#yeah i was somewhat annoyed at my friend Insisting perplexity and the like is the future of research...

[friendofthecrows]

One of the (many) reasons I think people need to use libraries more is that it would seriously reduce the "need" for chatgpt/similar AIs.

Sometimes a topic IS difficult to research and it CAN be hard to know where to start.

Anecdote: I know someone who, when confronted by a whole lotta irrelevance in their first several online searches, will then plug their whole, wordy, unpolished question with several synonyms per term into an AI and get a fairly clear, if flawed, summary and then they ignore that and ask it for source suggestions and seach terms to learn more about it and look up those seperately. I don't advocate for that, but it shows a usecase I think most of the "people are just using chatgpt to cheat on homework" crowd are ignoring. (And yeah, I agree, a lot of people are using chatgpt to cheat on homework, that happens too.)

Many libraries have research assistants, and even in those that don't, most librarians are more than happy to point you to good sources.

Worried the library is unlikely to have books on the topic you're researching? I've been there, given the number of recent case studies on hyper-specific forensics topics I've written for college. But you know what librarians are great at? Library science. Libraries have computers, and often libraries will have subscriptions/access to some journals and academic databases. Librarians are very, very good at using those databases, and research in general, and they're usually very enthusiastically willing to help, especially if you go on a quiet day.

Fun fact: library computers are also a fairly anonymous way to do research. Libraries might have usage guidelines for their computers to prevent things like people downloaded a massive number of viruses on them, but I promise you the librarians are not judging you. Think of them like the doctors of academia (not to be confused with PhD in Education, that's totally different). Doesn't matter what your research is, ask for help if you need it.

If your search engine is giving you nothing, or if you're stuck, go to a library.

[ashes-goin-down]

Jealous Kyle, my beloved... A short Kyman fic.

Who exactly is that guy Cartman's always on the phone with? Kyle has answers. Unfortunately this is how Stan and Kenny must learn that their friend is completely insane.

“...so now I’m not allowed at the ‘Kesha’s Career’-memorial site anymore.” Cartman finishes telling them about his Sunday afternoon. “But why was the queen of Denmark there?” Stan asks with mild interest and a mouth full of peas. “Because-” Cartman begins but is interrupted by the ringing of his phone. “Oh, that must be Lawrence!” Excitedly, he jumps up from his seat and quickly heads towards the hallway to take the call away from the noise of the cafeteria, leaving his three friends behind. Kyle briefly looks up from his English homework to watch him exit the room and rolls his eyes. “What do they have to talk about that’s so private?” Stan slightly frowns at him in confusion. “Well, you were the one who told him you’d break his phone if he didn’t stop talking on it at the lunch table.” “Yeah but”, Kyle waves him off with a dismissive noise, “you know.” Stan does not, in fact, know and neither does Kenny for that matter. However, neither are in the mood to spend another lunch period listening to one of Kyle’s tirades and so they decide not to ask for clarification. “Mhhmm mmh mm.” Kenny instead remarks. “Yeah, they talk like everyday now.” Stan agrees as he picks at his food, visibly uninvested in the topic but going along with it for the sake of small-talk. “Who even is that Lawrence-kid?” “They met in some online game.” Kyle explains somewhat absent-mindedly yet audibly annoyed, his eyes once again fixed on his homework. “His name is Lawrence Friedmann. He isn’t from South Park, though – he lives in a place called Crofton but goes to school in Norfolk because he’s part of some kind of gifted program there and he’s apparently kind of a big deal on their volleyball team.” Stan doesn’t say anything and Kyle notices that his dishes have stopped clinking. When he looks up his friend is raising an eyebrow at him in a confused expression. “What?” Kyle asks defensively. “How do you know all that?” Stan questions him perplexed. With a huff Kyle picks up his milk carton, shakes it around briefly and places it back down without drinking. “I had to make sure Cartman wasn’t, like, trying to make him eat his parents or something!” “So, what?” Stan attempts to piece the information together. “You stalked the guy’s social media to warn him?” Kyle frowns slightly. “He's really into conspiracy theories so he actually doesn’t really have any social media. Only a twitter account where all he does is retweet posts about the ‘Cornhuskers’.” Stan also frowns, visibly thinking. “Then how the hell do you know all that?” Biting his lips, Kyle concentrates on a particularly interesting sentence in his essay on the underlying themes of Hegelian determinism in ‘Young Sheldon’. “Kyle?” Stan insistently presses but he attempts to ignore his friend for a moment longer, deeply regretting having spoken up about this at all. “Kyle??” “He has no photos of himself online – no information whatsoever!” he eventually defends himself. “I even only found out his address by pulling an envelope from Cartman’s trash.” Stan stares at him in disbelief, visibly awaiting an explanation differing from the assumption that is forming in his head. When he’s certain that Kyle isn’t going to provide one, his eyes widen and he shouts: “You actually went to fucking Nebraska?!” Kyle urgently shushes him, quickly looking around to make sure that nobody is listening in on their conversation. He does not need Cartman to know that!

It’s a good thing that their table is routinely so loud during lunch that the other pupils don’t pay them any mind. Still, Kyle is thankful that Stan manages to calm himself down enough to lower his voice as he continues: “Isn’t Norfolk like ten hours from here? When did you even do that?” “Nine.” Kyle corrects him. “I went over the weekend when my parents had to take Ike to Ottawa for Canadian molting day. I took the Greyhound directly after school on Friday, stayed at the ‘Motel 6’ and was back by Sunday afternoon. It’s not a big deal!” He says the last sentence with much emphasis, as if it should suffice to end the conversation. Stan and Kenny make eye contact and a silent agreement that it actually is kind of a big deal. “So let me get this straight…” Stan turns his full attention back to Kyle and folds his hands on the table. “You rummaged through Cartman’s trash, drove a combined nineteen hours with the bus and spent a weekend alone in some shady motel just to tell some kid he likes to talk on the phone with that he’s a dick?” “I had to make sure that guy’s not actually a pedophile or a serial killer or something!” Kyle cries out, his voice the same volume he had admonished Stan for just a moment ago. “Wait, I thought you said you were worried about Cartman doing something to him, not the other way around.” Stan questions him.

Kyle looks at him silently, still frowning, and blinks a couple of times. “The point is-” he begins, scoffing as his eyes dart around the room. “If Cartman’s talking to strangers from the internet it’s our duty as his friends to care about his safety!” “I don’t.” Stan retorts bluntly. “Mmm hmm.” Kenny agrees. Kyle growls in frustration as he feels his face begin to heat up. “Yeah, well, it’s not my fault you two have no concept of common human decency!” he chides. “Dude, it’s Cartman. I’m sure even if the kid did turn out to be some kind of serial killer he’d be able to take care of it himself.” Stan takes a bite of his food and chews slowly before continuing with a full mouth: “Also, what are the odd that they’re both psychos?” Kyle grits his teeth. “Look, can we just drop it?!” “Mmmh mmmmhp mmph?” Kenny ignores his plea. “I didn’t… necessarily speak to him directly.” Kyle mumbles, avoiding his gaze. “You went all that way and then you didn’t even talk to the guy?” Stan asks baffled. “Then what did you do? Just watch him from the bushes all weekend?” Kyle doesn’t answer. “Kyle, what the fuck?!” Stan gestures his hands wildly. “I thought he might take it the wrong way if he knew some kid came all the way from Colorado just to tell him something!” Kyle attempts to justify himself. “You think?” Stan says dryly but his sarcasm gets ignored. “I left a letter in his mailbox instead.” “Mmmh mm?” Kenny asks curiously. Kyle awkwardly rubs a hand against his face, mumbling into his palm as he answers: “Mmmmmhm mphm mmmm…” “Mmh? Mph mm hhmm!” Kenny complains. “Yeah man, speak up.” Stan agrees. “We can’t understand you.” “It said...” he discloses through clenched teeth, “…‘Stay away from Eric Cartman if you know what’s good for you!’” “Mmmhmm.” Kenny states matter-of-factly with a slight shake of his head. Stan squints his eyes and presses his lips together tightly before speaking: “Kyle, I think-” “Shhh!” he shushes his best friend sharply as he spots Cartman making his way back to their table, then glares at both both boys across from him as he seriously urges them: “Don’t. Say. Anything.” They have no time to reply as Cartman is already plopping his ass back down onto the bench, causing the trays on the attached table to rattle. “Oh my God, you guys!” he exclaims enthusiastically, “Lawrence just told me the funniest-” “Nobody gives a shit about Lawrence!” Kyle interrupts him with unwarranted volume. Stan and Kenny exchange a wordless glance.

[gallavictorious]

What if Mickey hooked up with Cole rather than with Byron?

I can't find anything on AO3, and not through a cursory tag search here either (though that says very little, because Tumblr), but surely there must be something, somewhere, about this? Got any pointers, guys? I just feel that there's a lot of undermined potential here.

Let's put aside for a moment the details of how they actually hook up in the first place – it does seem a little odd that Mickey would get with someone so very exuberantly gay, because yeah, our boy's still got issues, but maybe it's nearing the end of the night, he really is just looking for a swinging dick, and Cole is drunk and excited and spots Mickey hanging out and looking gruff in a corner and is just like 'oooh look at that angry closet-case i'm gonna sweep him off his feet just to prove that I can'. The how doesn't really matter, anyway: the thing is, they hook up.

Now, Cole is likely under the impression that Mickey doesn't have a lot of experience having sex with other men (because he just looked so uncomfortable and out of place at whatever club they met at) and he's determined to make this a mind-blowing experience for Mickey – not out of the goodness of his heart, see, but because it's a boost to his well-maintained ego. Cole is probably a fantastic lay, if you go for that type, and he's giving it at least 82% of his best, but... well, Mickey's there, sure, and he's hard, and he says he wants to fuck, but he is very obviously not particularly into it.

This is utterly perplexing to Cole, sex god and seducer of men. He tries to blow Mickey, and Mickey grumbles ”can we just fucking bang?”, which is insane, because there are goddamned porn stars who'd pay to be blown by Cole. So he sits back and stares very hard at Mickey, and even when drunk he's a perceptive bastard, not to mention completely unafraid to just speak his mind. ”So, who's the bitch who broke your heart?” he asks.

Obviously Mickey is not even a little bit interested in talking about this, so he tries to get the show back on the road, but Cole is having none of it, and he is absolutely relentless, and Mickey does have a tendency to actually ramble about Ian to strangers when he's upset – or maybe he's just swayed by the real curiosity and sympathy in Cole's eyes when Cole says: ”I bet he was being absolute bastard about it too.”

”Yes, actually!” And Mickey spills – not all details of their long and messy history, of course, but enough of them for Cole to get a decent picture. And Cole just nods along, devious eyebrows furrowing into his very best Mastermind Mode Mien, and when Mickey is done he stands up. ”Okay, let's go, lover.”

Off Mickey's stare he adds: ”Yeah, girlfriend, I'm gonna help you set your man straight.” Because Cole totally gets that what Mickey really wants is Ian back, and damn it if he isn't a sucker for true love. (I mean, it's not what he'd go for himself, he's far too fabulous to be tied down to any one man, but he still finds it so cute in others.)

