millions of relatively secure but potentially aimless lower­middle­class blue­collar workers becomes a growing problem.” Please remember, this was published in 1970, years before Brzezinski would brag that he had helped cause the Soviet Union to invade Afghanistan so that it could get its very own “Vietnam.” The man was a genius, an evil one, but a brilliant geo-policy strategist nonetheless. This book is not a reflection of Brzezinski’s powerful mind, however. This book is the revelation of a plan set in motion after Dwight Eisenhower left office. It’s a blueprint for the liberal world order to completely dominate the world. But before you label me, please consider how this “growing problem” is being used today. Who is Donald Trump? Aha! Now I have your full attention. What about the psychic wellbeing of aimless lower-middle-class Americans? Or, the psychic wellbeing of relatively secure Germans right before Adolph Hitler made them afraid of all the nations surrounding their country? Wait! Don’t go to that tangent, please focus on who got Donald Trump in the White House and how this came to pass. You see, Brzezinski and his colleagues created the conditions, the society, and the “path” we see taking shape today. Think about our symbols now, for instance. How did Google come to dominate the internet? Who stood behind? What does Google do? How about Facebook or Amazon, or any of the monumental successes we see controlling this technetronic society we now live in? Google lured the masses in with “free” and with slogans like “do no evil.” The competition was driven off, through massive investment. Now billions of people are analyzed and “computed” like Brzezinski revealed, to transform society, not to simply extract money via ads. Take the case of Facebook, it’s the same story. A huge swath of humanity is studied, spied upon, and manipulated while the puppetmasters tweak ideology, foment discord, and steer the crowd toward the desired endgame. Sounds crazy and dramatic, doesn’t it? But, wait for it. In 1972, Bill Gates served as a congressional page in the US House of Representatives. He was then a National Merit Scholar who went to Harvard for a brief time, where he met Steve Ballmer, who would lead Microsoft until 2014. Ballmer was an assistant product manager at Procter & Gamble for two years, where he shared an office with Jeffrey R. Immelt, the onetime CEO of General Electric. I hope you are keeping up with me here, for these names figure prominently in the current situation. Immelt was the head of GE’s Medical Systems division (now known as GE Healthcare) as its president and CEO back in 1997. To make a very long story shorter, Brzezinski was closely tied to all the names I am mentioning either through roles at the Council of Foreign Relations, or via more intimate and secretive associations. Take into consideration GE and Immelt’s view on China from back in 2010 when he said; “’I worry about China. I am not sure that in the end, they want any of us to win.” Fast forward to 2015 and Brzezinski is pushing for Donald Trump to “outbid” everyone for the presidency. He tweeted this to his followers on Twitter: “What’s better: a billionaire outbidding everyone for the Presidency, or billionaires picking the candidates for the Presidency?” The answer to his feigned query is drop-dead simple – “It doesn’t matter, the same people control no matter what.” And the control processes were put in action once John F. Kennedy was out of the way. LBJ played his role to a “T”, Nixon got too big for his britches and had to go, Ford plated nincompoop in charge to put the plan on pause, and peanut farmer/Nuke sub commander Carter helped roll out the red carpet for our current technetronic society. But I’m getting ahead. The Immuno-Catalyst Let me retrace a step to the associations of Gates, Ballmer, and Immelt. And most importantly, the current healthcare/pandemic crisis some experts believe is an induced one. Remember Gates’ pal Immelt headed GE Healthcare, which entered an agreement with Gates back IBio to commercialize the iBioLaunch vaccine manufacturing platform. The Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation has funded iBio Pharma, which has been in recent news because of President Trump grandstanding about a COVID breakthrough. The company is one of those focused on vaccines against the coronavirus. And if you’re getting lost in this maze of technocrats, now it’s time to interject another key player named Warren Buffett. Buffett, who for all intents and purposes owns IBM, is another link in what we should call the Brzezinski Plan for world domination. Remember, it was IBM that teleported Bill Gates out of brainiac obscurity back in 1980. It is not common knowledge, but the last Watson family head of IBM, Thomas J. Watson, Jr. served as US ambassador to the Soviet Union from 1979 to 1981. It was the ideas and ideals along with the patriotism of the latter Watson, from which people like Brzezinski convoluted the notion of modern democracy. Thomas J. Watson Jr. was also central to the administrations of L.B.J., Nixon, Ford, and Carter. Moving forward, most people are unaware, that Warren Buffett is also the biggest contributor to the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation (more than $30 billion). And in this, we see how the “system” of control gets its continuity. Finally, it was the Brzezinski plan that delivered us to the current sorry state of democracy. The former advisor to key presidents not only helped devise the plan to shift the world’s ideologies and social structure, but he also helped empower the super elites running the show, and the lower-middle class minions who would stoke the forest of orchestrated rebellion. When asked how he would deal with the super-rich, Brzezinski differentiated people like Warren Buffett and Gates from the rest, while at the same time feeding the mob that Trump now leads and the left learning hordes on the left hanging: “It would be increasingly helpful if there was a movement to publish, worldwide, lists of those who make, largely through speculation, enormous amounts of money almost instantly, and hide the fact from their social context.” A Government of Business Power So, a ruling elite was and is to be lifted, isolated, and protected using demonic intimidation from every vector. Today’s dog and pony show across western capitals have roots in Rockefeller’s and Brzezinski’s Trilateral Commission, established to help put in motion the tenets from the latter’s Between Two Ages manifesto. If I throw in the fact that the Trilateral Commission’s notable member list includes such notorious super-rich as Jeffrey Epstein here, I’ve no doubt the reader will be overwhelmed by the scope of this “plan” for turning the world upside down. Finally, the academic Noam Chomsky once criticized the commission’s goals as undemocratic saying the publication of the organization, The Crisis of Democracy reflects how modern democratic systems are not democracy at all, but systems controlled by elites. And the Rockefeller Foundation’s support of the various German eugenics programs and the connections to Nazi war criminal Josef Mengele and Auschwitz tarnish anyone and everyone associated with Rockefeller, and the ruling elite of this new “modern ideal” or technetronic society. In his 1980 book With No Apologies, Republican Senator and presidential candidate Barry Goldwater called the Trilateral Commission: “A skillful, coordinated effort to seize control and consolidate the four centers of power: political, monetary, intellectual, and ecclesiastical in the creation of a worldwide economic power superior to the political governments of the nation-states involved.” The Brzezinski Plan for new democracy is the liberal world order’s plan for humanity. It’s a process that’s been going on for decades, one centered around and dependent on the puppet President Donald Trump. You see, I believe it is Trump’s mission to utterly destroy the very social class of people he is supported by. It is the only idea that makes sense if you examine the loosed cannon idiocy of an otherwise shrewd businessman. What better way to bury the working class who have been bred, reared, and marginalized into mediocrity than to create a revolution against everything they stood for? The Confederate flag, the statues of heroes, the race issues resurfacing, riots, discord, snarling and biting at anyone and anything that is not TRUMP! Real Death, Real Fear, Real Monopolization For this Technetronic Era to culminate in a Utopia for the ruling classes, a pandemic was set loose, a very special kind of virus engineered (probably) for segmenting society. The hard-nosed working class would shun the femininity and weakness of mask-wearing, while the ultra-liberals at the other end of the spectrum would thrive on the morality of caring – and on winning against the callousness of right-wing discord. As I try to explain to those who ask, the situation today is a perfect storm of social upheaval engineered to bring in this new society. You see, both sides of the COVID argument are right – and wrong – at the same instant. This is as it was planned. Bill Gates and his monopoly on vaccines and the health community can hide in plain sight, while Trump’s and Biden’s handlers rake in hundreds of billions playing the dynamic markets. Watching it, at least from my perspective, is like watching the pressure in a boiler build up past the red danger gauge on the outside. In Hitler’s Shadow we find the depth of the US deep state and Brzezinski’s role in the planning for the new world without the Soviets (Russians) in the picture. There’s limited space for describing a CIA operation codenamed AERODYNAMIC which was the forerunner for transformative/revolutionary efforts in the CIS including Georgia, Ukraine, and now Belarus. The reader should understand that Brzezinski, and his father before him, were central figures in a movement to subdue and subdivide the Soviet bloc, and later Russia and her neighbors. No one reading this will know of a man named Mykola Lebed, who operated alongside Joseph Bandera and with the backing of the OSS and later the CIA. He immigrated to the United States because of his importance to the CIA and the deeps state, even though he was in league with the worst Nazis who ever breathed. Brzezinski broadened the scope of AERODYNAMIC, which was in league with former Nazi sympathizers to upend Stalin, and then later Soviet leadership. The history of it is all a deep well no single volume could encapsulate. Again, I have fallen too deep into the rabbit hole of the order, but the reader can observe via this CIA document bearing Brzezinski’s authorship how the plan for today was set in motion decades ago. Trump is destroying the Republican Party for good. Technocrat Bill Gates has monopolized immunization and will leverage it for this new Technetronic Society. The money and power behind this forceful transformation of our society are incalculable, mostly unseen, and probably unstoppable. Think about it, a plan to take over the world put in place decades ago, a plan hardly anyone notices because of its incremental, indomitable, and relentless nature. Sounds conspiratorial, doesn’t it? Well, conspiracies killed Caesar and overthrew the Czar. Conspiracies were the seeds of the American Revolution and the French one too. What? You think control is just a roll of the dice?

[myloveoffanfics]

Black is Back - Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Uncle Remus Two Years Later “Mom! Have you seen Lyra’s carrier?” I yelled from my room down to my mother. It was nearing the end of summer and I was frantically packing my trunk to return to Hogwarts. We would be leaving in a couple days to meet the Weasleys at the Leaky Cauldron and I was struggling to find most of my things. “Becca, it is like you got home from school at the beginning of the summer holiday and everything exploded,” she called back exasperated. She had been telling me for months that as I was going into my fifth year at Hogwarts I should really know better by now. “I saw it in the shed last weekend,” she finally answered and I hurried out to the shed to grab it. My dark hair, more of a curly mess than usual, flew behind me as I ran through the yard. Our yard was quite big seeing as we lived on several hectares of land and it took several seconds for me to run to the shed. As I searched in the shed for Lyra’s cat carrier, I had a sinking suspicion that someone was looking at me. I quickly looked around the shed as I grabbed the carrier, but saw nothing. It must have been my imagination. As I left the shed and crossed the yard significantly slower, I got the same feeling that I was being watched. I turned slowly and saw standing in the tree line, a large black dog. I stood staring at it for several seconds, not comprehending what I was seeing. We lived several thousands meters from anyone else, so it was impossible this was a neighbor’s dog. My only conclusion was that this was a wolf. I started slowly backwards and when the wolf didn’t advance I turned and ran back into the house. I stood staring at the wolf through the window until it left seconds later. I stayed there until my breathing had calmed down and resumed my packing. I didn’t dare tell my mom, she would panic.

Several days later we arrived at the Leaky Cauldron two days before the start of the school year. Because my mom and I live so far away, we got into the habit of arriving to the Leaky Cauldron early so we could do my school shopping at Diagon Alley and catch the train to Hogwarts all in one trip. These trips always made my mom nervous. She is not a people person and has lived in seclusion almost her entire adult life. To be immersed again among people, especially walking around Diagon Alley was sometimes too much for her. I had offered many times to do the shopping on my own, but her fear for me on my own outweighed that of her fear of people. So on our first day at the Leaky Cauldron, we spent the day in Diagon Alley getting all of my shopping done. I would be leaving for Hogwarts the next day, so this was my last chance to get anything I needed. “Fifth year and starting your O.W.L. year. That’s a big step and it’s going to be very stressful.” My mom had been making comments like this to me all summer. “Mum, like I’ve been telling you all summer, I am top of my year. I’m not worried about the stress and the workload, I can handle it,” I replied looking at my list of supplies. “We need to stop in Flourish & Blott’s for these books first.” I had kept walking, but my mother had not. She had stopped to stare at a poster in one of the shop’s windows. I circled back to see what she was looking at and stared in astonishment like she was. The man under the “Have you seen this wizard?” title was no one I had ever seen before, but I knew who he was. I put my arm around my mother and guided her away. We didn’t speak as we continued walking to Flourish & Blott’s up the street. As we entered the shop, mom finally perked up at seeing someone she knew. “Molly!” She called and weaved through the stacked books to Mrs. Weasley, who was accompanied by her youngest child, Ginny. “Oh, Luella, it is so good to see you,” Mrs. Weasley responded as she hugged my mother. They began chatting about recent events, seeing as they hadn’t seen each other in months, and I caught up with Ginny. “So Ginny, are you excited to go back to Hogwarts?” I asked timidly. Ginny during her first year at Hogwarts the previous school year had unknowingly opened the Chamber of Secrets. She had been possessed by the spirit of Voldemort and had nearly died. I knew from Fred and George that it had taken her several months during the holiday to return to normal. “Yes, I’m actually very excited. Nothing could be as bad as last year,” she said smiling. It amazed me how a twelve year old girl could be so brave. “Well hello, you,” came from a familiar voice behind me. “George!” I exclaimed and threw my arms around him in a fierce hug. The Weasleys had been in Egypt visiting Charlie for part of the summer and I hadn’t spent as much time with them as I usually do. I had really missed them. “I hope I get the same treatment as him,” Fred muttered from just behind George. “Fred!” I repeated, a little mockingly, as I hugged him as well. “You can still tell them apart better than most of our family. How do you do it?” Ginny asked curiously. I shrugged and returned my attention back to catching up with the Weasley twins. After we had all bought what we needed, we returned as a group to the Leaky Cauldron and had a large family dinner. All the Weasleys were also staying at the Leaky Cauldron to get to King’s Cross in the morning. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Percy, Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny, plus Harry and Hermione. We were causing quite a scene in the Leaky Cauldron dining room.