And then everything basically goes down pretty much the same way as it did with Byron, at least from Ian's perspective, but it is 2000% more fun for Mickey, and also Cole. Like, obviously they don't arrive at the Gallagher house on a vespa but in a cab (Cole absolutely tried to make it a limo but Mickey put his foot down – it's the first time he's been in a cab anyway, so it feels plenty fancy). And Cole is nothing but a star and does everything to communicate to Ian just how into Mickey he is – both when they kiss outside the house, and when Ian comes with the promise rings: no ”you have to take him back” here, but rather Cole coming down and glaring like ”you trying to take my man, bitch?”

However, when Ian shows up with the shirt and Mickey blows him off again, Cole starts to fear that Mickey is actually taking this too far and getting too caught up in his hurt to remember that they're still aiming for a Gallavich endgame. So he invites Ian to the concert, and Ian shows up – with Byron? someone else? no matter – and Cole is all over Mickey, and then Mickey leaves to get another drink or whatever and Cole starts to very loudly brag about Mickey's superior sex skills to his friends, maybe mentioning something about how ”he's clearly been frustrated for a long time, poor darling, I don't think his last boyfriend was really giving him what he needed” and Ian just snaps and cue brawl and subsequent proposal.

Mickey might have warned Cole that Ian isn't as gentle as he looks, and there are definitively going to be insistent demands of reparation later – possibly in the form of a great many drinks and pretty shoes. Ian will be a little embarrassed and apologetic, as well as somewhat annoyed with Mickey, who is just very amused and pleased with how the whole thing turned out. Oh, and obviously he and Cole remain friends, because I think we all need that.

[dented-nado]

96. “You’re too nice.” with bruce & clark? :'D xx

[[LYDS thank you for sending this in!!! This ended up being a series of three sort of vignettes of Clark being a sweetheart that all kind of tie together because this prompt had me going. I hope you like it, and thank you!!!]] ------

Clark Kent wasn’t cute. Nope, nuh-uh, not even slightly. Bruce refused to let him think such a thing any more than the few seconds the notion slipped through his mind.

But then again he had just brought him coffee from their mutual favorite place to gain some caffeinated.

“How much do I owe you?” He tried to offer as he pulled off his cowl and turned his chair away from the bat-computer to look up at the giant behemoth of a man. Clearly he wasn’t called Superman for nothing. He only got a perplexed look in return. “Huh? No, don’t worry about it, it’s on me.”

“But…” Bruce began before being silenced by Clark poking his forehead.

“It’s coffee Bruce, I won’t go broke and end up homeless over it. I promise.” Clark teased. “Don’t worry your little bat-head about it.”

Bruce shooed Clark’s hand away with a grunt and took a long sip from the to-go coffee cup, hoping his warm face didn’t mean he was turning red visibly.

“Sorry it’s just… odd to let someone buy things for me when I’m… you know…” Bruce grumbled trying to turn his head back to his previously abandoned task.

“Richest man alive?” Clark offered. “Prince of Gotham?”

Bruce grunted in response.

“Why do they call you a prince, anyway? Are you actually descended from royalty?”

“Clark, just because I said you could ‘hang out’ today doesn’t mean you can bombard me with questions while I’m trying to work.”

Clark chuckled and floated into a cross legged position so he was “sitting” next to Bruce despite the fact he was hovering in the air. “Sorry B, guess its the investigative journalist in me.”“Hrrmm.” Bruce responded.

As they sat together Bruce found himself being productive, sure, but occasionally he would glance over and find himself endeared by certain things. How Clark placed his coffee on his knee when he was pausing drinking it. How he would tilt his head to one side like a puppy dog when he was thinking or interested in something Bruce was working on or investigating. Bruce also found himself staring at one moment, realizing for the first time Clark had dimples when he smiled.

He still wasn’t going to admit Clark was cute though. Not even to himself.

—-

Bruce was an incredibly difficult sick person. Bruce knew it himself and did feel bad that sometimes Alfred had to argue with him and put up his own sort of fight just to get Bruce to get back into bed and rest so he wouldn’t develop something worse. Though this time, as Bruce sat grumpily with his arms crossed, Alfred had finally gotten weary and called in the cavalry.

“Is he super sick?” Clark asked, carrying a thermos, a possibly hand made quilt, and a bag filled with what seemed like games and puzzles.

“Just a cold, however he’s being exceptionally difficult and has tried to get up and go down to the cave multiple times today. He seems to forget he develops strep easily when its convenient for him.” Alfred said with a huff before rubbing his temple, trying to will away the stress and worry over his boy. “Thank you for agreeing to keep him company Master Kent.”

“Of course Alfred, and please, just Clark.”

Alfred chuckled “Very well Master Clark” He replied cheekily as he went off to do his other duties.

Clark huffed a laugh in response. So that was where Bruce got his occasional cheekiness from.

He was fully prepared as he entered to receive the infamous glare right into his soul, luckily for Clark, and unluckily for Bruce, it didn’t affect him anymore. He greeted the glare with a bright smile as he closed the door behind him.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Sunshine.” Clark teased as he crossed the room, setting his bag down beside the bed and the thermos on the bedside table, watching in amusement as Bruce’s curiosity and investigative nature got the better of him as his eyes ran over each item Clark had brought him.

“Alfred has brought me in to ensure you chill and get better as soon as possible.” Clark explained despite knowing Bruce knowing full well why he was there, he unfolded the quilt he had brought and put it around Bruce’s shoulders before the man could say anything else.

“…What’s this?” Bruce asked, voice sounding a little horse.

“Its called a blanket.” Clark replied with a grin as he sat on the edge of the bed.

Bruce glared at him mid-cough. “You know what I mean.”

Clark laughed heartily. “Sorry B, I couldn’t resist. It’s a quilt Ma made, she used to bring it out when I got sick.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “You got sick?”

“When I was really little, yeah, my powers hadn’t really come in yet.” Clark explained before picking up his bag, seemingly excited to show Bruce what he brought. “I got you some puzzles like sedoku and some crosswords so you can feel like you're doing something and still relax, I also brough chess and checkers if you want to play later… oh! I also saved a bunch of movies I thought you might like if you want to watch them together.” Bruce stared at the several items that were placed on the bed next to him and looked back at Clark with a slightly stunned gaze and watched Clark then pick up the thermos. “Oh, and I made some chicken soup, Ma sent me the recipe.” He beamed so bright Bruce had to rub his watering eyes slightly that were already sensitive to the light.

“You…” Bruce looked again at each item and subtlety pulled the quilt around himself a little tighter. “Thought of everything didn’t you?”

Clark put his hand on top of Bruce’s. “That’s one thing you taught me how to do pretty well.”

Bruce snorted slightly, partially out of amusement, and partially because his nose was stuffy. “I always thought that annoyed people.”

“Not always.” Clark said with a wink. “Sometimes its appreciated, even we don’t always say it.”

Bruce looked over all of Clark’s supplies and care items one more time before letting himself lay back into the quit slightly. “Fine, as long as you're here…” He reached for the warm thermos to open and enjoy the soothing, delicious soup “I might as well judge for myself what you think my movie taste would be.” He emphasized by patting the empty side of his bed.

Clark was all too happy to fly up and over Bruce, cuddle up beside him and pull up Netflix on his phone.

—-

Batman really hated patrolling in the rain, it was harder to see and wet concrete always made it easier for missteps and slips to happen and someone to end up flying off a roof in the middle of a fight. There also weren’t many good tall buildings for him to perch on that also had some sort of overhang so he could escape the rain for at least a second.

Then, suddenly, he found himself looking at a pair of red boots, and realized the rain was no longer pouring directly on his head, He glanced up to look at Clark looking at him with a tilted head and a sweet smile, holding an oversized umbrella in one hand over both of them.

“Need an umbrella?”

“Hmmmmm…thank you…” Batman grumbled.

Damn this cute as hell man and his insistence on being a constant positive presence.

“You’re going to make yourself sick again if you keep making yourself go out when its pouring out you know.” Clark said as he settled to sit down next to Bruce. He was also soaking wet, which made Bruce think he had only just gotten this umbrella.

“I can’t let Gotham suffer just because of some rain. Besides, there’s people that like to take advantage of ‘dark and stormy nights’. Scarecrow once waited purposefully for it to be night and the weather like this to launch an attack.” Batman explained. Usually he was a little more sharp with Clark for saying such a thing, but he wasn’t particularly in the mood to jab at the boy scout.

“I know.” Clark said, causing Batman’s head to turn back to him in slight surprise. “It's hard isn’t it? To decide when your own needs need to be met or when the needs of the many outweigh your own. I get it.”

Batman stared at him for a long moment, the sound of the rain on the umbrella starting to sound more soothing than anything. “Yes… it is hard.”

Clark took a deep breath and put a hand on Batman’s back. “I know you have Gotham under control, and you have for a long time, and you know what you're doing, and your good at it. I was just… I was just thinking… maybe if I came and helped sometimes…”

“Why do you want to help me so bad Clark? Bringing me coffee, visiting me when I’m sick… the umbrella?” Batman asked, he tried not be be yelling, or accusing, or sound annoyed, because he wasn’t. He genuinely wanted to know.

Clark looked down at his feet. “I want to be a good friend. I think… I think you deserve it.”

“I really don’t deserve your attention.”

“Maybe from your point of view. But that’s not how I see it.”

They sat in silence for a long moment, watching two Gothamites yell at each other from their cars on the street below.

“You’re too nice, Clark.” Batman finally stated.

“No such thing as *too* nice. Besides… Some of why I want to help is a little selfish too.” Clark admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

“How so?”

“I guess… I thought maybe if I could help you, you’d have more time to spend with you know… people… like… me kind of people.”

Batman laughed and for a moment Clark looked startled and somewhat wounded until Bruce continued.

“I’m not really that fun to be around, so I don’t know why.” Batman smiled calmy as he noticed the bat-signal light up the clouds above. “But for what its worth… when your with me…”

Batman stood, aiming his grappling gun.

“I’m happy.”

Clark watched in stunned silence as Batman glided away onto the rooftops below, heading to the signal light’s source to check in with the commissioner, that was until he clearly heard Bruce state, knowing Clark was the only one who could hear.

“You coming along to help or not?”

Clark was gliding at his side within the blink of an eye.

[nitr0glycer1ne]

Ducktober/Duckvember Day 7 - Redraw/Rewrite

Heya! I decided to change the theme from redraw to rewrite, and chose the ending of one of my favorite episodes, The Duck Knight Returns!. Except, there might be a twist... Enjoy!

Two Darkwings ran towards the terrifying machine, but only one managed to stand in front of it and push the other, and Launchpad, out of the way. Launchpad’s eyes met the youngest Darkwing’s, their fiery brown shining bright with sheer heroism and a mischievous spark, then-

The explosion was as deafening as it was heart shattering, blinding Launchpad and the man standing next to him. They couldn’t even see if Darkwing was injured, not with the heavy smoke filling the space around the giant electric rod that had gone up in flames. There were screams in the studio, but none of them reached Launchpad’s ears, filled with a painful ringing and a throbbing sensation of guilt. He should have run towards what was left of the machine, even though there was little hope Darkwing was uninjured, or even that he had survived, but he couldn’t, his legs frozen in place and in time.

Launchpad only managed to turn his head from the disaster when he sensed someone collapsing next to him. His watery eyes found the crumbled form of Jim Starling, kneeling on the ground, his body limp and slightly trembling. His hat had been blasted a few meters away by the explosion, allowing Launchpad to glimpse at the actor’s face, seeing all of the regret and the misery of the world on it.

And then, Launchpad wasn’t looking at his cherished idol anymore. Jim Starling was nothing more than an old, bitter man, desperate for attention and clinging to his past glory as if clinging on to life. There was no Darkwing Duck in that instant- only a sad man coming to terms with the disastrous consequences of his hubris.

-

Launchpad found himself sitting on a chair in the studio, facing the wall as if to make sure what was left of the disaster wasn’t in his field of vision. He hadn’t any recollection of how he had ended up there, but the boy sitting next to him was a clue, as was the warm plastic cup he handed the pilot.

“Didn’t find real hot chocolate here.” Dewey apologized. “Only the stuff in vending machine where they put water instead of milk… buuut, I did find some marshmallows to put inside!”

Dewey smiled at his friend, adding a few of the sugary treats in the beverage. Launchpad gave the kid a weak smile, nothing like the joyous smile he seemed to have in all circumstances. It pained Dewey to see such hurt on the pilot’s face, but he hoped things would quickly be back to normal.

“Hey, it was an amazing fight, wasn’t it?” he tried to cheer his friend up. “I’m sure Darkwing, I mean, the one who wasn’t a bad guy, is somewhere under that pile of junk. He looks pretty strong!” “Yeah…” Launchpad nodded, sipping some of the cocoa. It was barely drinkable, but he truly appreciated the gesture nonetheless. “He’s a real strong guy.”

Launchpad kept on drinking, and Dewey kept on talking, hoping to help his friend regain his usual optimism. The duck had barely finished his drink when a hand tapped on his shoulder:

“Hey, you’re the guy who tried to stop the fight between those two actors, right?” “Yeah, why?”

There was an unspoken surprise in Launchpad’s answer. He quickly got up, finding himself face to face with a police officer, behind which stood a handcuffed Jim Starling. He still had his Darkwing costume on. The fabric was torn in some places, but it was overall in good condition in spite of the rough fight it had been through. He was still missing the hat, but the mask had stayed on, and there were faint wet trails right beneath his eyes, slightly darkening the fabric.

“Starling here had something to tell you.”

The actor sighed and rolled his eyes. Clearly, he was annoyed and had trouble saying what he wanted to. Launchpad somewhat expected him to rant about the way he betrayed him when he sided with the other actor – whose name, Launchpad realized with painful guilt, he had never bothered to ask -, so the pilot was quite taken aback by the words Starling mumbled:

“I’m sorry, kid. I guess I’ve been a bit too far.”

It took Launchpad a few moments to get past his initial surprise, and he was about to answer, but Dewey was quicker than him:

“You sure did!” he scolded angrily, putting himself between Launchpad and Jim. “Why- how could you do that? Isn’t that pushing the whole method acting thing a bit too far?! That guy was a huge fan, you know!”

Launchpad had seldom seen Dewey get so angry. The small duck was glaring at the former actor, and Jim was answering with a look equally heinous, except his glare was tinted with sadness.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” he spat. “Do you know what it’s like to go from being a famous and popular actor to being treated like a nobody barely good enough to do store openings?!” “You’ll tell that to the judge.” The policeman growled, not enjoying the way the discussion was going. “Come on, now. We’re going for a little ride to the nearest police station.” “Wait!” Launchpad finally yelled.

The three other ducks looked at him, perplexed. Launchpad took a deep breath, before locking his eyes with Jim’s:

“Mr Starling. I’ve always been your biggest fan, but…” he hesitated. He wasn’t that good with words, and was very aware of it; however, it was important for him to convey his feelings on the whole debacle to his idol. “… this was plain wrong. I admire your work, and you deserve more recognition for it… but you shouldn’t be acting like one of those villains Darkwing Duck fought all the time! You should be doing the exact opposite! When I’m at a loss as to what to do in a situation, I always ask myself “What would DW do?” and I think you should ask yourself that, too! You’re as strong and capable as you were in your prime, and it’s such a waste you’re using all of those amazing capabilities of yours to do… that!”

Launchpad concluded his monologue with a vague flailing of his arms. Dewey had watched him unfazed, used to the long rants his friend could go on when talking about his favourite show, and the policeman had looked at Launchpad as if he had gone insane. But Jim hadn’t. He hadn’t blinked during the whole speech, his eyes glued to his fan, and had felt the sheer admiration and happiness and love for Darkwing Duck radiating from the duck.

And as the policeman had dragged him away, he had given the smallest of nods, whispering the tiniest “I’ll think about it.”

-

The whole filming crew did their best to clean up the set, and to find the missing actor. But he was nowhere to be found; not even the smallest piece of fabric or feather remained on the set. Launchpad had helped them, looking everywhere; but he hadn’t found anything, save for a few splatters of what seemed to be purple paint. He had still searched through the whole studio and even the alleys surrounding it, desperate to find the actor he had gotten along so well with.

But he had never found him, and it was a very weary and sad Launchpad who drove Dewey back to the mansion. Dewey had live tweeted most of the action and sent his brothers text about the situation; and when the duo stepped on the front porch of the manor, Mrs Beakley opened the door, guiding them to the dining room, where dinner awaited them. It was late, since Launchpad had insisted on looking absolutely everywhere in his frantic search for his new friend, and the rest of the mansion’s inhabitants had long left to their respective rooms, although Dewey was sure he’d find his brothers awake and awaiting him with a lot of questions.

After eating their steaks, Dewey started to head towards his room, but was stopped by Launchpad:

“Hey, buddy. Thanks for your help, today.”

Launchpad’s regular smile was back on his beak. A bit weaker than usual, but it was a good start and warmed Dewey’s heart all the same.

“Anytime, buddy!”

Dewey didn’t try to escape the tight hug that followed.

-

A purple trail of dye stains the dirty water running through the sewers, dripping from a manhole and splashing in droplets. It paints a trail, one that leads to a duck slightly hunched over, his breathing a bit ragged from the way his lungs have been exposed to an important quantity of smoke in a short amount of time. His forehead is throbbing in pain, the deep ache echoing all the way to inside his head, as if it has taken over some of his brain. His hands are balled into fists, trembling under the force the duck is clenching them with. His clothes are a mess, cheap purple dye dripping from his coat, which is slowly turning yellow. A large red hat, its brim dented and burnt in some places, covers his face, hiding an almost feral grin and eyes widened in a crazed stare.

“How could I be so blind? Adoring such a monster, treating him as an idol? Ha! And to think I was so eager to ask him for advice, to share the spotlight with him…”

His breathing gets quicker and his voice raspier and louder as he keeps on talking to himself:

“After I worked so hard to earn that role, the role I dreamt for so long, the role I was born to play! Well, then, fine! So be it! If I can’t be Darkwing Duck, if that old fool wants the role so bad he’d lie for it, that he’d kill for it…”

He starts laughing, a laughter void of any joy, his head tilted back and his eyes glued to the ceiling.

“Then he can keep it! I’ll show him, I’ll show them all, how I’m better than him! And then, that idiot will be a relic of the past, and people like Launchpad will see how they were making the same mistake than me! I’ll show them the truth, even if I have to cause a few accidents for them to finally see that fossil for what he is!”

His laughter gets louder, and his pupils are blown wide, drowning the warm pool of his brown irises in cold darkness. ------ I hope you liked the idea of Drake becoming Negaduck and that the other characters weren't too OOC! I stand by what I said for Day 5 : like writing for Jim. I feel like if Drake was believed to be dead or at least MIA because of what he did, maybe that would be a wake up call. He wouldn't do a 180 degrees and become super nice, of course; he has a bad temper and an ego out of proportion. But it could be the start of something new. Maybe he'd become Darkwing IRL, maybe not... And Drake of course has a big ego. I can't imagine him turning evil with the way events played in canon, but what if getting so close to death and almost killed by his idol had been too much, on top of the concussion ? (I tried to hint he had a head trauma possibly injuring his frontal lobe, as that kind of serious injury can cause shifts in personality, plus the frontal lobe is, amongst other things, the one responsible of inhibitions). I also liked writing Dewey and Launchpad's friendship. It's a really cute and fun aspect of the show!

[supernaturalfreewill]

Your name: submit What is this?

Words: 2,287 Sam x Reader Reader sex/gender: unspecified Warnings: none! FLUFF A/N: Just a sweet little Sammy fluff fic for you all on this autumn Friday! Happy weekend ya'll!

“Wow,” you said, climbing the front steps to your parents’ house. “There are kind of a lot of cars parked here. I wonder what’s going on,” you thought aloud.

Sam just followed behind you a foot and shrugged.

“Maybe I should have called first,” you said with a laugh. “But my mom seemed really insistent I come and pick up whatever this mail is they’ve been holding for me.” You rang the doorbell, peeking in through the window beside the door.

Sam shrugged his hands into his pockets, studying the neighborhood and your childhood home. Wondering if you had climbed the maple tree in the front yard as a kid, or run barefoot along the fence. There was a crisp autumn chill in the air and the lawn was carpeted with golden and yellow and crimson leaves. “Kind of fun to see a little bit of your roots,” he commented, looking at you warmly.

“Hey, as long as you don’t start psychoanalyzing me,” you joked.

The door pulled open abruptly and you were exuberantly welcomed inside by your sister. “Oh my God! Look who it is! MOM!” she screamed over her shoulder. Her eyes drifted over and landed on Sam standing beside you and you watched her mouth fall open for a split second before she literally tugged you in off the front step and crushed you in a hug.

“Ow,” you said with a laugh, but you returned the squeeze. “What is going on? What’s with all the cars? And why are you home?”

She rolled her eyes. There was a lot of noise and chaos in the background. “Dad is having all ‘the boys’ over for poker night so mom invited all the wives. Brenden and I just happen to be visiting for the weekend.” Her eyes drifted over to Sam again, who was hovering a little awkwardly behind you on the step still.

“I wasn’t even expecting you and the hubby to be home. Mom never tells me anything! I just came to pick up some mail she’s been telling me to get out of here--Hi Mom!” Your mom came bustling up the hallway and grabbed you into a hug.

“Mom, this is Sam,” your sister said pointedly. Your mom’s eyes traveled up Sam’s height and settled on his handsome face.

“Hi,” Sam said with a smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Your mom didn’t respond for a moment, continuing to stare at him with a curious expression on her face. “Oh my gosh! It is SO nice to meet you---HUN!” Your mom screamed back up the hallway, calling for your dad. You winced at the yelling and laughed, looking over at Sam.

You cringed. “Sorry... we’re loud I guess,” you said, shaking your head.

“Oh, he doesn’t hear anything when he’s playing poker--HONEY!” your mom screamed again.

“Mom--”

“HUN! COME SAY HELLO!”

“MOM!” you interrupted. “Geez, I just came to grab that mail. You don’t have to interrupt the entire evening.”

“Oh, right! The mail! Well, come on in! Come in, Sam!” she said, smiling broadly at him again.

You fell into step next to your sister, following your mom up the hallway, Sam a step behind you. “Are. You. Kidding. Me?!” your sister whispered to you.

“What?”

“Oh, come on!” she said. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she pressed.

You gave her a perplexed look. “...Tell you what--?”

“Here you go, honey,” your mom said, shoving a stack of papers and envelopes into your hands and then bustling over next to Sam. “Geez--what even is all this...” you said, trying to gain control of the stack.

“Now, Sam, tell us where you’re from!” your mom asked.

“Oh, uhh, I’m from Kansas,” he said.

“A down home Midwesterner!” your mom said, beaming up at him still. “And what do you do?”