The next day we took Ministry cars to King’s Cross station. Everyone was confused as to why the Ministry would allow our group the use of cars, but Mr. Weasley wouldn’t answer anyone’s questions on the matter. Harry, Hermione, Ron, Percy, and Mr. Weasley rode in one car while Mrs. Weasley, Fred, George, Ginny, my mom, and I rode in the other. We arrived at King’s Cross Station twenty minutes later and gathered all of our trunks on trolleys. We made our way to Platform 9 ¾ at a quicker pace than normal. My mother and I hung back from the Weasleys. I didn’t understand why until she started speaking. “Now more than ever, munchkin, you have to be careful,” she warned in a low voice, so as the last of the Weasleys waiting to cross onto the platform couldn’t hear her. “You are in more danger than ever.” “Mum, why can’t we just tell the Weasleys the truth?” I asked turning to face her now that the Weasleys had all gone through the barrier. “It’s too much of a risk,” she said for what felt like the hundredth time. “Mum, we’ve known them for five years now. They’ve accepted us into their family at this point. Don’t you think they deserve to know the truth?” “It’s still too dangerous. Even having the people now that know the truth is too much,” she added turning ever paler. “Dumbledore and Remus are the only ones that need to know. Now let’s hurry. They’ll be wondering what’s taking us so long.” We finally pushed through the barrier, still at odds with each other. As we walked through I spotted Fred and George watching the barrier, waiting for me. As I walked through they hurried over to me. “What took you so long?” Fred asked as he took my trolley and scurried off to bring my trunk onto the train. “We were getting worried,” George added. We walked at a faster pace following Fred. The train would be leaving any minute. “I was just having a discussion with my mother.” My mom cringed when she heard me say this. I very rarely called her mother, usually only when I was upset with her. George followed Fred onto the train so I could say goodbye. I turned to face my mom again and she gave me a hug. “Remember what I said,” she whispered in my ear before letting go and kissing my cheek. The train whistled, signaling it was leaving. I waved goodbye to her and the Weasleys, who had joined her, and hurried onto the train, as it started moving. I joined Fred, George, and Lee Jordan in a compartment and we all waved goodbye to our parents. We sat back on the benches when we left the station and settled in for the trip to Hogwarts. I looked at Fred and George starting a game with Lee and wondered how much longer I’d be able to keep my secret from them. “Alright boys, I have to go to the front compartment. Prefect duties,” I said as their game started up. “No way! You’re a Prefect?” Lee asked in astonishment. “We’re going to avoid getting in trouble now boys.” “I doubt that, Lee,” Fred interjected. “I believe we may get into more trouble now with little Ms. Prefect.” I rolled my eyes as I walked up to the front of the train. An hour later I was back in their compartment watching them playing Exploding Snap as I read one of our new textbooks. It was quite a long journey and felt like it was taking longer than usual. We were almost to Hogwarts and I again returned to the front of the train for Prefect duties. As I was walking up the corridor, the train began to slow. Thinking I was late, I started running towards the front and had to fight through other students getting out of the compartments to see why we were stopping. When I finally reached the front, none of the other Prefects knew what was going on. Suddenly the lamps went out and everything was plunged into darkness. The Prefects decided to travel down the dark corridors to assure students that everything was all right. As we began down the corridor the Prefects stopped to comfort worried students. But I kept going, hoping to find Hermione, Harry, and the Weasleys. As I hurried towards the back of the train where I knew most of them were, I stopped in my tracks. There in the corridor was a large cloaked figure. It was coming down the corridor at me and I felt like the whole atmosphere changed. Everything felt increasingly sad and hopeless. It was like all the happiness had gone away. I felt like I couldn’t breathe or move. I was rooted on the spot staring at this figure and losing all my senses the longer I stared. Finally, the spell broke as it turned into a compartment. I kneeled down to catch my breath and get my head straight. Suddenly there was this flash of light and the hooded figure was driven out the train by that light. I finally understood as I watched it being pushed away by the light. A dementor. One of the guardians of Azkaban, on the Hogwarts Express. I stood and ran to check on the compartment it had just come out of. As I walked in I saw Harry on the ground with Ron and Hermione kneeling over him. Ginny was curled up in the corner sobbing. “Is everyone alright?” I asked, even as Harry lay unconscious on the ground. “Everybody is fine,” a voice responded. It was achingly familiar as I turned to see the speaker. Standing there looking very shabby was my Uncle Remus. I stared and took him in. His robes were a mess and he looked like he was sickly, but he was there all the same. I turned away before it looked like I had been truly staring. I didn’t want anyone to know that I had already been acquainted with this man. Just then, Harry came to rapidly. As Uncle Remus explained to them what happened, I kept quiet, watching him. After explaining he handed Harry a piece of chocolate and stated, “Eat. It’ll help. I need to speak to the driver, excuse me…” He started for the corridor and stopped in front of me. “I will need to speak with you and the other Prefects about the situation. If you’ll follow me,” he said as he gestured to the corridor. I backed away, letting him go first and then followed. “What are you doing here? Where have you been?” I whispered very violently at him as we started up the corridor. “I am the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts,” he responded, also in a whisper. He stopped speaking then where I thought he would have given me more of an explanation. We kept walking up the corridor avoiding students mingling about. “That doesn’t tell me anything. I haven’t seen you in two years!” My voice got louder of its own accord, but I couldn’t help it. I was very angry. A first year looked at us curiously as we walked by his compartment and continued on. When I was a child, the only person my mom would allow contact with was my Uncle Remus. She explained to me that he had been one of my father’s best friends. When my father had left us, Uncle Remus had taken care of us and had been a father figure to me. Then two years ago he disappeared without saying anything to me. “Becca, it was a very difficult situation and I had to leave,” he responded quietly. We had stopped outside the Prefects compartment. None of the other Prefects were around, probably still checking with students. “That’s the only explanation I can give you.” “So you leave for two years and you have nothing to say for yourself?” I asked harshly. He looked to the floor, unwillingly to look at me. “You were the only person I could count on besides my mom. I had no family, no friends, and only two people in the whole world that loved me. I guess it’s only one person now.” “Becca, please-” He started finally looking at me. “I don’t want to hear it. While you’re at Hogwarts, you’re just my professor. You will never by my Uncle Remus again,” I stated harshly fighting tears in my eyes. Before he could say anything else, I stormed off down the corridor.

[ve1vetyoongi]

remember me | kth - 02

chapters: I, II, III, IV, V

pairing: taehyung x reader

rated: mature - contains smut.

genre: idol!au, baker!tae, french!reader, angst, romance, fluff, smut.

summary: Taehyung wants to be forgotten. Overwhelmed by his life as idol persona V, he longs to just be Kim Taehyung for once. Even if that means forgetting everything he ever knew.

word count: 6.1k

warnings: (fluffy) smut, oral (f receiving), penetrative sex, mentions of blood, strong language, memory loss.

a/n: here is the second chapter of Remember Me! A big thank you to everyone who said kind things about the last installment and for getting chapter 1 to nearly 100 notes! It means so much to me that anyone read my work let alone 100 people haha. I hope you enjoy this part just as much!

Getting a job at your father’s bakery was easier said than done. Workers had come and gone over the years, some citing conflicting schedules as their reason for resigning and others blatantly blaming your father’s strict approach to enforcement when it came to his employees. You couldn’t blame him for being that way, really. After all, the business had been in the family for years, the pastries a sweet testament to your grandparents and their grandparents before that. Belle Epoque had a reputation for being one of the best patisseries for miles - admittedly not hard in a small town like this, but an accomplishment none the less - so it was unsurprising that your father took great pride in ensuring everything was at it’s best, including the employees. Come to think of it, you were the only worker who wasn’t fired after a few months on the job, probably because the only thing above the bakery in importance to your father was his family.

“Papa!” You had announced upon entering Belle Époque’s swing doors, surprising a couple eating breakfast at one of the high seats overlooking the harbor through the tall glass windows. Your father was behind the counter, arranging the freshly baked breads of all shapes, sizes and varieties on a wire rack behind him. A line was already forming to buy the warm loaves, the smell comforting and delicious. Your sudden arrival drew your father away from his ministrations, wiping flour from his palms onto the sides of his black uniform as he spun in search of you. His eyes met yours immediately, worry filled as he looked you up and down once, then twice to check for any obvious bodily harm.

“What is wrong, mon amour?” He questioned, anxiety evident in his voice. An elderly man in line for your famous croissants tutted when your father pushed away the five euro bill he held out in payment in favor of slipping beneath the counter to pull your chin into his hands. He smelled like gooey danishes and apple turnovers and you breathed in the scent gladly, a feeling of home washing over you.

“Nothing, I have good news!” You pulled on his wrists, loosening his grip on your face. He cocked his head to the side, wrinkling his nose in relief when he realized you were not in any immediate danger. “I found you a new worker!”

A large poster was taped to the glass doors, labelled HELP WANTED, advertising the shortness of staff at the bakery. You had put it up yourself weeks ago and still nobody had come in to query about the position, probably put off by the stories of your fathers harshness when it came to cleaning the kitchens or baking the perfect pastries. It was becoming urgent - you were overworked, trying to balance your kitchen duties with stock responsibilities and working the counter so you were pretty sure your father would accept anybody who was brave enough to apply.

“Eh? I thought nobody around here wanted the job?”

“They don’t.” You say with a roll of the eyes, referencing the many conversations you had had regarding his unforgiving attitude. “He isn’t from here.”

His eyebrow cocked uncertainly. “You trust someone you don’t know to work here?”

“Papa, I do know him.” Although you had only met a few days ago your time with Taehyung felt like a lifetime. “I promise you can trust him.”

“I don’t know about this.”

“Please, Papa! He is hard working, I wouldn’t come to you if I didn’t believe it myself.” Your father’s face was still stony and unimpressed, quizzically considering your proposition. “S'il vous plaît?”

Your pleading cracked his resolve. You could tell by the way he softened, palms squeezing your shoulders gently as he clicked his tongue in disappointment at his own inability to say no. “Fine. But he’s on stock duty for now - keep him away from my kitchen, you hear me? - Leon will be here with this weeks stock in twenty minutes.”

Practically jumping with glee, you rip the poster from the window and triumphantly toss it into the trash. “I won’t disappoint you, Papa! He won’t disappoint you.”

“Just bring him in.” He tuts, waving you away as he moved his attention to the grumpy queue of impatient customers. “Twenty minutes!”

His reminder sent you into action, grabbing two aprons from the hook and rushing out into the street, scanning side to side until you finally laid eyes on Taehyung. He stood with his back pressed to the brick wall of the bakery, toe of his boot kicking stones into the middle of the cobbled road. He seemed nervous, eyes trained to the ground as he mumbled various greetings under his breath, apparently preparing for an introduction to your father. He snapped out of it quickly once the slam of the door gave away your presence, granting you a smile as you approached.

“How did it go?” His cane clicked as he closed the distance between you.