“Umm. I work in, uhh--consulting,” he said, stuttering a little. You caught his eye and managed an amused smile, still trying to straighten the papers in your hands into a manageable pile. Your sister and mom were both staring at him intently with smiles frozen on their faces, clearly waiting for him to say more. “I’m a problem solver,” he added with a nervous laugh.

“What kind of problems?” your sister asked.

Sam’s hazel eyes flitted over to catch yours and you pressed your lips into a thin line, trying hard not to laugh. “Oh, any kind really. It’s the stuff of nightmares, let me tell you,” he replied with a laugh. You bit your tongue to keep from breaking into laughter. Your mom and your sister continued just to peer at him.

Just then your dad wandered in and clapped you hard on the back. “Didn’t know you would be making an appearance!” he said.

You rocked a little on your feet from his strong hand and gave him a half-annoyed look, which only made him smile wider. Suddenly, he noticed Sam standing there and his entire demeanor changed. “Who’s this?” he asked, his brow furrowing.

“This is Sam,” your mom said, catching your dad’s eyes and lifting her eyebrows.

This was the first moment you keyed in on some sort of secondary communication your family seemed to be having, and hints of what it clearly was implying. You squinted at your mom. “Why did you say it like that?” you asked in an undertone.

“Hey, come say hi to my hubs while you’re here,” your sister said, practically dragging you away.

“Wait—why—” You looked back at Sam, apologetic. “Uhh... I’ll be right back?” you said over your shoulder, given no choice but to be pulled into the next room.

He looked a little wide-eyed standing there with your parents but before he could respond you had disappeared around the corner.

“So,” your dad said, looking Sam up and down, rocking a bit on his feet. “What do you do?”

“He’s in consulting,” your mom said.

“Let the man talk,” your dad replied. He looked back at Sam expectantly.

“Uhh, yes, I am in consulting,” he said.

Your dad narrowed your eyes at Sam, and Sam couldn’t believe it, couldn’t understand why, but he felt nervous. He’d been face to face with every goddamn dark thing that walked, crawled, or flew but there--right then--standing alone with your parents? It was the most damn nervous he’d been in a long time.

“You got a last name, Sam?” your dad asked.

“Right! Yes, sir. Sam Winchester,” he said, extending a hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Your dad gripped Sam’s extended hand hard and shook it for slightly longer than was comfortable. He seemed to soften somewhat after that. “You’ve got a good firm handshake,” he commented. “Consulting, huh? Lot of office work in that?” he asked.

Images of salting and burning bones, decapitating vampires, exorcising demons, and struggles with any number of other monsters flashed through his mind. “Not as much as you’d think actually,” he said.

“Would you like something to drink?” your mom asked, before your dad could ask the next question.

“Oh no, really. That’s okay. I’m fine,” he said. “Thank you, though.”

“You sure?” your mom pressed. “Nothing at all? Tea? We’ve got hot cider!”

“No, really. I’m fine. That’s very kind of you to offer, though. Thank you.” Sam glanced hopefully toward the doorway you had disappeared through, but was quickly asked another question.

_ _ _ _ _ _

“Okay, I’m mad at you,” your sister said.

“What?”

“I’m your sibling. We’re supposed to tell each other things,” she continued, crossing her arms and giving you a scolding look.

You stared back at her. You were finally sick of holding all your mail and you dropped it onto the nearest table. “What are you even talking about?”

“Where the hell did you find him?”

“...what? Find?” You squinted at her and she stared back intently. You held a hand up. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Sam isn’t--He’s just--we’re not--”

She was giving you a skeptical look. “Uh huh...”

“We’re friends!” You felt your face grow warm, knowing you were blushing.

“Then why are you blushing so much right now!”

“Because you’re extremely embarrassing!” you countered. “It doesn’t mean--we’re just friends!”

“Uh huh.... Methinks thou doth protest too much!”

“UGH! Jesus! You made me leave him alone with mom and dad!” you said, suddenly struck with realization.

“Well, yeah... Let them chat! They should get to know him!”

You threw your hands up. “Why?! AGH! We’re friends!” you repeated.

“Can you say anything else right now besides ‘we’re friends’?” your sister teased you. “And even if that’s true, why? He seems super nice, smart, and HELLOOOO he’s gorgeous. What is stopping you?”

“Just--we’re not--it isn’t like that!” You sighed and stormed back into the kitchen to find Sam listening to a story from your mom.

“--and wouldn’t you know it, he cheated on her during their junior prom!”

You felt your cheeks grow warm again. “Mom! Why the hell are you talking about my high school boyfriend? That’s ancient history! Anyway, we have to go,” you said abruptly.

“So soon? You just got here, sweetie!” your mom said.

“Yep! We gotta go. Sorry to interrupt the evening,” you said. You quickly hugged your mom.

“Honey, he’s a keeper,” she whispered as she gave you a squeeze.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, praying to God, any god, whatever god, that Sam hadn’t heard that. “Okay. Okay! Bye, dad!” You grabbed him into a quick hug too and started for the front door. If you’d rushed anymore you would have been running out of the house.

“It was really nice to meet you,” Sam said with a wave to your parents and your sister who had just come back into the kitchen. He followed you back to the entryway.

“SO nice to meet you,” your sister said, giving you a pointed look. “Please come back soon.”

“BYE,” you announced again, stepping out into the cool air and letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding in in a rush of air.

Sam caught up with you and matched your stride. “Are you okay? We kinda rushed out of there.”

Your face burned. “Yep! Yep. Fine...”

“...Are you sure?”

You stopped abruptly and turned to face him. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t know everyone was going to be there. I wouldn’t have dragged you along if I knew.”

Sam shrugged. “It’s alright. You don’t need to apologize for that. It was kind of fun to meet your family,” he said, copying you as you started walking again back toward the car. “It explains some things,” he joked. “Your dad can be terrifying,” he added with a laugh.

“Oh, God.” You put a hand to your face and you felt that familiar heat blooming on your cheeks. “I’m really sorry. They can be--they’re a bit much sometimes.”

“They were great,” Sam said.

You continued down the driveway toward your car.

“So, is that true?” Sam asked. You gave him a questioning glance. “The only guy you’ve ever brought home was your high school boyfriend?” he asked.

You were mortified, feeling the now all-too-familiar burn of a blush on your face. “Uhh,” you cleared your throat nervously. “Heh… Yeah, I guess it is.”

“I’m surprised,” Sam said, almost to himself.

”I’m not,” you said, your tone distinctly self-deprecating.

”Are you serious?” he asked, almost stopping dead to peer at you. “Why?”

You shrugged and shook your head, ignoring Sam’s eyes fixated on you. You dodged the question. “I don’t know… You know… the life got in the way I guess…” You knew it was a weak and not entirely valid reason, but Sam let it slide.

You stopped at the driver-side door and peered at Sam one more time over the roof of the car. He was looking back at you, earnest and sweet, his eyes and smile warm. “I’m--I just want you to know that I didn’t... if they said anything to you about, uhh... I think they just assumed--”

“Hey. Would you stop worrying? You want to know what I think? Honestly?”

You nodded, a little apprehensive.

“Being mistaken for your boyfriend for 15 minutes? It was a pretty okay alternate reality,” he said, his expression earnest and unafraid.

Now you KNEW, no doubt, 100% that your entire face (and probably your chest and ears) were bright red. You didn’t have any adequate response to that. So you resigned yourself to being brave enough to catch Sam’s eyes and hold them for a moment, chewing your bottom lip absently, before climbing into the car.

As soon as you had settled in behind the steering wheel and Sam settled in beside you, you cranked the ignition, and that’s when the final realization hit you.

“Ohhhhhhhh, shit...” You leaned forward and hung your head so your forehead was pressed against the steering wheel.

“What’s the matter?”

“I forgot the goddamn mail...”

[sharyrazade]

Day -320

I’m gonna do something a little different here; part writing practice, part shameless self-promotion, and part gauging interest in future projects I’m playing with, I’m gonna start posting previews- excerpts from projects of mine.

While technically a flashback in-story, here, we’ve got Makoto and Yuuki in marriage counseling in the Children of Men!verse; so you know how big a dumpster fire that relationship was.

Tapping his fingers against his tablet nervously, Kentaro Masamura, while never a religious man in the slightest, prayed silently for one half of the estranged couple to at least begin to speak. Even if their first instinct was to explode on each other- he’d seen that with more than his share of couples in his line of work and he was trained to defuse said situations. But this tension- this unspoken enmity between in the room was enough to (figuratively) choke an elephant.

Fuck it, I can’t take this anymore. “So, first things first.” Masamura began, his tone unnaturally cordial. “When did you first begin to notice problems in your marriage? Mrs. Mishima, why don’t we begin with you?”

“Ms. Niijima.” Makoto corrected sternly, only glancing at her estranged husband through the corner of her eye. “And I couldn’t tell you; probably the day after the wedding.”

Yuuki scoffed in frustration, rolling his eyes. “Oh, yeah, why don’t we ask Makoto?” he began frustratedly. “After all, she knows EVERYTHING. Something she just LOVES making you aware of.”

Makoto grasped the couch’s armrest in irritation. “Well, Mister Tech Billionaire, I don’t see how it’s any different than those fancy cars you insist on driving or that penthouse you insisted on.”

At this, Yuuki’s expression was more angered than annoyed. “Only because you wouldn’t stop going on about how much you loved it!”

“I WAS TRYING TO BE SUPPORTIVE!”

The therapist rubbed his temples in exasperation. “I hear a lot of talking past one another, but no real communicating.” remarked Kentaro upon the obvious. “Mr. Mishima- since your wife already went, why don’t we get your thoughts on when the problems started?”

Somewhat cooled off, Yuuki exhaled in exasperation. “I’m going to say...about a couple of months in?” he said tentatively. “After the ‘honeymoon phase,’ appropriately enough. I guess I noticed Makoto putting in even more hours at work than usual- kinda like she was avoiding me.”

The brunette scoffed dismissively. “Please!” she remarked, a noticeable hint of defensive cruelty in her tone. “You knew my job wasn’t exactly a part-time thing when I started. If you were going to be such a baby about it, maybe you shouldn’t have married me.”

“Oh, THAT’S the understatement of my life!” Yuuki complained. “You know mom tried to warn me about you? I SHOULD have listened to her!”

“So even when she’s not here, you’re such a mama’s boy, you bring in your passive-aggressive cunt of a mother to fight your battles?”

“How fucking DARE you talk about her like that?! And that’s rich coming from the woman who spent the past ten years giving her ‘best friend’ the cold-bitch routine on a regular basis!”

Once again sensing an impasse (or rather an impeding cliff), Kentaro gave a series of exaggerated coughs to interrupt the couple. “This is getting us nowhere.” he said, again remarking on the obvious. “I’m just going to be blunt about this question- how are things between you two- you know, in the bedroom?”

Immediately, the therapist regretted breaching the topic; the cold, hostile glares shared by both husband and wife told him he’d just skipped gleefully into a goddamned minefield. “Okaayyyy...when did you first start having issues there?”

“The wedding night.” Makoto and Yuki said in reflexive unison.

The therapist was visibly taken aback by said candor. “Wow, okay. So what caused such a rocky start to your sex life?”

Yuuki shrugged. “Ah, you know, the usual-  it was always ‘I’m too tired,’ ‘I have a headache,’ or ‘maybe on the weekend.’ Basically, she’s a frigid, unavailable bitch.”

Makoto crossed her arms across her chest. “Maybe if you could stop being a thirsty little twerp for ten minutes, you could learn to take a hint. I actually am tired most of the time- it’s not JUST because you’re about as sexually appealing as that plant over there.”

Yuuki, while suspecting it on some level for some time now, wore an expression of genuine hurt at having Makoto’s true feelings confirmed by the woman herself. Kentaro, on the other hand, was justifiably perplexed. “Wait,” he began, furrowing his brow. “you NEVER discussed this kind of thing with each other?”

Both halves of the quarreling couple gave each other an equally-perplexed look before responding in kind once again. “No, never.” they both confirmed.

Kentaro scribbling away at his notes and becoming increasingly pessimistic as he did so, Makoto was the next to speak. “Besides, it’s not like you were suffering SO much.” she said carelessly. “We BOTH know you got plenty from those golddigging sluts all over you.”

Genuinely wounded and offended by this accusation, by this point, Yuuki was now more angry than anything. “Never, not once!” he exclaimed.

“Really? You never cheated once?”

“No! And that’s REAL fucking rich coming from you- remember when we went to Patong back in the summer?! The first actual orgasm you had in this marriage, you called me Akira, for fuck’s sake! And that’s not even getting into why we’re here in the first place!”

“It was a slip of the tongue and you KNOW it, you tiny little man!”

As a marriage counselor, Kentaro was privy to quite a bit about the lives of his clients, but it was still at their own discretion- understandably, he was feeling quite lost now that other names were being dropped. “Wait, who’s Akira, again?” he inquired.

Yuuki was still quite offended by his wife’s casual assertions of his infidelity- as though it were a given. Particularly hypocritical given the situation with a certain lady friend of hers, he fumed. For all those romantic, chivalrous-sounding vows they shared, Yuuki could feel his blood boiling- after all the pain and insecurities he’d shared with his wife, only to have her blurt them back in an effort to consciously belittle him-  No, he wanted to hurt this woman sitting next to him.

“A mutual friend of ours who Makoto spent the past fifteen years carrying a torch for.” he informed smugly. “Got involved with another mutual friend of ours about as long ago and married her- Makoto’s been a condescending, passive-aggressive bitch to her ‘best friend’ ever since.”

Her expression momentarily betraying her wound at this divulging of some of her dirtiest social laundry, Makoto quickly reverted to a couple of her tried-and-true responses, among them her rather aloof default expression.

“Well, it can’t be THAT great a marriage.” she remarked snidely, wanting to change the subject but feel some self-righteousness from her venting. “You know he- they bring other women into their bedroom sometimes, right? Doesn’t sound a man too happy in his marriage if you ask me.”

Yuuki scowled, not having nearly the emotional skin as his wife did in this game. “What makes you so sure it’s for him?” he barbed, glowering at Makoto. “She was pretty upfront about being bisexual with him- kinda important information to have going in, you think?”

“Wait, hold on-” interrupted Kentaro, holding a hand up. “We’re discussing YOUR marriage right now- not theirs.”

At this statement, Makoto lost her composure, shooting upright and looming over her husband angrily. “Oh, and here we go!” she complained. “Yes, I fucked my best girlfriend and left you for her! Yes, I admit it! And you know something, I’d do it again! And again! And again! Do you know why? Because you know something about Haru? She is kind, she’s loyal, she’s humble, she’s caring- all for the sake of it! Everything you’re not! And by the way, she’s more of a man and lover than you could EVER be!”

“If I’m so pathetic and disgusting to you,” Yuuki raged. “why did you even bother to show up today?!”

“I don’t know! I’ve made so many mistakes with you, that would just be the latest!”

“Then why don’t you just get the hell out?!”

“MAYBE I WILL!”

“GOOD! Go on back to your poor little rich girl and your snotty, pretentious cafes, and your weekends in Paris and- whatever it is the fuck you two do to each other every night!”

Even before Makoto stormed from the office, slamming the door behind her, as a therapist and professional in general, it was pretty clear to Kentaro Masamura that he’d lost control of the situation completely the second their friend Akira came up- it had been undeniable once the word “bisexual” entered into the conversation.

Having cooled down somewhat, Yuuki sighed tiredly. “Sorry about that, doc.” he said apologetically. “What do I owe you for all the sessions- I kinda think this was a wash.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Kentaro replied.

“Nah, I insist- I subjected you to the oil fire that is my marriage, I’m going to compensate you for it.”

Hmm, an “oil fire.” That was a pretty good way of describing that utter disaster, the therapist conceded to himself. Kentaro Masamura did this job because he genuinely did believe in trying to preserve relationships when possible. Trying to preserve this one however, was not so much rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic- it was more attempting to bail out the ship with a drinking glass- from the bottom of the Atlantic.

[mattyrambles]

14:34

It’s a Saturday, afternoon, and cloudy to the point where hazy rain is starting to fall. George and Matty are standing in the middle of a park, vastly emptying as people begin to leave and dash for cover, sharing equally dubious looks. Knowing Matty since they were kids - George knows the look all to well, as a silent plea for help. Not something that happened often, Matty was always able to handle himself, to talk himself out of whatever situation he had gotten into. George had always thought it was a gift really, even if half of what he said most of the time was pure and utter bullshit. 

In the last four years, the ‘fucking god help me please’ look, had become a lot more common, and sometimes George found he could be of use and try to help. But, today - he can only shrug, in form of ‘you’re on your own, mate’. 

The source of Matty’s disaffection lets out a shriek, followed by loud and excited giggles. Juniper. George had never thought it was possible for a kid make the exact same sounds as their parent, but Juniper’s sheeplike giggling sounds were a near replica of Matty’s. 

Matty and George were standing in front of the bench the four year old was currently sitting on, being entertained by a tailless black cat. Of which George thinks looks quite mangy and is most definitely a stray. Matty had been trying and failing to gently coax her away for the best of the last half hour. Clearly failing - no amount of bribes seemed to work, she was fixated and a bit in love. Minutes ago she had looked up at Matty, all bright blue eyes and rain matted curls, asking if she could keep him. The mangy, tailless and most probably homeless cat bundled in her arms that she had proudly emerged from the playground with less than an hour ago. It had only really taken a proper liking to Juniper, cuddling up to her and purring in content, when Matty had reached out, purrs turned to hisses. 

“She’s going to kill us.”

George doesn’t need to ask who Matty means by ‘she’ - Penelope. But he does do a double take at the ‘us’. Oh no, he was not being dragged into this. Matty liked to dump his bad decisions when it came to Juniper, onto George. Because apparently Penelope ‘went easier on him’.  

“Don’t fucking bring me into this, nothing to do with me.”

Is what he hisses back, and Matty gives him a pleading look. The rain was starting to get heavier, and Juniper was looking up at both of them with a hopeful expression. A look that he knows that Matty can’t refuse, and he has his suspicions that Juniper knows that too. Even though when he had mentioned it to Penelope before she had scoffed, ‘she’s four, George’. He said that she was underestimating her, rookie mistake. She had them both exactly where she wanted them, and they were both too blind to see it. Penelope had looked at him like he was a bit insane. 

Matty sighed heavily, shaking his head. Going in for a third time. “Darlin’, we already have Al-”

“But it’s raining and he has no where to go!” She wails, cutting him off immediately. Matty is growing impatient. George can tell from the mumbles of curses under his breath, how his hands rub over his face. 

“Juniper - we are not bringing the cat home, put it down and lets go, before you get sick from sitting in the rain. Now.”

She doesn’t say anything to that, staring up at him - pouted lips in defiance, and her jaw starts to tremble. A warning sign, tears were coming. The cat seems to sense that she’s winning - burrowing it’s way under her raincoat, Matty winces. George bites his nails. A few seconds pass before; 

“He has no where to go.” Matty repeats, defeatingly looking up at George.

“Oh my God.” 

Juniper had perked up majorly - turning off the tears as quick as they had come, once Matty gave in and said she can bring the cat home for tonight, only tonight. Tomorrow they’d bring him to the vet and then a shelter. George highly doubts that, the cat was practically already part of the family as far as Juniper was concerned. 

“Thanks for the fucking back up, you’re useless.” Matty scowls - once his daughter is out of ear shot, skipping around puddles further up the path, and blabbering on to the cat still bundled under her jacket. 

George can’t help but laugh, he still thinks it’s mildly entertaining to watch his best friend get bullied by a child. “I’m useless? Mate, I’m not the one who can’t say no to her. You’d buy her the bloody Taj Mahal if she asked.” 

“Shut up, George - it was your idea to bring her to the park, you should have said no to the fucking demon cat.” 

“Bad word and he’s not a demon cat.” Juniper pipes up, they had caught up with her. George suppresses chuckles at her vexed expression, sending glares up at Matty, he covers her ears as if it will make her unhear what he just said. “Sorry, love.” 

The rain had started to ease off - sun struggling through clouds, and George knows he shouldn’t wind up a kid but the temptation is too strong, so he ruffles Juniper’s curls and says in an offhand tone, “hey, Juni - look the sun is coming back out, looks like you won’t have to take the cat home anymore, yeah?”

Juniper gives him an almost vicious look that George can only describe as her way of saying ‘fight me’, clutching the bulge under her coat tighter, and running ahead of them until she’s a fair few feet away, glancing back at George every few seconds while whispering into her jacket. Leaving George to laugh loudly at the dramatics of it all while pulling out a cigarette, there was no questioning that she was Matty’s child. 

“You are mean, George.” But his lips twitch, not able to hold back a smile. 

“Did you see the daggers she was giving me, should’ve called her Damien. Suits better.” George continues to laugh at his Omen joke, and Matty scowls, digging an elbow into him. 

“Shut up, my kid is not the spawn of Satan, fucking hell.”

“That’s debatable, and you’ve gone and given her a minion now - only going to make her worse.” Muffled - cigarette hanging from his lips, searching pockets for a lighter, when he can’t find one, turning to Matty, who refuses to give him his. 

“No - and I’m not fucking inviting you to our park trips anymore.”

“You just said it was my idea to go to the park, but fine if you want to be like that. M’not inviting you to come over for barbecues with Allen anymore, you can stay at home with Damien and the demon cat.”

“George if you don’t-” Cutting off when nearly he trips over, Juniper. Neither of them had been watching where they were going, George busy trying to get hands into Matty’s coat pockets, in search of a lighter. Steadying himself with an array of mumbled curses, and gripping onto her so to not knock her over, the cat pokes its head fully out of her coat, eyeing Matty with distaste, and a loud disgruntled meow to go with it.

The reason why she had come to a sudden standstill was apparent, when they both follow her gaze. Two girls were standing ahead, a few feet away, an obvious stance of excitement, but waiting for them both to reach them rather than outwardly rushing to them, something George can appreciate. One of them approaches now, Matty’s name sounding among a jumbled greeting, and Matty glances back down at Juniper with a small smile and quiet reassurances while George does his bit of talking and pictures before leaving Matty to it. 

Gauging - Juniper, watching her watching her dad speaking to and taking pictures with strangers, a lot of frowning. And he doesn’t think the ordeal makes her uncomfortable or annoyed, he thinks it just confuses her a bit. The clouds starting to darken again.

“Alright, love?” Ruffling curls, she looks up at him - brow still furrowed, not dissimilar to Penelope’s perplexed expression. He chuckles, a shrug and a quiet - “I know, I don’t get it either, Juni.”  Raising one arm up to him, the other still holding onto to cat, he lifts her up despite not being happy about the cat being that close to his face. 