“You start work in twenty minutes,” You throw one of the white aprons you clutched in your hands, smirking as he fumbled to catch the flimsy fabric. “Get to work, kid.”

“You’re kidding?” He exclaimed, eyes as wide as his open mouth as he watched you fasten your own apron around your waist. A small nod was all it took for him to explode, discarding his cane all together as he scooped you up at the waist, bouncing up and down excitedly. The loss of gravity was unexpected, causing a squeal to escape your lips against his neck as he whispered a repetitive mantra of thank you’s into your hair.

The moment was cut short by a searing pain in Taehyung’s thigh, causing him to stagger backwards under your weight and reminding him of his still weakened state of health. Your feet touched the ground again as he grasped the cane, attempting to cover the heave of his chest with a smile.

“No need for thank you’s, just don’t make me regret this.” You mumbled in response.

Taehyung’s grin widened as he fumbled to tie his own apron around his waist. Noticing his struggle you slipped behind him to tie the strings into a knot yourself.

Once his apron was secure, he turned to face you again, pulling your face into his palms. “I promise, you won’t!”

As it turned out, it was Taehyung who regretted accepting the job.

August’s peak had arrived, bringing with it the hottest summer the town had experienced in years. Your father had meant it when he said Taehyung was to stay far away from the kitchen - and the air conditioning as a result - instead ordering him to do all the literal heavy lifting he was apparently too old (or self righteous, Taehyung considered) to do himself. Leon, the bakeries supplier, came twice a week, bringing with him crates of flour and obscene amounts of chocolate chips and apple slices for Taehyung to unload and keep track of in a leather bound note book. He had voiced the idea of perhaps getting a laptop or tablet to make the job more efficient, only to be shut down with a harsh no from your father. He preferred to do things traditionally, he said.

Leon arrived late, setting Taehyung behind on his schedule by fifteen minutes he could not afford to waste; after all, he was already slower on his feet due to his wounded thigh. Taehyung watched with a sigh as Leon disappeared into the distance on his bicycle, pulling an empty cart back to the market. The stock seemed to be larger in quantity that day and sweat laced Taehyung’s furrowed brow before he had even attempted to begin shifting it bit by bit into the stock room.

Though, the hot stare of your father watching as he scratched his head in thought did not help his predicament. Taehyung’s back was to the door of the kitchen but he knew he was there, keeping a careful eye over him as he worked. He was still an outsider in this town, his employment at the bakery quickly becoming a topic of gossip among the people and apparently fueling your fathers inherent distrust of him. So far, Taehyung had proved himself as a good worker albeit a slow one, so your fathers reasons for continuing to stand with his arms crossed across his chest like a lion protecting its cubs was beyond him.

“You just gonna stand there, kid?” His sharp voice rang out, drawing Taehyung from his inner debate with a jolt. As if reading his mind, he added: “Start with the flour, y/n’s running short.”

Taehyung swallowed loudly, nervous under the scrutinizing presence. He had discarded his cane a week or two ago, able to limp where he desired now. It was progress, he figured. The black boots he had borrowed dragged across the cobbles as he approached the stack of flour sacks that almost towered over him in height.

They were heavy, he knew that from experience and he was practically winded just by lifting the sack at the top of the pile. The veins in Taehyung’s neck bulged as he struggled to keep his balance under the hefty weight. He felt his biceps begin to ache, opting to press a knee to the underside of the flour in an attempt to distribute the mass only to find himself balancing on his weakened leg, a sharp pain shooting through his thigh. The pain was sudden, eliciting an agonizing gasp and causing his grip on the sack to loosen substantially. Before he knew it he was stumbling forward, letting go of the flour all together in favor of breaking his fall with his hands. There was nothing he could do at that point, watching with wide eyes as the sack hit the ground, splitting and spilling onto the concrete beneath before he landed a top of it himself in a cloud of white.

The powder stung his eyes and tickled his throat, coughs wracking his frame as the flour irritated his lungs. Taehyung staggered to his knees, ignoring the way his thigh still protested, attempting to scoop the flour back into the sack to no avail. He sank back against his heels, finally accepting there was nothing he could do to salvage the ingredients, dragging his palms down his face in defeat.

A click of the tongue sounded behind him and Taehyung’s neck snapped towards the source, eyes immediately meeting your fathers own disappointed irises. His head shook side to side as he took in the sight before him. Taehyung noticed the way his jaw tightened in dismay, probably calculating the exact amount of money he would be removing from his paycheck before he simply disappeared back into the kitchen without a word.

His silence was enough.

“Fuck!” Taehyung exclaimed, slamming his closed fist into the belly of the now half empty sack of flour repeatedly. He had really done it this time. If he was on thin ice before he was in cold water now, pretty confident that his time working at Belle Epoque was over. He had tried so desperately to prove himself to the big man himself, your father, only to fuck everything up over a sack of flour. Why didn’t he take the candied fruit first? Why did his leg have to take so long to heal?

“Why did I take this job in the first place?” He muttered under his breath to nobody but himself. “I should have been a fucking fisherman.”

Deep down, he knew the answer to the question. The reason he didn’t want to become a fisherman or a sailor or even a bar tender was all down to one thing, one person.

You.

The entire reason he was here was because of the little glimpses he caught of you when he passed the kitchen window. Or when you rushed into the stock room in search of chopped almonds, hair tied back messily but still sparing him a smile and a few words through the stock room shelves before your father returned and caught you slacking. The only reason he was afraid of your father and his ability to fire him was because he couldn’t stand to sit at home, surrounded by you in your own apartment without you in it.

His heart ached at the thought and he realized that seeing you right now was exactly what he needed to calm the anger at his own weakness. Stock still surrounded him, ready to be accounted for and time still ticked away but he figured since his time here was limited he might as well break a couple of rules, right?

His hands left white prints on the back pockets of his slightly over sized jeans as he got to his feet, brushing powder from his shirt as he crept past the window before sidling up to the back door. It was propped open by a metal bucket, allowing him to slip inside relatively quietly if you overlooked the way his boot dragged a little with every step.

Taehyung’s eyes fell on you straight away. He felt himself relax somewhat instantly, just your presence unknowingly putting him at ease. You had that effect on him.

You stood with your back to him, ceramic mixing bowl balanced on your forearm as you folded a creamy mixture with a wooden spoon. He had tried some of your confectioneries, anticipating the times you would slip them to him during his breaks while your father was out front. Taehyung could confidently say you made the best croissants he had ever tasted, understanding immediately why customers returned day after day to experience the buttery goodness melting on their tongues time again.

Even while working, he thought you were beautiful. The effortless waves that usually cascaded across your shoulders had been tied back with an elastic, exposing the perfect curve of your jaw. He noted the way you hummed gently under your breath in time with the soft accordion crackling over the radio. Taehyung pressed his back to the far wall, watching your delicate ministrations with an air of amusement at your blissful obliviousness. Before long he cleared his throat, snorting when you almost dropped the bowl in surprise. You spun on your heels, another bout of shock taking over as you discarded the tools in favor of rushing across the kitchen to where he smiled at you lazily.

“Tae!” You hissed, grabbing his shoulders to drag him out of the direct line of view from the front of the bakery. Glancing side to side to check the coast was clear, you kept your voice to a whisper as you scolded him. “You know you aren’t meant to be in here!”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” Taehyung said a little too loudly for your liking, resulting in a stern look. “I needed to see you.” He lowered the volume a little, unintentionally though as embarrassment began to rise in his cheeks at his admission.

“You wanted to see me?” You blurted. He gripped your elbows firmly, thumbs rubbing gentle circles into the flesh there as he scanned your face for any indication that you were uncomfortable. “You are lucky you didn’t see my father on the way in here!”

“I always want to see you.” He confessed. “Just this time I actually had the courage to do it.”

“You don’t usually?”

“I’m pretty sure your father would fire me if he caught me in here,” Taehyung span you around so the small of your back pressed against the counter, settling himself between your legs. “But I’m pretty sure I just gave him a reason to do that already, so I’ve got nothing to loose.”

“What?” You exclaimed, hand covering your mouth when the words came out a little to loudly than was appropriate for the current situation.

“I messed up. Dropped a sack of flour while he was watching me.” You couldn’t help but giggle against the palm of your hand as he explained, the image of your unforgiving father’s face enough to weaken your knees.

“So that is why you are covered in white stuff?” You manage to let out, thumb coming to swipe at the layer of flower that obscured his nose. Your hand paused against his cheek, feeling the way his face stretched into a smile.

“Yeah,” His breath was warm against your forehead. Taehyung’s eyes drew a line down your face until they reached your lips, his own slightly parted with want. “I’d kiss you but I don’t want to get flour on your face.”

Your breath caught in your throat at his words. “I don’t mind.”

Taehyung’s heart somersaulted in his chest as he gently cupped your chin in his large hands, fixated on you. The rest of the world faded to a buzz, your vanilla scent consuming his senses deliciously and his heart a thumping reminder of how long he had been waiting for this moment.

Deciding he was taking too long, you encourage him a little by tugging on the collar of his shirt, the small push enough for him to finally connect his lips to your own. Warmth spread through Taehyung’s entire body, the feeling of your plump lips moving against his own enough to make him dizzy. Your fingers tugged at his hair - it was a little longer now, enough to wrap the blonde strands around your fingers as if to ground yourself - or perhaps to keep him from disappearing, convinced the way your body melted against his was a figment of your dreams. His tongue snaked out to run along the stretch of your bottom lip, educing a soft sigh to leave your chest.

As soon as the moment began it was over, Taehyung pulling away almost too soon, lips tingling where they had touched yours. He panted heavily, finally taking a breath after what felt like hours. High on the kiss you had just shared, you fell against Taehyung, burying your nose in the crook of his neck while his arms simply tugged your body as close to him as he could manage.

“Holy shit.” He whispered against your cheek. “That was-”

“Amazing.” You breathe before he could finish.

“Am I interrupting something?” A thick accent permeated the atmosphere, bringing you both back to reality before you were ready. Taehyung’s jaw snapped shut, forehead crinkling in a mixture of humiliation at being caught in the kitchen but mostly panic when he realized he had been caught kissing his boss’s daughter.

You swore you had never seen him move so fast, the warmth of his body gone in an instant as he leaped as far from you as possible, avoiding the gaze of your father who had entered the kitchen who knows how long ago. Maybe he didn’t see.

“Taehyung, I need to speak to you.”

Oh god. He saw.

Red hot heat rose in your cheeks, embarrassment washing over you before the implications of his words hit you fully. “Papa! Please don’t do this, it was my fault not his-”

“No, sir, this was all me.” Taehyung interrupted, raising his hands in surrender. “Please don’t blame y/n for what I initiated.”

You must have looked a picture, both pleading wide eyed and embarrassed and you were sure you saw the hint of a smile creep into the corners of your fathers mouth.

“If you would let me finish,” your father tried again, “I was going to tell Taehyung that he will be working out front from tomorrow morning.”

You both stared at him open mouthed, astounded that he did not seem angry or at all intent on firing Taehyung.

“O-oh, I - thank you! I uh, won’t let you down.” Taehyung coughed after a few moments of silence, bowing his head in a sign of appreciation.

“You are a hard working kid. Consider it a promotion.” Your father tugged at his apron as he made his way back into the bakery. Just as you thought you were in the clear, his voice sounded again from the distance. “But no funny business in my kitchen!”

Taehyung wasted no time resuming his earlier position, wiping a spot of flour at the corner of your mouth that had transferred from his face. “No funny business? I can’t make any promises.”

Taehyung fell into routine quickly, so quickly that he almost stopped longing to remember what came before he met you as he was sure it could not have been as perfect as this.

Your apartment was small but it felt bigger since Taehyung started living with you. It was like your beings fit together like a perfect jigsaw, never once falling over one another and always somehow in sync. Everything felt fresh and new and enhanced somehow, the town a little more vibrant, the warmth of the bakery a little more inviting and your bed a little more comfortable while sharing it with someone else.

Life was simple and that was the beauty of it. Weekdays were mostly spent at the bakery, you in the kitchen and Taehyung serving customers out front, occasionally sharing looks in the form of a smile or the simple cock of an eyebrow in between hushed rendezvous carefully calculated to begin and end before your father came back from his break. Weekends were for laundry dates and reading books with your head in his lap, him pretending to read over your shoulder but losing his place half way through in favor of watching your face instead.