Small fingers - plucking the cigarette from behind his ear, where he had put it after Matty refused to give him a light. “Oi, bad for you.” He says, taking it back. 

“Daddy has them too.” She says, matter of factly, like they couldn’t possibly be bad if Matty had them too. George can’t help but smile at the innocence, knowing Penelope had been trying to get him to quit for ages now, and in fairness Matty had tried. Easier said then done, George supposes. 

“Well, he shouldn’t - just as bad for him.” 

The cat emerges from her jacket, but still content in her arms, not struggling at all to be set free. He thinks it might be a bit stupid. “Better keep them away from this one too, that’s your job now.” 

George nods towards the cat and she giggles at the notion of the cat smoking, shaking her head. “Cat’s don’t smoke!”

“No?” He teases, pretending to be shocked - bringing the hand he still had the cigarette in up to the cat’s face, and to his surprise he seems rather interested, sniffing along it, pawing at his had. “See, told you - look he’s mad for them!”

This sends Juniper into a spiral of giggles, pushing George’s hand away while pulling the cat back to her chest. Her head snapping back to Matty, when she hears her name mentioned in the middle of a somewhat dramatized story about the cat. She only smiles at this, holding out the cat proudly, towards the fans with a loud statement of, ‘my cat’. 

“No, not your cat.” Matty corrects, jaded. 

They coo and aw, whether at the cat or Juniper, George isn’t sure, and Matty tells them not to encourage her.

She's maneuvered herself up onto his shoulders by the time goodbyes are said, the three of them continuing the short walk home - George repeatedly begging her not to put the cat on his head, and she keeps insisting that he likes him.

"I don't get it!" She sighs suddenly, exasperated. She had been quiet for the last few minutes, unusual for her - obviously thinking something over. She was the offspring of two people who never fucking shut up, afterall. Matty - looking up, questioning. 

“Why do people take pictures with you - you’re just a person too.” 

A perplexed tone, George laughs quietly, and Matty shrugs,“I agree with you, darlin’ - dunno, I suppose I’m just sort of their favourite person.”

She’s content with that answer, letting it settle for a minute, George feel’s the cat’s paws resting on his head again, before he can say anything - she bursts out with;

“Who’s your favourite person, G-tree?” 

“Me, obviously.” 

Matty - without missing a beat, and George scoffs. “You wish.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Your soul is bound to me and you bloody well know it, George.” 

Rolling his eyes - “And who’s your mum’s favourite person?” 

He directs up at Juniper, more to get Matty to shut up than anything. Honestly, he was expecting her to say Matty, or herself - but when she bursts out with ‘Robert Smith’ after a hesitating for a few seconds, probably taking inspiration from Matty’s faded Cure t-shirt, jacket open now that the sun was back out, sunlight dappling. George cackles, because she was probably right, accurate. Matty laughs along with him, telling her she was dead right. 

Thanks to Penelope, Juniper already had a vast knowledge of 80′s records, and Matty still insists that she knew how to say Robert Smith and Joe Strummer before she could say ‘dad’. Something Penelope, naturally denied, and argued that, in fact, the first thing coherent thing to ever leave her lips was something that vaugely resembled Matty’s name and ‘dada’.

“Robert Smith, I’m calling my cat that. Mummy will like it.” 

Juniper says matter of factly when George sets her back on the ground outside Matty and Penelope’s house, clearly thrilled with herself, petting over the cat’s fur, perpetually puffed out. George and Matty share another look, and George shrugs. “Well, you can kind of see the resemblance.” 

“Allen’s going to disown me.” Matty sighs after opening the front door, Juniper skipping ahead of him, holding Robert Smith up Lion King style while calling out for Penelope, gleefully. 

“I think Pen might too.” 

[angelkurenai]

Is this the Sequel? - Jensen Ackles x Reader

Title: Is this the Sequel?

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader, Henry Cavill x Reader

Word Count: ---

Warnings: Angst

Prompt: @earthquackles actually once messaged me this: how about... henry cavill x reader?? are you a fan? Or maybe Jensen jealous of reader and Henry? Probably because he is in love with her and doesn't want to lose the chance to say he loves her. 

I wasn’t a fan back then because I had not seen any of his movies and didn’t know him much but now oh damn yes! So of course I came up with this now! Enjoy!

“I insist though, it was clear. Batman so totally had it. I mean first; he had pinned him he could just as well kill him like that and second; dudes it's batman! Even without seeing the movie I was sure he'd win!” Jensen mumbled next to you and you shared a look with Jared before you both chuckled.

“Hey Jensen, easy. Your Dean is showing.” Jared said laughing as Jensen only rolled his eyes at his friend.

“That and- I don't really think it was that obvious. Maybe Superman could have won if the situation was slightly different.” you said with a smirk, taking a bite of your food. You loved acting, and you loved goofing around on set with the boys but lunch break when you actually had the time to talk was the best of all.

“Of course you'd say that.” he huffed “Everything for your Henry.” he seemed a little too annoyed and you knew it wasn't for you teasing him or even disagreeing. No that had happened a few times before and his reaction wasn't like this. You knew that it was about the person in specific.

“What about Henry?” you frowned “I'm not defending him but I am just stating facts, Jens. Yeah he's a great friend, and yeah we are very close maybe more than friends would be-” you looked down, shrugging and thus missing the look that flashed through his eyes “But still, there's no reason for you to react this way. What are you like, jealous?” you breathed out and even if you got a scoff from him you decided to focus more on your food than the feeling rising in your chest.

“Alright-” Jared cleared his throat “Now that we're done with Jensen's not-jealous moment-” he stopped when the older man shot him a look, one that this time you couldn't decipher, and Jared's face got more serious “Hey, (Y/n) what happened with that new script? Did they send it already?”

“Yeah, it seems like a thriller for most part but I am really enjoying the role so I am thinking of really giving it a go.” you said with a tight smile, glancing at Jensen whose mood had took a full turn for downright reserved and serious. You didn't even get a question from him, and usually he was the one you talked with about all of this – he knew everything about you and you always trusted him with all of your worries, doubts and feelings (minus the crush- alright, deep feelings you had for him). But now he didn't even seem to listen to you.

“Well that's good, right? You're always badass playing the cop.” Jared said with a half smile, glancing at his friend that was now only playing with his food.

“I uh actually will be the bad guy this time.” you said with a half smile “Henry's gonna be the cop and as you'd expect I will make his life a living hell.”

“Huh seems like the role was made for you then. You'll be in your element!” Jared grinned, mostly to cheer you up and you gasped at him, faking shock.

“Jared!” you exclaimed, hitting his foot hard under the table.

“What? Am I not saying the truth? I thought you really related with the character... especially, considering the bed sceneyou have with Henry.” he said with a smirk and you frowned at his words. There was nothing like in the script, apart from a kissing scene which you were sure he knew nothing about. But you didn't have time to question him as Jensen practically jumped next to you as soon as he heard the words.

“A what scene with who?!” he stared at his friend with wide eyes and you only backed away. It felt as if someone had electrocuted him or something and he had just started hearing what you were saying again.

“What the hell are you talking about?!” he asked Jared with a look of disbelief and you at them with wide eyes.

“He's joking!” you exclaimed, being as fast as you could before Jared could go on with his stupid joke “He is totally joking, there is absolutely no bed scene in the movie, involving me at least.” you placed a hand on Jensen shoulder and taking of his one hand as his eyes finally met yours.

He looked back at his friend who was just giving him a shrug “What? You were out of it, I had to get you back to reality.” he stated simply.

“Yeah in a stupid way for sure.” you huffed, as Jensen rolled his eyes and sat back down next to you.

“Sorry about it (Y/n).” he mumbled but you just shook your head, holding his hand under the table and gave it a squeeze.

“It's alright, Jens.” you leaned in his side, getting as close to him as you could.

“But you have to admit, stupid or not: it worked. Wonder why, really. Jensen?” Jared asked, this time more serious than ever before, his lips pursed in a thin line as he raised an eyebrow at his friend. Almost daring him to say something. Something you clearly had no idea about.

“Enough Jared.” the man next to you said in a deep rough voice, the two of them having a silent conversation that still perplexed you. Jensen's jaw was clenched and his green eyes were hard on his friend who only had a do-it-now-or-else-I-will look on his face. But Jensen's hard gaze didn't flutter and Jared just huffed in frustration with his stubborn friend. What this was all about you had still no idea.

Jared sighed heavily, rolling his eyes “Whatever. I'm not going to bother with this again. It's your choice.”

“Yeah, it is.” Jensen replied curtly and you felt his hand squeeze yours a little too hard but not painfully so.

You saw Jared shake his head in disapproval and let another sigh as he got up “I'll go take some more juice, do you want anything (Y/n)?” he asked, after running a hand through his hair.

“No uh I'm good.” you gave him a questioning look but he didn't do anything, his face stayed blank as he gave you a tight smile. After a final glance at his friend he left you, still shaking his head as he muttered things under his breath.

You felt Jensen let go of your hand, reluctantly so as you gave him a worried look and finally whispering to him the question that you really wanted to ask from the first moment you best friend's name was mentioned “What's going on Jens?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, trying to look clueless but you could see he was still stiff.

“You know what I mean.” you said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder “Come on, we tell everything to each other. If it's something that's worrying you then, shouldn't I know?”

He stopped mid-movement and set his drink back on the table, turning to face you. His green eyes bore into yours and for a moment you gave him a small encouraging smile, hoping that at least he was going to tell you that you were going to talk about it later in private.

“No, everything's fine. You don't have to worry.” he finally said and looked away from you and you actually felt your heart drop. You would say everything to each other – almost everything – it almost felt like he was pushing you away all of a sudden.

“Jens” you pleaded with him, a frown on your face as he looked back at you.

He gave you a small smile, cupping your face “Don't worry, sweetheart. I'm fine, I promise.” he leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss on your other cheek, his face staying close to yours for a little longer than it was appropriate. Your eyes stared deeply into his and you were constantly biting your lip, your brain swimming with thoughts as you tried to think of what could really be wrong, because there was definitely something.

However you didn't have the chance to even open your mouth because another voice was heard “Don't steal my Lois, Ackles or else we might have to make another Batman v Superman.” a soft chuckle soon followed and despite how worried you were, once you met his eyes you actually felt your lips pull into a smile.

“You never know Cavill, she's too perfect to resist.” Jensen replied with a half smile that looked a little too bitter, and shrug.

“You tell me.” Henry breathed out, looking at you with an adorable grin.

Jensen nodded his head, approaching him before putting on a grin as he shook the other man's hand “But you know I'm always up for a fight.” he said playfully and you shook your head, remembering how much thy turned into kids when they got hold of that video game Richard had once brought over. For the first time you really found yourself breathing somewhat properly. There was always tension between those two, especially when you were in the room so you could at least take it this way, with them acting competitive but at least smiling and goofing around.

“Anytime you want.” he laughed before turning to you.

“Hey shortie, come here give me a hug.” he said as you took a few steps towards him and threw your arms around his shoulders, just as Jensen walked back in his place to give you two some space.

“Who the hell do you call shortie?” you said with a supposedly angry pout as you pulled slightly away “Besides, it's not my fault you guys are on fucking steroids or something! I'm surrounded by giants, what has my life even come to?!” you shook your head with wide, faking drama as Henry only laughed at you and Jensen chuckled softly from his spot.

“Alright miss drama queen, if you don't like it down there come up here on your throne!” he exclaimed and a loud squeal left your lips as you felt your feet leave the ground when Henry lifted you up.

“Better now?” he looked up at you with a smirk as you tried to hold onto anything you could, your eyes wide as you wrapped your legs around his upper half.

“If this is the weather you have up here then I don't think I like it that much.” you said in a shaky voice, almost yelping when Henry made a dropping motion as if he was going to let you fall.

“Henry, I swear if you do this-” you stopped yourself, letting the threat hang in the air. Maybe a lot like you.

“What? I really want to hear you finish that threat to be honest.” he looked up at you with boyish grin and you hit his chest hard with your fist, or at least as much as you could.

“Oh I really bet you want me to.” you scoffed, rolling your eyes at him “Henry, put me doooown!” you said with a small whine.

“Why? You said you complained about being surrounded by tall people.” he said with a smirk, slowly setting you down.

“I complained about tall men. With all your broad shoulders, and firm arms and all the muscles and testosterone and-” you took a deep breath after rambling “- I honestly think I've had enough! You all have to be so macho and I'm honestly in dire need of some girl companion.” you shook your head, blinking.

“Seriously? Ouch.” he placed a hand over his heart “That actually hurts now, I thought I was special.”

“Yeah right, so did I.” you pushed him playfully but he took hold of your hand before you could really step away from him and pulled you towards him, your hands instantly falling on his chest.

“You always are.” he whispered in your ear, kissing your temple and you almost melted in his arms; forgetting that there was another person in the room as you stared up into his blue eyes. Boy could you get real lost real fast in them.

“Yeah, sure.” you whispered, brushing him off quite weakly because you couldn't help the flutter of your heart.

He smiled to himself when he noticed the blush in your cheeks but decided to take it no further and only chuckled “Besides, who can be better than Superman?”

“I have a good answer for that.” Jensen pointed out with a smirk and your own smile fell at the look they shared.

“Batman?” Henry asked with a half smile but Jensen shook his head.

“Even better. Dean freaking Winchester.” Jensen said proudly, his chest puffing out as he got up to stand face to face with the other man.

“Dean huh? I'd like to see how you are going to prove that.”