Evenings were for drinking chamomile tea in your bed, legs tangled in one another as you told stories of life before him - what you remembered of your mother, your childhood cat, the time you slipped at the harbor and broke your collar bone. Taehyung always felt a little guilty that he could only listen, unable to tell stories of his own because as hard as he tried he just could not remember. You had tried to reassure him, reminding him that you knew this Taehyung so it didn’t really matter who he used to be.

That night was like any other; your head on his chest as you recounted a childhood story in between giggles. His hand stroked your silky hair gently and he enjoyed the way your eyes fluttered shut when his fingers massaged your scalp. The sight of your cheek pressed to his bare chest was enough to send his heart into overdrive, three words lingering at the tip of his tongue but never quite confident to leave it. I love you. He was sure of it.

“Tae?” You mumbled, raising your head to look at him bemusedly. “Are you listening to me?”

“Mmmf - what?” He replied, scratching the nape of his neck as he sent you an apologetic look. “I was listening!”

“What was the last thing I said?” You kicked the covers away from your body, throwing a leg over his lap to hover over him playfully. “Prove it.”

“You were saying…” He paused for a moment, staring into the distance as he tried to recall something to no avail. “Fine, I was distracted. Now just shut up and c'mere.”

Before you could protest, his lips were on yours. He tasted like Jasmine and herbal tea and you just about melted into his touch, moaning slightly when his hands pressed you to him roughly at the back of your neck. Kissing you had become all too easy for Taehyung, never satisfied until his lips were moving against yours and immediately starved once they parted.

You were the one to pull away first, tugging his bottom lip between your teeth and watching the way his eyes glazed over at the sensation. “Distracted by what?”

“By you.” Taehyung practically growled as he gripped your wrists, managing to flip you onto your back so he was above you, his knee pushing between your legs. “You make me forget everything.”

“How so?” You nibble on your bottom lip as his hands push you firmly into the mattress. His eyes were boring into yours but his dark stare only excited you.

“You’re doing it again!” He groaned, swallowing thickly as he relished the way you felt so soft, so needy beneath him. “I can hardly control myself when you look at me like that.”

Placing your palms carefully against his cheeks, you pull him in for a kiss, a warm tingle spreading through your chest when his nose brushes yours. His finger tips traced your jaw, dragging down the expanse of your neck and arms before rubbing feather light circles into the flesh of your waist that peeked out from the top of your pajama shorts. Taehyung’s actions were soft and so sweet you were sure you would melt under his touch.

You barely left his lips for long enough to take a breath before your tongue was tracing his bottom lip, begging for entrance which he granted with a sigh. Your arms looped around the back of his neck, your wrists grazing his bare back and sending shivers through his entire body.

Taehyung wasn’t sure how much longer he could last before he caved. So far, sweet kisses and lazy make-outs were the furthest you had taken things and honestly, he was happy for things to stay that way. As long as you were comfortable, he didn’t care - Taehyung was determined that if things were going to go any further it had to be under your circumstances - so, until you initiated anything he was content to just be as close to you as possible.

Unfortunately, that didn’t stop nature from taking its course - Taehyung’s problem was more than obvious, his hard on grazing your inner thigh as you desperately clawed at him, ever deepening the kiss. He could not help the small groan that left him at the contact, a hot blush sweeping your cheeks when you realized his predicament.

Leaving your swollen lips with a pop, Taehyung rolled to your side and scooted towards the edge of the bed. “Fuck,” He said through broken breaths, heels grazing the carpet as he avoided your gaze, unsure why he was embarrassed. He was always comfortable around you. Taehyung knew you could never judge him. “I had better go to the bathroom - ”

“Wait!” The cold raised the hairs on your arms almost as soon as his warmth was gone, an unbearable emptiness. You appreciated that Taehyung was respectful of your wishes - it made you feel safe in his company, wanted for more than what your body had to offer. More than anything, though, it told you that he was the right person to do this with and his sudden withdrawal confirmed just how much you wanted it, needed it. “Taehyung, I want this.”

You scrambled to your knees, wrapping your fingers around his wrist before he could escape and forcing him to face you once again. His eyes softened as he scanned your face, searching for any indication that you were unsure. “Really?”

A gentle tug encouraged him to return to his earlier position above you, though on his knees this time. Your hands shakily closed around the hem of your shirt, pulling the loose garment over your head. Taehyung’s eyes raked down across your bra before raising to meet yours again, his mouth agape a little. “Really.” You insisted.

At your confirmation, Taehyung was on you again almost immediately, hands finding any expanse of skin they could, enjoying the way they glided across the smooth surface of your stomach and the dips of your collar bones. His lips followed soon after, leaving open mouthed kisses to your forehead and then your nose and then a series down the valley of your breasts. His ministrations caused your core to throb, a bout of heat hitting your lower regions deliciously.

Arching your back under his touch, you reach behind to unclasp your bra, enjoying the way Taehyung’s eyes widen as the fabric falls away to reveal your hardened nipples. He wastes no time taking one between his lips, evoking a whimper from you as his teeth graze the nub. Your fingers weave into his hair, a series of moans leaving your lips as he begins to work their way down your stomach to the waistband of your shorts.

His thumbs slip beneath the hem, teasing gently as he asks for permission. “Can I?” His voice is husky, laced with desire as his finger tips dance across your thighs.

“Please.” You manage to gasp out, taking it upon yourself to start removing the barrier between him and your heat, the place you wanted him more than anywhere else. Taehyung’s breath hitched in his throat when he took in the sight of your panties, already sticking obscenely to your heat as you squirmed beneath his gaze. “I need you, Tae.”

“Fuck me,” Taehyung mumbled under his breath, mouth dry as he settled between your legs. His hair tickled your inner thigh and you writhed with anticipation. “I want to taste you.”

He lowered his head again, returning to his previous ministrations as he placed wet kisses to both of your thighs, teasing you by ignoring your sweet spot. Your heart was racing, practically beating out of your chest. “Taehyung?”

He stopped instantly, neck snapping up to scan your face. “Do you not want me to?”

“What? No! Trust me, that’s not it,” You jump to reassure him, dragging your thumb against his cheek to validate your statement and appease the worry evident in his irises. “It’s just…I’ve never done this before.”

“No one has ever eaten you out?” He blinks at you through his lashes, surprised at your confession, mainly because he couldn’t understand how anyone could manage to keep their hands off you.

“Opportunity never presented itself?”

“Don’t worry,” His head dipped back down again. “Just relax.” Taehyung carefully placed a final kiss directly to your heat, breath hot against your wetness through the fabric of your panties. Finally at the height of your impatience, you slide the garment down your hips, Taehyung unhooking them from your ankles before throwing them somewhere behind him, eager to finish what he started.

“Fuck, y/n.“His hands felt like fire against your thighs and you were sure the imprint of his palms would remain as he pushed your legs open a little further, tongue slipping out to wet his lips as he finally laid eyes on your heat. "You are beautiful.”

Before you could respond, his tongue was dragging a long stripe up the length of your slit, sending pleasure through you as he swirled around your sensitive clit. You gasped at the sudden contact, hands threading through his hair which only served to encourage him further, pulling your clit between his lips and sucking obscenely.

“Oh my god Tae,” You groaned, back arching as he dragged his tongue all the way to your entrance. “Fuck, don’t stop.”

Taehyung began thrusting his tongue in and out of you, enjoying the way you instinctively clench around him. A string of pleading whispers began to fall from your lips as he slowed his ministrations.

“What do you want?” He questioned, breathing labored as he ran his fingers up and down your sides comfortingly.

You twisted under his burning hot touch. “Fingers. Please.” You were barely able to mutter the words in between your own short inhales.

Taehyung simply smirked, gently easing a single finger into your entrance, moving slowly to begin with as you adjusted to the feeling before his tongue was back, teasing your clit once again. Before long, he sensed you were still a little empty, adding another finger, increasing the pace of his thrusts and focusing his mouth on your folds.

His tongue felt like heaven and you could feel your orgasm building steadily. Taehyung grazed your swollen clit with his teeth and before you could fathom it, you were coming hard with a sharp cry, entire body shaking as you came down from your blissful high.

Taehyung gave a few final kitten licks to your oversensitive folds before pulling away when you began to shudder and writhe due to overstimulation, sitting up and allowing you to pull him into a deep kiss. It felt different somehow - if that was even possible at this point - as though you were more connected than before.

“You are fucking incredible.” He mumbled against your cheek when you broke the kiss, placing his hands over yours as you fumbled with the button of his pants. Before long he was shimmying them down his thighs, discarding them at the foot of the bed in favor of enjoying the way you cupped his erection through his boxers, a low groan leaving his throat at the much needed contact.

“Take these off,” You practically pleaded, wrestling with the fabric of his boxers. “And fuck me already.”

“I’m getting there.” Taehyung chastised, still fulfilling your request by pulling the shorts down his thighs. His dick was finally freed, slick with precum as he hissed at the sudden cold air against his length.

“Don’t act like you aren’t eager.” You whispered against his ear, the hint of a smirk evident in your voice as you nibbled at the base of his neck, making him shiver.

Suddenly, Taehyung wrestled you down onto the mattress, causing a few giggles to flutter from your lips at the unexpected dominance. A smile threatened the corners of his own lips, despite his desperate need to take you then and there. “You know I’m eager, baby.”

Taehyung leaned over your body to reach the nightstand, his instincts correct as he successfully located a condom before sliding it over his length. The contact caused a sharp hiss to leave his throat and he felt dizzy imagining what was about to come.

“Let me know if you feel uncomfortable, okay?” Taehyung hovered over you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear sweetly. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You nod in return, biting your lip to hold back an anticipating moan. He ran the head of his dick up and down your folds, coating himself in your slick before finally pushing  into your heat. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place and allowing him to keep himself grounded.

“Oh fuck,” He drawled when he finally bottomed out, your velvety walls almost too much around his sensitive dick. His voice was strained, cracking a little as he desperately tried to fight the haze of pleasure and keep a grip on himself. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He waited for you to adjust, lidded eyes watching as yours fluttered closed once he finally entered you.

“Move, please.” You gasped.

He didn’t need to be told twice, drawing his length out almost all the way before slowly thrusting back to the hilt. The pace was almost agonizingly slow, long whines slipping past your lips as Taehyung buried his face in the crook of your neck, hot breath fanning your shoulders.

“Just fuck me, already.” You whimper. You bucked your hips impatiently, squirming as you felt his dick enter inch by inch, getting used to the way he filled you deliciously.

“God, you are going to kill me.” Your words seemed to be all he needed to finally start moving properly, increasing his pace as he finally lost himself above you. His low groans filled the room and before long you found yourself meeting his thrusts.

Taehyung pressed his thumb to your clit, circling it in time with his thrusts and before long you felt another high begin to take you, another orgasm causing you to shudder beneath him. Feeling your walls clench tightly around his dick was all it took for him to come undone, fingernails pressing into your flesh as he came with a dark moan.

Taehyung stayed like that for a couple of minutes, his face pressed into the crook of your shoulder as you both tried to catch your breath. You stroked a hand across the top of his head, pulling his face to yours to connect your lips in a kiss. It was slow and long and filled with words Taehyung wanted to say but hoped you could feel just through the way his lips moved against yours.

His bangs stuck to the beads of sweat that laced his forehead as he rolled onto his back, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you close to him. You pressed your cheek to his chest, eyes closed as you simply listened to the way his heart beat began to return to normal.

“I told you so.” He mumbled, slumber already lacing his tone and threatening to sweep him up in its embrace before he was ready to leave this moment behind.

“Hmmf?” You question, confused.

“I forget about everything when I’m with you.”

And in that moment, Taehyung knew he was irrevocably, undeniably yours.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

What about a teenage modern au where Claire gets hired as a tutor for Jamie because we know from some of Jamie's stories that he didn't really like school when he was young.

This is a little bit of an abstract take on this prompt but since it’s 100 years in Britain since women achieved the right to vote (in some capacity) I thought I’d pen something with some baring on the strong actions of those women involved in the suffragette movement. Here’s to them, may we be ever grateful for their stance and politics <3 MBD

Deeds Not Words: Part 1 -

Introduction: 1905: The Past:

The coach rattled -the ancient cobbles beneath the Edinburgh streets shaking the wooden carriage as they forged ever onwards. Dim shafts of light penetrated through the curtains and the sides of the car, the beams throwing deep orange shadows across the paneled floor as Claire watched, her hands wound tightly together.

“I just have to pick up some papers, and then we’ll be onwards to Glasgow, my girl.” Lamb said kindly, his hand hovering over her tightly linked ones (her pale skin encased in the rough lace of the gloves her mother had worn at a similar age - in a completely different scenario) as if to offer some comfort. As much as he felt able to give.

Another move.

Another upheaval. But at least Claire felt like some weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

Decisions had been made. Choices that she hadn’t been privy to because she was too young to effectively understand what was being asked of her -or offered *to* her, as she had been righteously told later.

But, as young as she was, she was still intelligent. Smart enough to tutor the lairds youngest surviving son when he was struggling to comprehend his own studies. But it wasn’t him she was promised to. No, he had just been her educational charge. Instead, Claire had been unwittingly betrothed to another.

But hearts don’t necessarily beat the way others require, and Claire had spent much of her young life nurturing the wrong Fraser brother…and subsequently falling for his natural charm - despite their five year age gap.

Neither had done anything. Though it was clear that, as Jamie grew older, their dual infatuation increased.

Their lessons became longer as Claire and Jamie talked long into the night, increasing their bond with one another, and deepening the worries of her uncle (though Brian Fraser exercised his patriarchal role with added humour, using every opportunity to chuckle at Lambs worried glances).

‘He��s just a lad, Claire…’

The words rang in her ears as the distinct bray of the horses in the stables nearby pierced the air, pulling Claire from her memories.

‘…we haven’t done anything wrong.’ She had begged when Lamb had announced their move, knowing from the sad glint in his eyes that he meant to take her away from temptation. ‘Why can’t we just stay…here?’

She should have married William, the elder of the boys. She should have learned faster what had been bequeathed to her and been smarter about concealing her true feelings. But she had a glass face and nothing she could and would say to uncle Lamb would stop him from uprooting their simple lives and moving them to a place where she couldn’t disappoint him with her poor life choices.

‘It simply isn’t done, Claire, I’m sorry,’ he had said softly, ‘it’s my choice, as your guardian, and I cannot allow it.’

“Yes, uncle.” She replied, answering both to their present conversation (and one buried in the past), finally, her voice low and calm though she felt far from it. “I’m sure wherever we’re going it will be ...suitable.”

– — –

1909 - 4 years later: The Present:

Sneaking across the top level of their apartments, Claire slid her fingers beneath the loose floorboard in order to pry the wood from its temporary holding.

Time had been good for her in some respects, she had grown more independent, the scent of the city fueling her ever increasing desire to be wild and free. Lamb had despaired of her, cutting the chord, metaphorically, as Claire proved too hard to pin down - matrimony and a quiet life as a wife and mother seemed beyond her and an ever increasing part of him understood that.

‘You’re a bachelor!’ She had often complained, her protestations growing less timid as she aged. ‘Why do you get to live as you want, yet I have to marry whomever you choose for me?’

Lamb couldn’t accurately answer her question. He simply shrugged his shoulders with a withering glance and repeated the oft spoken words - ‘…it is simply what is done, my dear.’

Only it wasn’t what Claire thought should be done, she mused as she pulled the dusty broadsheet from its hiding place beneath the boards of the attic.

The headline was clear, though small and not the title for the paper for which it had been penned. But it was there nonetheless. Women’s liberation movements had been increasing in popularity. Manchester in 1905, the year which she’d been coaxed from the only home she’d known and away to the city, had produced a society of women who were not in favour of the maniacal rule they’d been placed under by their superiors. The WSPU had spoken and Claire’s heart beat with intense pride as she re-read the words that had emboldened her and continued to do so.

No longer did she wish to languish beneath men. Emmeline Pankhurst had risen as a shining example to her and she would no longer hide away, arguing her point over and over as Lamb continued to placate her.

Using her position as a tutor to some of the more well off local children, Claire had met Geillis Duncan the year previous. Along with Gellie, Glenna Fitzgibbons and Laoghaire Mackenzie and a few other intelligent women in the area, Claire had begun to show her support for the Glasgow branch of the WSPU. Their meetings were mostly conducted quietly, the cloak and dagger operation instilled to protect their powerful and subversive opinions. Glenna and Geillis were married, both powerful men who agreed and helped to assist their wives in their views. Herself and Laoghaire were both still alone, their position in the local community making them eager talking points for the men who still thought it laughable that two pretty young things were still unwed and childless.

None of her companions knew about Jamie Fraser.

Unwrapping the newsprint, Claire pulled the sgian dubh from its tight concealment. Rubbing the fading font, she held it closely to her chest. The Fraser crest was still visible, the engraving carved deep into the ornate metal as the heat of her fingers warmed it up. It was the only thing she had left to remember him by and the joy of having it close to her with the words of Pankhurst keeping it safely hidden from view solidified her opinion that if she couldn’t have Jamie, she wouldn’t have anyone at all.

It was a childish notion, but one she was invested in nonetheless. 

The image of him was fuzzy now, the years tainting their friendship but she could still remember the sea-blue tint of his eyes as he watched her read aloud to him in Latin. They had never crossed the boundaries with one another, him being too young factoring in that decision - but their warmth towards one another was obvious to see. Had she only been a few years younger and there would have been no quibbling over their relationship, but she was too old to be hovering around a teenager; no matter how mature Jamie was for his age.

Sighing, Claire stashed the blade back where she found it and grabbed for a small satchel that she’d hidden a little lower down. It contained as many fliers as she could stuff in there, enough to coat many of the Glaswegian streets in the WSPU’s very vocal propaganda. Steeling herself, she wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and snuck downstairs.

Lamb was still sleeping, she could hear his light snores filtering underneath the door. Claire knew that he had an early coach to catch to the coast for his latest business trip to a small freeholding in Ireland. He wouldn’t be away long, but it was long enough that Claire didn’t need to worry about him checking on her before he left.

“Come on, Claire!” Geillis hissed as Claire slunk from the house and trudged the small distance from her residence to where Gellie was hiding.

Pulling her hat down lower over her ears, Claire tutted, rolling her eyes at her partner in crime. “Just give it a rest would you, Geillis. You know I’d never leave you here loitering in this alleyway like a reprobate. I just had to make sure I didn’t wake the whole house as I left, aye?”

Being English, the basic Scots variants that she had picked up over the years still sounded foreign on her tongue -though she had long since given in to trying to tamper them. Geillie, however, with her broad Glaswegian accent always tisked at Claire’s attempts at fitting in and her eyes shone with mirth at Claire’s use of the word ‘aye’ instead of a simple ‘yes’.

“The others will be waiting for us, lass,” she said instead, choosing to ignore the colloquial term and move on with their plans for the evening, “do ye have the posters?”

“Of course.” She muttered, flashing the pile that were stowed safely away in her large leather satchel. “That was my one job.”

Taking Claire by the hand, Geillie tugged them back out into the streets and they set off, quickly, in search of the rest of the party.

Rain had coated the cobbles and both women struggled not to lose their footing as they scrambled from one end of the city to the other. All candles had been extinguished in the windows and the streets were devoid of life. Most of the city was still asleep, not even the early risers had begun to wake yet. As quietly as they were able, Geillis and Claire slipped further into the heart of Glasgow, their excitement palpable as they got closer and closer to their intended destination.

“Did ye hear?” Laoghaire mumbled, her words shaky and light as she reached out and grabbed for Claire and Geillis as they approached the small group of gathered women that had congregated in Glenna’s living room.

“Heard what?” Geillis asked, looking from Claire to Laoghaire.

“Ye ken they’ve been making arrests now - they say we’re breaching the peace or some such nonsense.” Laoghaire griped obviously frustrated at the state of their current situation.

“Aye, I ken, get on wi’ it lass.” Geillie said, prodding her playfully in the side as Claire scratched her head thoughtfully.

“Weel, a lassie went on hunger strike the other day, the news is all over the place. They set her free! The police dinna want deid lassies on their hands, aye? So they set her free to recover. She was ailing quite badly they say but she refused to give in and eat.”

Claire’s heart beat double time in her chest as she listened, a hum of approval floating through their congregation. The small loophole in the law had allowed the woman, one Marion Wallace Dunlop, to be released on grounds of ill-health - meaning the county holding her wouldn’t be responsible for her death should she perish from her ordeal. As luck would have it, she was on the mend (so Glenna said, with a joyful spring in her step as she passed out the sashes to the gathered women) and had been talking about her successful ‘escape’ from incarceration to as many people as possible.

“Would ye do it, Claire?” Laoghaire asked excitedly as she pulled the painted ribbon over her petite head and allowed it to rest neatly on her shoulders. “If ye were arrested, would ye no’ eat to further the cause?”

“Of course!” Claire answered truthfully. “I haven’t come this far, Laoghaire to let them lock me up. I’d do whatever I had to. Truly.”

“Me too,” she returned, eager to show her own willing, “there’s no going back now.”

“No,” Claire whispered, collecting her small bag from the ground now it had been almost emptied of leaflets, “there definitely is not.”

It was a few more hours before the women picked up their leaflets and placards and went on their way. The sun had still to rise and the streets were only now just starting to fill with early risers on the way to the factories. It was that distinct bustle that rallied the troup, their eager hands tightening around the wooden spears that held their banners in place. The wood bit into Claire’s hands as she followed directly behind Gellie and out onto the busying cobbles.

With her head held high, Claire scowled meaningfully at a group of passing men who looked enraged by their clear message. Unwilling to stop, she narrowed her eyes, her fingers twitching as if she was restraining herself but the heat of the blood in her veins made the reasonable side of her cower and she stamped her feet with more vigor as she turned on her heel and marched through the growing crowd, back to the men who’d given her such a filthy look.

“What’s the matter?!” She spat, her cheeks red with anger as she squared up to the two broad men, her eyes alight with fire as she confronted them. “Do our views upset your civil liberties, gentlemen?” She continued, hissing the word ‘gentlemen’ at them like it was a dirty word.

“Come on…” she goaded when they refused to speak but maintained eye contact with her. “You are bold enough to scorn me with your impolite gaze, but you cannot speak for yourselves?”

“Claire!” Geillis whispered, suddenly appearing behind her friend as she took Claire by the arm and attempted to pull her away. “Come wi’ me now, lass. It isna worth it.”

“I’d listen to your friend…if I were you.” The taller of the two men spoke, finally, his blunt, pretentious English accent piercing the quiet morning air as he cockily quirked his brow at her - his dismissive attitude causing Claire to grit her teeth - her anger only rising by his arrogance.

“You…” she belted out, her voice echoing, the wisps of it hovering in the air long after she had begun her fatal statement.

“Claire no!” Geillis and Laoghaire chorused together - but too late.

“…utter arse.” Claire finishing, dropping her sign and slapping the man before she could even take stock of her actions.

Her palm throbbed as it connected with his cheek, the weight of her actions solidifying like lead in her belly the moment the fog cleared and clarity resumed. Claire’s mouth fell open in shock as she took one shaky step backwards as if she were about to make a run for it.

Geillie saw the decision in her movements and took hold of Laoghaire’s arm whilst still keeping hold of the arm that lay limp by Claire’s side.

But the second man, the one who had remained brash but silent, was upon Claire before she had chance to follow Geillis’s instructions. Gripping her wrist tightly, he pulled her to him - yanking her from Gellie’s grip as the other women loitered with fear in their eyes.

“You are going to regret that, madam,” he said, a strange aura of calm surrounding him as he flexed his fingers as if to perpetuate his worrying message.

“U-unhand me.” Claire balked, her tone belying her concern as she made one feeble attempt to pull herself from his grasp. With Lamb about to leave the country, Claire panicked. Any trouble that these men were likely to get her into would either derail his important business or render her isolated and alone at the mercy of the penal system. Cursing internally, she held her breath as her mind worked overload, trying to comprehend how much bother she might be in.

By the look on his face, a lot, she thought, swallowing around the massive lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat.

She wanted to be sick, but she wouldn’t show any weakness. Even now.

Chuckling under his breath, her captor allowed a careful smile to tug at the corners of his mouth. It was not a pleasant smile, nor was it a humorous laugh and Claire’s nervousness intensified.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” he began with no hint of niceness in his tone. His words were ice cold and it sent shivers along Claire’s spine. “I am Captain Jonathan Randall. And you are under arrest.”

–

The steady sound of dripping water kept Claire lucid enough as she sat on the small cot. It was the only piece of furniture in the draughty cell keeping her from the damp, soiled floor. In only a few moments the local bobbies had appeared, the captain’s friend having signalled them from a few streets beyond. Geillis had tried to reason with the police men but to no avail. Claire had been cuffed and walked across the city to the jail where she had been stripped of her jacket, shoes and socks and placed in her current location.

The likelihood of Lamb still being close enough for them to contact was slim and Claire had to bite her lip to keep the tears at bay.

Without a guardian to sign her release, she would be left here to rot and there was no telling how long her uncle would be out of contact.

Randall hadn’t said another word to her but he had accompanied them all back to the station, encouraging his companion to make a full statement and ensuring Claire was treated appropriately. Her breach of the peace and ‘physical assault’ had already made the rounds in the streets and there was nothing that Glenna (once she had been caught up on the events) could do to override the decision. Captain Randall had too much sway.

“Miss,” the elderly desk clerk mumbled through the door after he’d finished banging to wake her up, “your uncle is no longer in residence in Glasgow. The captain said I should tell you to prepare yourself for a long stay.”

The feeling of hopelessness wrapped around her as she pulled her legs up to her chest. She had spent the whole day locked away. She had been fed, but the story Laoghaire had told them at dawn had struck a chord, though she hadn’t expected to be able to test the theory so soon after being made aware of its significance. With that in mind, Claire had let her small portion of stew go cold and her stomach rumbled audibly at the memory of it.

As the key clinked in the lock, Claire’s head snapped up as the door squealed on its hinges.

“It seems like you have a guardian angel, mistress Beauchamp,” the same elderly clerk muttered as if irked by the fact, “you are free to go.” He said, sweeping his hand in front of him in a sarcastic motion that would have frustrated Claire had she not been overwhelmed by her sudden freedom.

Back at the front of the station she was handed her belongings and given a small amount of time to put her shoes back on before being escorted out and onto the steps of the police station.

“A word of advice,” the police man who’d helped to sign her release papers said behind her, his stoic gaze causing her to bite her tongue as he continued, “dinna get on the wrong side of the Randall brothers, mistress.”

“Was the other man…?”

“The captains brother, oh aye, lass. A powerful man as well. Yer just lucky your gentleman friend,” he said, pointing to a small carriage that was waiting patiently close to the station, “had a smart enough argument to aid yer release.”

“Thank you.” She replied nodding once and walking down the few steps towards her transportation.

Opening the door with some trepidation, Claire’s heart almost lept into her mouth as she half expected uncle Lamb to appear, a disappointed look on his face as he tisked and helped her into the carriage. But instead a flash of auburn caught her eye, the lose curls making her breath catch in her throat as Jamie Fraser turned to meet her eye.

“Ye appear to have gotten yerself into a wee bit of a swivet have ye no’?” He asked sedately offering out his hand to help her into the compartment as his carriageman closed the door and readied himself to pull away from the curb.

“What are you doing here?” She whispered, sitting still as the carriaged moved off, a slight waver in her voice.

“I came for ye,” he said honestly, “if ye’ll have me, mistress Beauchamp?”

[vickypoochoices]

Christmas Countdown part 4.

Days 11-15.

[MASTERLIST.]

Day 16.

“ZIG! Coffee! Pleaseeeeee. I'll get on my knees and beg!” She flopped half way over the empty counter melodramatically, barely flinching as her cheek squished against the cool surface

It was barely 7am and she'd fled the apartment in a sleep deprived haze, having grown fed up with laying awake, staring at the ceiling and praying she'd finally succumb to the exhaustion. She'd drained her phone battery listening to every single piece of white noise ever created and calming lullabies that had the opposite affect when they failed to do the job in hand, instead pulling her from her bed in a rage.

“Uhh hey, can I help?” She sprang upright at the sound of an unfamiliar voice, eyes scrunching closed. It's okay, don't panic. When you open your eyes you'll see Zig, not some strange barista.

Peeling open just the one eye initially, she felt a rush of warmth flood her cheeks as an unknown barista gawked back at her incredulously.

Clearing her throat, she desperately tried to compose herself. And then a hearty chuckle gained her attention, exaggerated clapping following.

“Oh Trev, that was gold! Thanks for covering man.” Zig joined them, face filled with glee.

As the other barista walked out to the back, she rounded on Zig, pointing an accusing finger in his direction.

“Just what the hell was that shit Ortega?” She demanded.

Zig offered his trademark smirk over his shoulder, as he busied himself with a machine.

“That? Well I was just outside having a smoke before the big morning rush hits, and then you decided to make my entire morning with that little episode.”

“I hate you.” She mumbled, resuming her position sprawled out on the counter, this time bumping her head against the cool surface a few times for good measure.

“Aww don't be like that. You can't stay mad at me, I made your favourite.”

“We'll see about that.” She scoffed, sitting up straight and reaching for her drink.

“I've made you the same drink every morning for the last year…”

She scowled at him, before taking a tentative sip of scalding coffee. She felt a warm rush overcome her whole body as she struggled to keep her face impassive.

“This is...Eurgh I can't lie, this is glorious Zig.” She relented, suppressing a shudder as she took another sip, her body overjoyed at the caffeine consumption.

He grinned at her reaction, head nodding, her response entirely as he had expected.

“Hard night or tough morning?”

“Yes. Tick. All of the above.” She slumped forward, words muffled against the counter.

A sharp ding rang out from the doorway, a cold breeze sweeping in, prompting her to huddle closer to the steaming cup in hand. Zig let out a barely there sigh as a small group of people edged closer to him.

“Looks like I'm needed. I hope you get some sleep. Or figure out whatever's eating you. Or...well you never really said what was wrong. Just...Keep swimming?”

She felt herself thaw a little bit, a giggle managing to slip out.

“You are such a dork. Thanks Zig. I'll just swim home now.”

She quietly collected herself, slipping past the small line of people that had already started to form.

As she reached for the handle of the door, her attention caught sight of the shop window. The bottom half of it was lined with paper, the same words repeated on each piece. She must have been more desperate for coffee than she realised before if she walked past this without even noticing. She felt herself gravitate towards the posters, feeling overwhelmed with the sudden knowledge that this was for her.

Day Sixteen - I am in love with a memory. I am in love with a future. I am in love with possibility. I am in love with you x.

Her vision blurred as tears welled up in her eyes, but she fought to keep them at bay. Reading over the words again and again, she tried desperately to memorize them, wanting to think back on them when she was in a better frame of mind.

Realising she was a partial obstruction in the doorway, she pulled herself together and out into the bitterly cold winter morning.

She shuffled along the pathway home, repeating the words constantly, until she came to a halt in front of a street light. Plastered around the base of the light was a copy of the poster, same words sprawled over the paper.

Looking up and into the distance of her route home, her eyes focused, and she counted four street lights and two information signs, the same poster clearly visible even from where she stood. He'd had a busy morning!

Continuing on at a steady pace, she reached the large statue that stood in the middle of campus, her mouth gaping open at the sight in front of her. It was covered head to toe in posters. How was that even possible? How on Earth did he make it all the way to the top? And is that James?!

He was stood, gloved fingertips smoothly running over the words, adoration etched on his face, oblivious to her presence.

“Looks like someone's got it bad.” Her voice was soft and low, yet James still stumbled backwards, clearly startled.

“So that's what a heart attack feels like. I always did wonder.” He exhaled loudly, tightly clutching on to his chest.

She raised an eyebrow in his direction. “If that's what you spend your time thinking about then I have to say, I'm a little concerned about you.”

He let out a low rumble, his broad smile proving to be infectious as she broke out into a grin of her own.

Taking a step closer, his eyes glossed over as he took the words in once more. Watching him intensely, she noticed his eyes shift awkwardly from the statue back to her.

Tugging on the scarf tightly wound around his neck, recognition finally set in. He was nervous. Had she just caught him admiring his own handy work?

Day 17.

“Can you even be in love with someone without knowing who they are? This guy could show up on Christmas day, have two heads, no teeth, a few extra limbs, and I’d still want to marry him!” Zack swooned.

“Oh God, well what if that does happen and I can’t find it in me to love him? Does that make me a terrible person?”

“The guy went all Spiderman and scaled a huge statue for you. He could have died for you! Are you really telling me you’ll turn him down after that?” Zack pointed a finger angrily in her direction.

“Zack you need to chill! We said we were having a crisis chat, let’s do this.” Kaitlyn said, standing in the middle of them both.

They both grumbled in response, heads reluctantly nodding.

“Now then, I may have got a bit carried away, but I’ve actually been working on this for a few days…” Kaitlyn continued, as she fumbled around the back of the sofa.

“Is that a binder? And are those highlighters?”

Kaitlyn clutched the binder tight to her chest, back turned to them as a touch of pink splashed her cheeks.

“You don’t have post it notes in there do you?” Zack queried, attempting to peer into the binder.

“Errr no?”

“You sure about that? You don’t sound it.”

“Okay you two, this isn’t helping, let’s move on.”

“Fine. But I’m adding you to the suspect list.” Zack retorted, eyes narrowed at Kaitlyn.

“Come on then. Where do we start with this? Tell us what you’ve got Kaitlyn.”

“I think we can narrow this down to three people. Chris, James and Zig.”

“And Kaitlyn. And Edgar.”

“No to both of those.” Kaitlyn worked hard to not give Zack the reaction she knew he craved.

“I agree.” She replied, before Zack could start up another argument.

“Fine. Be boring. Okay so Chris, James and Zig it is. Everyone knows you and Chris were together that first year.”

“We weren’t ever official and it wasn’t the whole year!”

“Well maybe that’s it! What if Chris always wanted it to be official and never wanted to break it off?”

“I hate to agree with Zack, but he’s basically just covered my Chris theory.” Kaitlyn added, ignoring Zack’s attempts at a fist bump.

“Hmm. Okay, who’s next?”

“Next we have my personal front runner, James. He’s always had a thing for you. He stepped back when you were with Chris, maybe he was waiting for the right moment? And do I even need to bring up the fake fiancee plot twist? I bet he secretly wishes it had all been real.” Kaitlyn chatted animatedly, pausing a few times to point out notes she’d made, and even a sketch of an obnoxiously large diamond ring.

“So that just leaves Zig.”

“Ahh Zigmund. Zig Zag. The Ziggster. Zig-azig-ahh.”

She raised her eyebrows at Kaitlyn, perplexed.

“Sorry, got a bit carried away there. Zig is a dark horse. Quiet, brooding type on the outside, but I reckon if we were to knock him out and crack him open he’d be all sweetness and light inside.”

“You couldn’t have just said he was a total babe?” Zack’s face screwed up in disgust.

“Well sure but he’s so much more. So here’s the thing, you and Zig were having a bit of fun before all that drama at my gig right? I know you’ve made up, but you never kissed and made up. What if Zig is harbouring strong feelings for you?”

“Okay.”

“Okay? That’s all you’ve got? This took me hours, there’s still so much more we could go over.” Kaitlyn whined.

“Who do you think it is?” She blinked, cutting to the chase.

“I told you, my money is on James. Aside from all the reasons I already gave you, these are big romantic gestures, someone’s gone to a lot of trouble to make this perfect. Strikes me as the kind of thing James would be good at.”

“And I think it’s Chris. I remember how he used to look at you, and come to think of it, I’m certain he still does. Plus, he’s definitely up to something, that guy has been glued to his phone recently.” Zack added, nudging her gently in the side.

“Looks like I’m Team Zig then.” She smirked, teasing them both with a wink.

Zack sprang to his feet and rushed towards the door as a loud knock sounded out.

“Can I change my vote? I’m with Kaitlyn, because this right here is screaming out James’s name.”

He carefully retraced his steps, handing over a large glass candle, a bottle of bubble bath and a box of pretty bath bombs, trusty post it note stuck to the side.

Day Seventeen - The time to relax is when you don’t have time for it x.

“Yep. That is so James.” Kaitlyn muttered, as she read the note over her shoulder.

Days 18-19.

Tagging: @zigortega4life @emerald-bijou @krsnlove @darley1101 @syltti78 @mrsdrakewalkerblog @jared2612

[showtimetop5]

January 24, 2022 (Lindsey C)

Hello! Hope everyone’s Monday is going well. Here are a few pieces of creative I think are cool and could inspire new ways of thinking about our campaigns and creative. I’m passing the baton to @Judson, Alex

Hello! Hope everyone’s Monday is going well. Here are a few pieces of creative I think are cool and could inspire new ways of thinking about our campaigns and creative. I’m passing the baton to @Judson, Alex

Squid Game- Red Light Green light

Netflix took the horrifying “red light/green light” doll from Squid Game and placed life-sized versions around the world in major cities from Australia to the Philippines. I think this is truly an inspired (and terrifying) stunt that gained a lot of attention and added depth to the marketing campaign . I would have liked to see this in Times Square!

Here's another link

Succession Title Sequence     

The main titles for Succession perfectly captures the tone of the show. From the score to the visuals, I can’t look away and find myself watching the whole thing every episode. Fun fact – updated for season 3 the clip of Waystar Studios @ 23 seconds is actually the FOX lot in LA. I used to work there and drove onto the lot every day for years at this entrance. Also saw Rupert a handful of times, and Hope Hicks getting her own coffee. Wait, was I working at Waystar?

West Side Story Key Art

How do you make a classic love story feel fresh? See the West Side Story campaign created by the agency Gravillis. The pieces I’m highlighting bring unit photography to the next level. Recently, the KA direction for many of our campaigns is to make it feel real and unposed. I think the WSS campaign is an excellent example of elevating unit photography to make it feel premium. It also gives a modern, fresh feel to a classic, popular story.

Here are a few other pieces

Bad Typography

We all remember several years ago when the wrong film was read for best picture at the Oscars. This is a video that reminds us how important good typography is and how we, as designers, have an important role in communicating ideas. Also, how design is everywhere and far reaching. From street signs to pill bottles design is EVERYWHERE. After watching this video, I honestly believe bad design/typography changed the course of history when Al Gore lost the election in 2000. It wasn’t just pregnant chads, it was bad design.

Time Cover – Zuckerberg

Over the years, Time Magazine has done its share of provocative covers. This one from late October is so simple yet so effective and really resonates with me. Is it time to delete facebook? I struggle with this question regularly. (scroll down a bit in the article to see the cover)

Have a great week!

Best,

Lindsey   

[itsfinancethings]

It started with a tweet. Philomena Wankenge, 22, wanted to organize a protest following George Floyd’s death. “Let’s make some noise,” she wrote on May 28, with a solidarity-fist emoji. She started a group chat, and those who were active on it became the board of directors for Freedom Fighters DC, a group that is less than two weeks old but has helped mobilize thousands of new voices into a renewed push for racial justice in the nation’s capital.

With a megaphone tucked under her arm and a Black Lives Matter fist buzzed onto the back of her head, Wankenge was among the organizers who led thousands of people in Washington to march against police brutality on June 6. They gathered on Capitol Hill and streamed past the National Museum of African American History and Culture, where they took a knee, then past President Donald Trump’s backyard. She was followed by thousands of chanting protesters chanting “No Justice, No Peace, Defund the Police” and “F-ck Trump,” while listening to songs like Childish Gambino’s “This is America.” Most wore face masks despite the heat.

“The level of aggression that the police invokes on people is inappropriate regardless of the race,” says Wakenenge. “But it’s just that it’s easier for them to bully black people and no one really says anything.”

More people are speaking out now. Floyd’s death has prompted an uprising against systemic injustice on a massive scale. From New York to Los Angeles, demonstrators continue to fill the streets to protest against racial injustice. In Washington, a long stream of thousands of people carried signs reminding the world — again — that black lives matter.

To many it felt like a watershed moment. The coalition of supporters is broadening, protesters say, and the coronavirus pandemic has made it harder to ignore systemic inequality in America.

“This changes everything because the whole world is involved and watching,” says Carmen Jordan, 39, a D.C. resident standing in the protest area near the White House. Around her was a summer festival atmosphere, with people handing out free T-shirts and food and drinks, blowing bubbles, and holding signs. Though in recent days the area surrounding the White House has become a flashpoint between law enforcement and protesters, on Saturday it was jovial.

The demonstrators’ demands go beyond justice for Floyd to ending racially discriminatory policing practices and dismantling systemic racism. In Washington, protesters called for reducing the police budget, blocking the addition of a new jail, banning stop and frisk tactics and investing in communities.

“I don’t think that police need to be operating on such a large budget. I don’t think they need to have militarized weapons,” says Taylor Jenkins, 29, holding a sign calling for defunding the police with military vehicles parked a couple of blocks away. Jenkins expressed optimism that defunding the police was achievable, noting that several major cities are already looking at slashing police department budgets.

Activists say the national outcry that’s come since Floyd’s death is finally making more white Americans see the ongoing racial inequities around them. “We’ve gotten a reaction I’ve never seen before,” says Alex Hagans, 30, of Mitchellville, Md. “We’re not alone anymore.”

Hagans, who works in tech and is studying business at University of Maryland, remembers going into the office after Eric Garner died following a police chokehold in July 2014 and feeling like he was the only one around him struggling with the news. “While you’re sitting there in the office and that’s all you think about, everyone else is having a regular day like nothing happened. A lot of times it’s kids that this is happening to, that are dying, and you just feel it when you think that could have been you,” says Hagans. “Corporations are now speaking out internally and externally. It’s a big deal.”

Many protesters also see signs that the coalition around Black Lives Matter is broadening. Protesters point to NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell admitting the NFL was wrong in how it handled players’ peaceful protests. Polls bear out the idea that the cause has broadened: in a Monmouth survey released this week, 76% of Americans said racial and ethnic discrimination is a problem in the U.S., up from 51% in January of 2015.

Some who came out to protest on Saturday were guarded against expecting too much. They’ve been here before. Racial inequality was one of the biggest stories in America before Donald Trump’s election, sparking sustained protests but limited change.

“My hope is it’s not going to be a flash in the pan moment. We had so many black men – unarmed black men – killed unjustly,” says Chad Jackson, 49, a train conductor from Severn, Md., standing on a street in front of the White House that was painted with the words “Black Lives Matter” on the orders of Washington Mayor Muriel Bowser. Jackson served in the Army, as a cavalry scout and a drill sergeant, and he held a large yellow poster board that read: “When will this be the Land of the Free for me?”

Protesters are demanding more than symbolic gestures. Activists criticized Bowser’s “Black Lives Matter” mural and “Black Lives Matter Plaza” street sign, noting that her proposed budget doesn’t address their concerns and had cuts to community-focused initiatives but increases for the police department. Later in the day, protesters reportedly added the demand “Defund the Police” in yellow paint by the street mural. Organizers rebuked those who cheered at a recent protest when police took a knee, reminding them that Floyd had died because a police officer had knelt on his neck. “Why the f-ck would we cheer for police kneeling?” one protester asked the crowd.

But often, the mood was joyous, a marked change from recent days. As thousands of protestors marched up 17th Street NW, past the same gates that National Guard trucks had driven through on Monday before officers violently cleared protestors, the drivers of orange city trucks parked along the road blared their horns in support. Cheers went up. It may have been loud enough for President Trump to hear inside the White House on the other side of the gates.

[idolizerp]

LOADING INFORMATION ON MAYDAY’S LEAD VOCAL, LEAD DANCE NA YERIM...

IDOL DETAILS

STAGENAME: Yena CURRENT AGE: 23 DEBUT AGE: 21 TRAINEE SINCE AGE: 14 COMPANY: Midas ETC: She has become known for her viral aegyo and almost meme worthy cuteness as a stan attractor

IDOL IMAGE

despite an inherent timidity towards any decisiveness against authority, yerim’s a bright and bubbly girl who just wants to make the world smile with her voice, her personality. she’s playful and naive, exudes a natural innocence that comes with her pointed lack of experience. it’s charming, the way it impacts her sense of humor, her lighthearted sass; funny, her playful arrogance. she’s cute. there’s nothing forced about it and it’s that that midas is counting on: her natural aura, genuine, the feeling of fondness and protectiveness that this aspect of her elicits.

she’s simple in that she’s generally easy to get along with, to laugh with, to be around, to love. she’s got that trademark adorable easy-to-approach air about her but shines in the spotlight. star quality isn’t something that can be bought and yerim’s got it in spades.

off stage, as the group’s stan attractor, she’s painted as the goofy girl-next-door, the childhood best friend you can laugh with, the little sister you’d sell your kidney for in a pinch. yerim’s pretty, radiant in the way you remember your first ever crush being when you were in school, but cute more than anything, genetically predisposed for idol life. she’s a social butterfly. her purity is captivating, youthful, and it has the potential to pull in a broad range of audiences if they play their cards right - people who want to preserve it, those on the other end of the spectrum who want to tear it back just to see what’s underneath, and those who resonate. her laughter is contagious and her wit, tangible, so it only makes sense that they put her on variety.

when she first enters under midas entertainment, a weary fourteen, she’s cautious, humbled by a life hardly lived and the cruelty of kids who hate anything different. in her insecurity, she struggles to bond with other trainees who have the zeal and passion of years of working toward a common goal under their belts, only standing out with any significance during performances, speaking when spoken to, singing her heart out the way she’d always dreamed of doing and smiling a smile that warms hearts. it’s a side effect of being muffled under the arm of her mother for the majority of her youth but there’s a charm that she’s picked up from talent shows, a natural knowingness that helps her play the part of someone to be admired, and, with the help of the company, she learns how to harvest it.

she improves.

it takes time and money but she learns how to fake it until it’s real, until she forces herself into the forefront of the minds of her coaches. “yerim,” is said with a hum of recognition. yerim is noticed. yerim is indispensable, can bring a smile to any face with her smile alone. yerim can shine.

she learns to smile even when her limbs ache from hours of dancing and singing and all she wants to do is curl up in bed and sleep.

it’s a gradual change, the shy girl from north gyeongsang reading as a girl who’s blossomed into herself over the course of her first year as a trainee, comfortable in her own skin and the growing attention as a potential member of a midas-owned girl group. a fire burns. they soften her hair and lighten her wardrobe - nothing is her own, not even her body, not even the pounds of healthy fat and muscles she sheds to be thinner like the girls who’ve succeeded. like a butterfly from a cocoon, when mayday debuts, new yerim rises. on stage, she lavishes in the moments where all eyes fall on her, where she gets to show off - the luxury of feeling the kind of greed that comes with performing without the guilt that had always followed suit. you have to be greedy to get by.

it could’ve been any of them, that got plucked out of the proverbial ashes and dusted off, polished into something that the masses of korea want to see. the industry is political. yerim is a tool, the chosen one, and the it girl idols before her are the blueprint.

she sings her ass off on stage - wants them to acknowledge that, too, that she’s talented and good and has worked hard to reach this point, to be a singer. she thinks about the fact that she left home for this, cut ties with her mother for this. she’s gotten so much better at dancing, feels vindicated in her role as a lead dancer because she’s worked for it, her performances get better every time.

she wants to remind them that there’s more to her than her image, that they make good music beyond all the bubblegum and whimsy. “please love mayday a lot!” she makes sure to add during her solo schedules. love is not the problem here - you can’t turn a street without hearing a mayday song, but. it’s not the respect and reverence she remembers people having towards diamant and jubilee. she wants that kind of love.

“so cute!” they say. she’s the “shy, shy, shy” girl, cute enough to slap her face on their brand, brazen enough to banter with on their variety shows. it’s shallow, the way they love her, the way they want her. the stan attractor.

she’s not too sure it feels as good.

IDOL HISTORY

TW BRIEF PHYSICAL/VERBAL ABUSE

act i, scene i, the sun shines through the clouds

yerim comes out singing. not literally, of course, but that’s the way her mother’s always made it seem, like this was the only thing she could ever picture for her little girl - the same bright little girl who’d sit in her lap during church and sing at the top of her lungs to every hymn, knew the words to every bit of gospel, and jumped at the opportunity to join the youth choir when she was finally old enough to hold a microphone. she’s a tiny, frail little thing, smaller than the other kids, and it pains her mother to watch yerim so far away, to watch her shine without her light. it’s a beautiful sight, though, the way she shines, the way she makes her mother feel like she was born to do it. she smiles so hard on stage, she’s scared her little face will split in two.

yerim’s mother learns early on that her zeal is conditional, that she shines so brightly but that she’s scared of her own shadow. she’s got stage fright something awful - conditional, because she’s fine when she can see her mother in the crowd of judging faces, but she throws up all over her brand new dress the day she has to dance a ballet solo in front of her class.

she’s relieved, she thinks, that it’s not easy for her to do it alone.

she’s her only child, her little yerim, the product of a short-lived relationship but a miracle, nonetheless. chubby and introverted, careful and stuck to her mother’s hip. she’s all she’s got. she doesn’t know if she could ever stomach having to let her go. yerim cries.

“another opportunity will come, baby,” she tells her when she brushes her hair before bed that same evening, holds her close and hums. “you were meant to shine.”

it gets better when she starts participating in neighborhood talent shows as an attempt to branch out and get over her fear. she’s good.

her mother makes sure it doesn’t get to her head.

scene ii, they part.

the curtains rise to the rolling sound of drums and there she stands. there’s a television stage left and on the screen, there’s colors. they’re bright enough to blind her but still, she stares. there’s an awe in her expression, like she’s seeing for the very first time - hearing, too, the sound of music in another form. it’s different, this music, to the trot songs and olden spirituals her mama plays around the house.

it’s the first time ever she’s gone to a sleepover. she’s embarrassed that she doesn’t know the song, that the other girls do. her idea of fun on a friday night up until now has been watching historical dramas with her mom on the couch with a bowl of lightly salted popcorn between them, but, now, watching gemini’s comeback stage, she thinks she’s in love. her friends tell her to pick a favorite. she can’t decide, but she goes home the next morning and downloads ‘mirotic’, listens to it when she gets ready for bed, so she’ll know the words, too.

it’s not a secret but her mother finds out when she catches her belting the song into her hairbrush after dinner, a printed out picture of the boys taped above her bed. (she’s decided she likes the main vocal’s part best.)

“who’re you listening to?” she asks, a hand against the doorframe.

“idols,” yerim replies, a new word added to her vocabulary. “don’t they sound cool?”

“don’t forget to pray.” her mother says.

interlude

the first and only time her mother hits her is when she comes out of her room with lip gloss on, some daiso mascara on her lashes and a cute shirt she’d borrowed from one of her friends. there’s nothing inappropriate about the look, just shorts and a shirt, stomach and thighs hidden like she’s been taught to keep them. she’s slimmed down, shed her baby fat and shows the beginnings of a figure. she’s thirteen and learning about makeup and self-expression from the now regular sleepovers she has with her school friends every weekend. they meet up and sing together, plan on putting together a cover performance for the back to school showcase after being inspired by some upper gen girl group’s comeback (clover - mister, to be exact - and she’s already gotten in trouble for doing the butt dance around the house but she’s determined to get it right).

by now, she’s made a habit of spending her weekends and time after school, roaming with her friends for adventure and showcases to sign up for. her walls are plastered with idol posters now, bought with the money she picks up from babysitting the toddler who lives in the flat next door when his parents are out. she has her first kiss with a boy who uses too much tongue and doesn’t know her name on a dare. she’s growing up, discovering herself, doesn’t see a thing wrong with it until her mother slaps her square across the face.

it stings something fierce, burns with a kind of betrayal she’s never felt before - ever. it’s the first time she feels truly afraid of her mother. it hurts more when she speaks, tells her to change because she looks like a trollop.

yerim changes. something changes with her. she prays.

2010.

her friend goes to an audition for midas. “come along,” she says, “it’ll be fun.” she says, but it feels like a set up somehow. it’s incredibly cliche, the way she doesn’t intend to audition, doesn’t even think about it, but winds up in front a panel of judges before she even realizes she’s there. she needs to be home by six. caught off guard, she sings diamant’s into the new world with absolutely no expectations, dances a bit to some generic pop music with moves she’d learned from older friends as a display of her grasp on rhythm, and makes a point to apologize to them for being unprepared. she squirms, smiles sheepishly and tries not seem as nervous as she is.

it’s cute. they like her. she doesn’t know how she’s going to tell her mom.

act ii,scene i hell freezes over

she tells her over dinner.

her mother’s mad, the way yerim knew she’d be. she tells her that when she thought of her becoming a singer, she’d always pictured someone classy and regaled like so hyang, maybe a traditional dancer, but this. this isn’t what she wants and she makes sure that yerim knows it when she signs the paperwork. things get cold after that, like it’s her mom’s attempt to ice her out, guilt her into calling it quits so she can pay the hefty fee for a month or two and they can go back to spending every night together, quiet and safe and holy.

it hurts her feelings but she pushes through, spends her time as a trainee doing the best she can, stays away from home as long as possible when the opportunities arise, but always comes back with her tail between her legs on the rare occasion she gets truly, properly scolded. she’s compliant when she can be, when it doesn’t speak against her soul.

four years pass and it gets colder.

things reach a head when she’s old enough to be out on her own and her mother kicks her out. she doesn’t look at her when she does it, doesn’t say a word, but the way her things are neatly packed and waiting by the door when she gets home from training speak volumes. the bible on top of her suitcase while her mother sits in her usual spot in front of the television feels passive aggressive, hurts her feelings, but she leaves. she stays the night at one of her trainee friend’s apartment and never goes back. she scrapes together money to find a place of her own.

her mother cries, feels like a failure, feels terribly alone. she doesn’t call.

it’s the first time yerim ever truly goes against the grain. hell freezes.

it’s too cold.

scene ii, let me entertain you

debut doesn’t feel the way she thought it would. it’s very clinical, the whole process.

she expects them to be received with open arms by the public but the scores during music shows, though decent, speak volumes, their song does okay but it’s not enough. it’s a hum, barely even a clap of thunder, just a rumble. she’s happy anyway, like she always is, glad she gets to perform, but she holds out hope for a breakthrough, holds out hope for the comparisons to aurora to stop. lovesick doesn’t help.

and, then. cheer up happens.

she doesn’t do it on purpose, the whole aegyo thing, not really. it’s a part of the song. it’s a few days spent without her giving it any real thought, but one morning, she sees her face on pann, a gif of herself, and wonders what the fuss is about. weeks pass and she’s genuinely surprised to see other idols do it during interviews, finds herself searching for compilations on youtube and twitter and giggling in delight when she should be sleeping. it feels surreal but her company seems pleased. “shy, shy, shy,” sweeps across the nation

she doesn’t realize what it really means until they start to really push her, booking her appearances on variety shows, commercials here and there to keep the public’s eyes on her - the mc’s always bring it up, exhaust it to the point where she has to find new ways to freshen it up, deflect with cutely timed petulance and humor. they coo over her, laugh at her jokes, seem utterly charmed by her and it’s - different. it’s never about her singing. it’s a side effect of being a midas girl group member, aurora’s little sister, she assumes, knows full well that some other rookies aren’t half as lucky, privileged. the company tells her she’s being helpful.

it gets even different-er when months down the line, she’s offered a reoccuring role on running man, an open door welcome for her to participate on the show, following the love she’d gotten for her aegyofied acrostic poems the last time she and her members had appeared - they’d liked her that much.

management accepts it, of course, without really even asking her but it’s fine, she guesses. she likes appearing on shows like that, preens under the attention she gets for simply existing, showcasing her personality. the performance aspect becomes her favorite part and midas knows to milk it.

years on, her workload piles up on top of already exhaustive group promotions and she does her best not to complain about it. it’s better to be booked and busy than to fall to the wayside, right? in any case, she preens under their attention for what it’s worth.

she doesn’t question their motives, though. it’s okay. she’ll do what they want her to do. if it’ll help.

[lindyhunt]

Peter Tunney’s Mindful Art is on Display in the Perfect Toronto Location

Twenty years ago in St. Tropez, Peter Tunney unexpectedly kickstarted his career as an artist. While walking around the city, he stumbled upon a construction site and discovered a sign that read, ‘Slow Down Construction Zone.’ For some reason, he decided to pick it up and then, with materials from a friend’s garage, created his own version: ‘Slow Down, Time Passing’. It became a bit of a habit and during the nights, he started to replace signs all across the city with his recreations. People began saying: “You need to make more.”

Two decades later, Tunney has created quite the name for himself, his art sought out by collectors all over the world. But his gallery spaces in New York and Miami hold work that is clearly still influenced by his sign-changing days. The billboard-like pieces feature the same bold typography and thought-provoking messages, and although they may not be sourced from construction sites in St. Tropez, Tunney hasn’t stopped looking for inspiration on the street. “Turning trash into treasure, that’s my game,” he says.

Tunney’s latest collection, which is on display in the basement of Toronto’s recently opened MINDSET Brain Gym, features unconventional canvases like airplane wings, basketball hoops and surfboards. The actual canvases are covered in layers upon layers of old movie posters, newspaper clippings or even pages ripped straight from the dictionary. He walks over to a piece that is covered in musical scores by Mozart, before turning towards another covered in vintage yellow wallpaper. On top of the materials are layers of colour, painted phrases and whatever else Tunney thinks seems right. “It’s almost like choreography,” he says. “If you’re watching me paint this, I can control what you see with my brushes.” He gestures to an exposed sentence, wiped clean of its surrounding paint, at the bottom of a nearby piece.

Work in progress for TIFF / APJ auction – a movie centric slamming piece of GRATTITUDE ! More will be revealed soon… #apj10 #nkprit18

A post shared by Peter Tunney (@petertunneyart) on Aug 14, 2018 at 2:40pm PDT

It would be easy to liken Tunney’s work to scrapbooking–and that’s kind of what it is. “I like to save everything,” he says, mentioning the diaries he used to create with fellow artist, Peter Beard. “The fact is, I’m picking stuff up as we walk around, even in Toronto. I like to put it all in there. It’s kind of evidence of your life lived.”

One thing Tunney’s art has always incorporated is an overwhelming feeling of positivity, but he says he’s not necessarily one of those people who thinks everything is just going to work out. “I consider myself an elated pessimist,” he says before adding, “I’m going to remember that term, that’d be a good painting.” He mentions his own struggles and times that he’s been in dark places, but credits his son for making him realize that leading a joyous life is totally possible, even if it becomes more challenging with age. “I’ve got a three year old kid, he’s beautiful and he’s got no fear of the future, no regrets… He’s loving every single water drop and oatmeal cookie and spark. That’s my teacher,” he says. “It’s like, I’m here so let’s dance!”

Most recent work, finished today. I'm breaking out for a new show in Toronto in September. This quote is by Einstein – TRUTH!

A post shared by Peter Tunney (@petertunneyart) on Aug 6, 2018 at 10:49am PDT

One of the artist’s favourite things to explore in his work is the concept of courage. He asks me what my definition would be and I mumble something about showing no fear. He corrects me. “Courage is a quality of mind,” he says. “What a beautiful choice of words, right? A quality of mind that allows one to remain calm and in firm control of oneself, with confidence and resolution in the face of danger. Courage is calmness in your heart.”

MINDSET Brain Gym, a place that strives for that same calmness, seems the perfect fit for the message Tunney is trying to convey. The space, which offers guided meditation, is a sanctuary from the busy rush and chaos of everyday life. For Tunney, his own form of meditation comes from making art. He combats the turbulence of his personal life with paint.

Places like the MINDSET Brain Gym and outlets like painting and art are becoming even more important in the world that we live in today. It seems that each year kids are getting more and more stressed. “In my perception, there’s an unprecedented level of generalized anxiety that’s running through everybody’s veins,” Tunney says, mentioning the rift between social media profiles and real life. In fact, he recently partnered with rapper, Logic to create a week-long mental health awareness event at Michigan University titled, Who Can Relate? And in general, Tunney always makes sure his art is benefiting not just himself, but other people. He gives away paintings weekly that help go towards causes he cares about, whether that’s fighting to get innocent people out of jail or funding schools in Haiti. “You have to help other people,” he insists. “You have to give away your human energy to maintain your own.”

I take a moment to walk around the gallery in silence. Instrumental music from the soundtrack of The Mission swells overhead. Tunney says he chose the music to slow people down a bit, to encourage people to take a moment and breathe everything in. “Be present,” he says–a mantra that people are striving for in the meditation rooms just upstairs. “Disconnecting is really reconnecting. With your own brain. With your own mind. Be here.”

Sneak peek into new TORONTO SHOW – MINDSET? – will open during TIFF – Sept 5- see you in 🇨🇦- PT

A post shared by Peter Tunney (@petertunneyart) on Aug 22, 2018 at 5:11am PDT

Peter Tunney’s Mindset? exhibit is available to all members of the MINDSET Brain Gym and will host a number of upcoming events. The pieces will stay on display for about 100 days.