“Anytime”

~~~

This has such great potential but... can I afford to start another series? What do you think?

[imaginekpoplikethis]

7 Years - BadBoy! Jeon Jungkook x Reader - Part 5

As promised here’s the next part. Sorry it took long and I hope you guys enjoy reading it. <3

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5 - Here  Part 6  Part 7  Part 8  Part 9  Part 10.1  Part 10.2  Part 10.3�� Part 11  Part 12  Part 13  Part 14  Part 15  Part 16 Part 17  Part 18  Part 19  Part 20 - Final

It took the rest of weekend to get over what you had witnessed at the party and you came to the conclusion that you were being over dramatic. Sure, Hye Mi was someone you held a deep dislike towards but Jungkook was still a ‘player’ and who he 'played with’ was none of your concern, even if it turned out to be her.

Upon entering school on Monday, you were surprised to see them both sitting in their separate seats, Hye Mi seemingly trying to hide from someone. When you had sat yourself down, Jungkook took that as his cue to greet you.

“Hey, my cute Y/N. How are you?” Head snapping up, you were met with Jungkook’s signature bunny like grin.

You were suspicious, who wouldn’t be? The sudden compliment had caught you off guard and you weren’t sure how to respond properly.  

“I’m good…” Jungkook either didn’t take notice of your cautious response or ignored it because he began to make small talk with you. You occasionally nodded to give the impression of listening but the only thing you could think of was his strange behaviour. It seemed like he was too drunk on Saturday to remember what had happened and you silently thanked god. You didn’t want to have to deal with the awkward tension of an argument so early on a Monday morning.

When the time for class to start had come, he stood from his crouching position in front of you and pinched your cheek.

“See you later, sweet cheeks.” He then winked at you and left.

Was he using his 'player charm’ on you? He never treated you like that so his unusual behaviour had left you confused for the whole morning.

-

When lunch had arrived, both you and Areum had made you way to your seats at the boys table. Jungkook immediately flashed you another wink, much like the one from the morning.

“Hey, doll.” The various nicknames he had given you throughout the day were starting to annoy you and you weren’t sure how long it would be until you flipped. Areum sent you a surprised look and you replied with a shrug. She seemed to get the general message as she returned her attention to her lunch. You too wanted to know why he was behaving like this but  instead decided to keep your mouth shut.

Surely, it would be over by the end of the day.

Right?

Wrong.

It was when you were exiting the school with Areum where you had had enough.

“Bye, babe. See you tomorrow.” Freezing in place, you turned your body painfully slow until you were directly facing him. “What did you just call me?”

“Babe. What’s wrong?” You felt something within you snap and you marched towards him, grabbing his collar.

“Listen Jungkook! I’m not one of your playthings or side chicks. I’m your friend. Stop calling me these bullshit sickeningly sweet names because I swear to god I will punch you in the face.” His smile had dropped and he placed a hand on yours, prying your fingers off of him.

“Well what the fuck do you want then?! You weren’t happy at the party because I wasn’t thinking about your feelings and now that I’m making some kind of fucking effort, you decide to freak the fuck out! Make up your mind, Y/N!” Taking several steps back, you stared at him with a glare on your face.

“I just want you to treat me like a friend. I don’t need you drowning me in compliments every two seconds. Heck, you can call me loser for all I care. Just don’t treat me like those girls you throw away to the side every week. I’m not that desperate for attention.” Feeling like you were being too much of a bitch, you gave him a strained smile and made your way back to a shocked Areum.

“See you tomorrow, Jungkook!” Grabbing Areums arm, you walked ahead and left him standing there.

If only you could see the impressed smirk that spread on his lips.

“She must be bipolar or something…”

-

It seemed like your words had successfully gotten through to Jungkook without causing any unwanted anger since the next day, his greeting lacked the embarrassingly sweet pet names.

“So, what was that about yesterday anyway? And don’t lie to me, Jungkook.” He sheepishly rubbed the back of his head and then lent his chin on the backrest of the seat in front of you.

“You seemed like you were upset with me and I just wanted to make you feel happy, I guess.” Raising an eyebrow, you tilted your head and stared at him. “You guess?”

He pushed his lips out and glanced to the side, avoiding your question.

“If you call me by those crappy nicknames again, I’ll leave you for Taehyung.” Eyes widening, he snapped his attention back to you.

“No way! He can’t replace me, nothing can replace me! Those 7 years aren’t going to be ruined by Tae.” Jungkook proceeded to grab your cheeks, and pinch them causing you to flinch and grab his hair. Playfully tugging at it, you sent him a threatening glare and he slowly released his grip on you.

“I’m serious. You’re not leaving me.” You weren’t sure why but your cheeks heated at his sentence and you narrowed your eyes at him.

“You say that like we’re dating or something…” Instead of replying, he shot you his bunny-like grin and tapped his wristwatch with two fingers.

“Wha-” Before you could ask him what he meant, he jumped out of his seat and strolled back to his desk.

You definitely were not dense. That action was his way of saying 'soon’ without having to actually speak.  

He didn’t think your friendship could become more, did he?

Deciding that it was best to ignore what had just happened, you retrieved your notebook from your bag, preparing for your first lesson.

-

Lunch soon arrived and you made your way to the lunch line alone. The line had been moving unusually fast today and you were already eyeing the special dish of the day, when a tap on your shoulder broke you out of your trance. Upon turning around you were met with the familiar face of Jung-Hoon, a boy you shared a couple of classes with. He was relatively popular and most claimed he was the typical good-boy, although how he really acted was a mystery to almost everyone.

“Hey Y/N. How are you?” You supposed it was rude to continue staring at him with your eyebrows furrowed, so you offered him a friendly smile.

“Hi… I’m good, what about you?” He obviously didn’t sense your confusion as he continued to smile brightly at you, seemingly satisfied with your reply.

“I’m great, thanks for asking. Actually, I originally wanted to ask if you wanted to hang out at some point this week? You know catch up a bit?” What was there to catch up on? Sure, you had been partners a couple of times for school projects but other than that you were never close enough to be considered friends. You, being someone who could never say no in the face of kindness, agreed to his idea.

“Cool! So, I’ll see you at the bubble tea place around the corner on Saturday at 2?” Slowly nodding your head, he placed his hand on your shoulder and presented you with one last smile before jogging off.

What just happened?

A couple of minutes later, you were heading towards your usual table with the boys and Areum when you spotted Jungkook’s perplexed face staring right at you. Sitting down on your seat, he immediately bombarded you with questions.

“Was that Jung-Hoon? He was speaking to you right? What did that bastard want?” Taking a spoon of egg fried rice and stuffing it into your mouth, you slowly chewed whilst allowing Jungkook to finish asking his questions.

“Yes that was Jung-Hoon, yes he was speaking to me and Bastard? He’s a nice guy.” A scoff escaped Jungkook’s lips and he scowled at your last sentence. “Nice guy my ass, that guy is the devil in disguise.”

“Really? He invited me out on Saturday…” Jungkook’s head snapped up so fast, you were sure it was going to fly right off his neck.

“What! You said no right?” When you shook your head he almost choked on his food. “Jungkook… are you jealous?” Surprisingly, he didn’t react to your question and instead looked at you with a seriousness you didn’t know he possessed.

“Yeah, I’m jealous so don’t hang around with that piece of shit.” Letting out a heavy sigh, you began playing with your rice. “It’s too late Jungkook. You know me, I can’t say no when people are being nice.”

“Fucks sake!” He smashed his hand down on the table, effectively bringing the surrounding tables attention on you for a split second before they realised it was just Jungkook getting angry. Knowing about Jungkook’s bad temper, you hadn’t even flinched at his action. You took a sip out of your water bottle, holding his furious glare with a look of indifference. Huffing in annoyance, Jungkook ran a hand through his hair in frustration, calming himself down.

“If that shit hurts you, physically or mentally, i’ll fucking kill him.” Nodding, you beamed at him, happy that you had come to a somewhat normal conclusion.

“Thanks Kookie!” When the nickname left your lips, he looked away whilst rubbing the back of his neck.

“Whatever…”

“Someone please explain to me why Jungkook has decided to stop being a little bitch after he’s woken me up.” Needless to say, Yoongi complained about how inconsiderate people are for the rest of the lunch break.

-

The days came and went until Friday arrived and once again Areum was absent from school due to sudden vomiting. You had felt increasingly uncomfortable at the smiles Jung-Hoon had been sending you from across the classroom but decided against telling Jungkook because, let’s be honest, he would lose his shit over it.

You were continuously questioned by Jungkook at lunch, over whether you still wanted to meet up with Jung-Hoon, to which you replied 'yes’ each time. He looked like he wanted to argue more but left it at that when the bell to signal the end of lunch had rang.

When you had reached the end of the school day, Jungkook insisted on walking you home, claiming he wanted to visit your family.

“Why?” Your one word question had grabbed his complete attention and he simply smirked.

“I’m sure your mother misses seeing her child’s 'soulmate’.” Blushing, you began walking ahead in a poor attempt to leave him behind.

“That was like 9 years ago. We’re not 'soulmates’ anymore.” His smirk widened and he peered down at your red face.

“Actually, we’re soulmates until I say we’re not.” Rolling your eyes, you stopped in front of your house, pulling your keys out. When you opened the door, you were immediately greeted with your 15 year-old sister bounding down the stairs and enveloping you in a hug.

“Wow, this is a first. S/N giving me a hug?” She giggled and turned her attention to Jungkook, a look of realisation settling on her face.

“Jungkook!? We haven’t seen you in ages!” He grinned and ruffled your sisters hair, making her smile back.

“I’m impressed you remember me, you were 6 the last time I saw you.”  Your mother emerged from the kitchen, an excited grin planted on her face and you groaned.

“Ah! Jungkook, is that you? You’ve grown up so well!” She proceeded to embrace him as if he was her long lost child and he returned it with as much happiness as her.

“It’s nice to see you, M/N. How are you?” Whilst they broke into a small conversation, you took that as your opportunity to escape to your room. Around ten minutes later, Jungkook followed, throwing himself on your bed.

“Damn, I’ve missed coming here.”

“Don’t get too comfortable. We’re not kids anymore, I’m a grown girl and you’re a grown boy. This isn’t normal for people our age.”

“Yeah, but we’re soulmates remember?” There it was, that word again. Feeling your cheeks heat up, you gaped at his boldness.

“Shut up!” Picking up a pillow, you brought it down on his face with as much force as possible and he only snickered into it.

“You’ll come around eventually.” Deciding to ignore his last comment, you grabbed your books and sat at your desk. Studying was the best way to get him off your back. Or so you thought.

Feeling him place his chin on your shoulder, his natural scent filled your nose and caused the rest of your face to turn red, butterflies settling in your stomach.

“Help me study.” There was no room for arguing and you allowed him to place his own books on your desk and sit beside you.

You ended up tutoring him on topics he struggled with until the sky turned dark and it was time for him to leave. When he had left and you were closing your books, you discovered a note wedged between the pages of your notebook.

'Call me if something happens tomorrow. I won’t forgive that bastard for upsetting my soulmate.’

Why did this note make a delicate smile spread on your lips and make your heart flutter?

You told yourself it was his concern and nothing more.

[ive-always-been-a-pirate]

So, Tumblr thought it would be cool to eat my birthday post to my lovely friend and dark counterpart @optomisticgirl....which is actually super NOT cool. Anyway, I’m posting this a little late, but here it is! Happy day of birth, my Aries partner-in-crime! You are a lady, a scholar, and a wonderful human being.

A little classic literature and verbose Killian smut :) M-rated for certain.

“Well, that’s a long face if I’ve ever seen one,” Granny announced, leaning over the counter to snatch the empty hot chocolate mug. “What’s got you down, Sheriff?”

Lifting her frustrated eyes from the leatherbound book she’d borrowed from the library at Belle’s insistence, Emma attempted a casual smile before addressing the inquiry of the woman who owned the place. It was a rather half assed try, but what was the point in pretending all was well when it certainly was not? They’d been chasing their tails for days over how to put a stop to the Evil Queen’s most recent reign of terror, galavanting through a handful of untold stories until they landed on an author who was dreadfully familiar and the answer to all their problems - according to an odd inkling Henry had while thumbing through a newly discovered version of the storybook. If she’d known sending him with Killian to the author’s abandoned mansion in search of an alternate text would amount to her reading not one but four Shakespeare books - well, she definitely would have thought twice about needing more information.

The whole idea was starting to feel like ‘much ado about nothing’ - pun very much intended.

“I'm fine,” Emma sighed, tracing the cover of As You Like It with a distracted finger. “Just not thrilled with everyone’s book recommendations for the Savior lately.”

“Ah, I see,” the old woman nodded as she caught sight of the small stack of novels. “Those aren’t exactly easy reading from what I’ve heard. I’m guessing it’s research?”

“It’s supposed to be,” Emma answered as she flipped through a few pages. “But with the way this guy writes, it’s hard enough to understand what’s going on in the story let alone figure out if it might give us a clue about how to figure out what Regina’s other half is up to.”

“Her ‘worse’ half, I can assure you,” Granny commented as she peeked at the words. “It does look quite complex. Not Henry’s forte either, I take it?”

“He’s been helping Regina sort through things in her vault since yesterday so I’m on book patrol,” she explained, gesturing toward the pile. “Well, failing at book patrol.”

“I wish I could help, but I must say that this Shakespeare guy is even out of my league,” Granny replied, her expression sweet and sympathetic. “But I’m happy to grab you a fresh cup of cocoa and a bearclaw while you keep at it.”

Emma let another exasperated exhale escape her lips but she offered a nod of agreement. Dropping her eyes back down to the text on the pages in Romeo and Juliet, she came across a set of words that she’d read a few times already.

“Ugh - but what does it mean when your ‘bounty is boundless as the sea’?”

She was just about to slam the cover of the sappy, tragic tale closed when the bell above the diner door gave a soft ding. Her attention was quickly pulled that way and it didn’t take long for her to be glad that she’d looked up.

Speak of the sea, she thought with a secretive smile.

“Afternoon, love.”

His voice was smooth and calming in a way that would forever soothe her, a fact she knew her eyes gave away the second she witnessed his handsome smirk. He was always so perceptive to her reactions and it was useless trying to hide just how much she admired watching him walk into a room. She’d given up on her charade of being unaffected by him long ago - and he’d made sure to prove to her a million times over just what a worthwhile decision that had been.

“Captain,” she replied with a bit of a relieved grin, watching his eyes respond to her playful nickname. “Coming to wallow in my misery with me?”

“Misery you say,” he countered, placing a gentle kiss against her hair before grabbing one of the books for analysis. “How could being required to read all day make you miserable? That’s a lifestyle that might even rival a pirate’s.”

He hopped up onto the stool next to her, his fingers flipping through a couple of pages as he joined in her fruitless work. There was something to be said about how willing he was to jump right into just about anything with her. Yes, definitely something - but words were sure as hell not her thing today.

“It’s not the task I’m annoyed with,” she told him as she watched him narrow his eyes at the story. “Just the material.”

“Hmmm,” he pondered, stealing a sip of her drink. “What's not to like about it, love?”

“It's just that Shakespeare can be a little….wordy.”

He grinned at that, running his tongue absently over his bottom lip as he pressed a hand down to prop the book open. The navy blue of his studious stare was almost as deep as the text he was currently immersed in - a particular play about a wild bird of a woman who people thought needed taming. She’d scoffed at the title initially, but it was almost too humorous to watch him bite back his grin when he noticed the book’s name.

“It does seem rather seeped in a wealth of various language techniques,” he remarked as he kept his sight on the fancy writing she was so irritated with, the edge of his mouth curving upward after a moment. “This William appears to be quite the clever man.”

It hit her then - the strange connection she knew she should have drawn from the beginning. She was so busy being perplexed by the author at hand that she hadn't realized she'd just turned his work over to another man who prided himself on an impressive vocabulary. Shakespeare probably had the literary world cornered on lavish language, but as far as this realm went, the pirate at her side was quite the contender.

“I guess,” she somewhat agreed, tilting her neck at him. “Any chance you understand this better than I do?”

He took a moment to process her question before his eyes moved back to hers and he picked up on the intent behind her curiosity. Matching the angle of her head, he radiated pure amusement and the curve of his mouth that told her he didn't plan on brushing that aside.

Oh hell, what had she just gotten herself into?

“Though I believe you're discrediting your ability to decode, I suppose I could offer my insight,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “I'm all ears, love - how can I help?”

The next hour was almost more torturous than the past few had been. Sure, she’d recruited the help of a man who could not only decode ancient Latin inscriptions but also seemed to have a talent for picking apart the work of history’s greatest playright, but that was the problem. He was the always captivating and completely distracting….problem.

“Still with me, Swan?”

“Oh - ummm, yeah,” she said suddenly, blinking several times as she tried to pretend she hadn’t been staring. “I’m just not sure why he’s constantly comparing her to a wasp. He could have picked something a little….nicer.”

“I don’t think it’s meant to be degrading, love,” Killian told her, tapping his fingertips on the counter. “I believe the goal here was to illustrate her as a bold woman - one who stands her ground and speaks her mind.”

Emma didn’t miss the way he looked at her with raised eyebrows, the parallel floating in the air between them hanging heavily as she watched him. They hadn’t made it through the entire text just yet, but she’d read enough to know that she had a few things in common with the leading lady.

“She’s a spitfire,” he smiled, winking once before taking a sip from the mug Granny had passed him. “I dare say she’s what makes the story worth reading. Quite passionate, wouldn’t you say, Swan?”

Emma felt a familiar heat run down her spine at the sound of his innuendo ridden words. He’d said something like that to her once before and the way the accented inquiry seemed to slip off his tongue made her skin tingle. Passionate was a word that definitely came into play whenever he was around and despite the way her morning had started, she’d ended up right back beneath that same adjective once again.

Damn him, she thought as she bit her lip.

Their study session drifted on and with the minutes ticking by, Emma felt her patience start to thin. Watching his skilled finger point out what he believed might be crucial details was a tempting sight rivaled only by the continuous taunts of his academic tongue. Honestly, how he could sound so intelligent and so sinful at the same time was completely beyond her - but she certainly wasn’t upset that he could accomplish such a thing.

Emma listened to a list of clever explanations pass by his lips, each more hypnotic than the previous one. She knew the use of words like ‘volubility’ and ‘peremptory’ should have made her ask questions, but watching the way his mouth moved as he read each one pointed her curiosity in a very different direction.

“So why does he have to say things like ‘utterth’? It doesn’t seem necessary when he could just write ‘said’.”

“A fair question I suppose,” he agreed as he closed the book, his eyebrow arching as he tilted his head. “But it’s about the romantic element of writing, love.”

“Hmmm,” Emma pondered, matching his expression. “Romance, huh?”

“Mmm-hmm. I mean, the word ‘said’ doesn’t seem so appealing when a man can ask….or request….or even plead-” he answered, leaning on the counter a little more as flirtation filled his eyes. “-or even utterth.”

Emma felt a wave of chills take over her body at the sound of his thick accent and at the sight of his subtle bedroom eyes. It was an evolving scene she'd witnessed many times before and as he challenged her with that coaxing smirk, she knew this would only end one way.

“Quite interesting that a writer can gather such a reaction from you, Swan,” he breathed. “Suggestive words like ‘nay but to live in the sweat of an enseamed bed, sowed in corruption-’”

“Wrong story, Killian,” she cut in, her own stare shifting into a state of daring. “I read that one two days ago.”

“I know,” he nodded, his eyes playful and simmering. “But it never hurts to review the text - you know, just to….really get into it.”

The heat built between them quickly, surely enough to start a fire with the nearby stack of novels as kindling - and yes, she had considered that since the moment she saw the flicker of blue flames in his attentive gaze. Yet there was something else that appealed to her the longer he read and the more he allowed the vague stories by Shakespeare to wrap around his lilting tongue. She couldn't fully explain just what was happening, but when he finally closed the cover of the text he'd been analyzing, Emma decided they'd studied enough - at least for now.

“Well, if you’re going to put it like that-” Emma breathed wantonly, flicking her wrist so that a thin swirl of smoke surrounded them. “-then I'd prefer to listen to you continue in private.”

The feel of her magic drew a heat through her body as he took her hands in his, the quick movement pulling them together as the space of the diner vanished. The absence of company suddenly filled Emma with pure need and the intoxicated look on his handsome face once the cloud dispersed told her he felt the same.

“Come here then, darling,” he beckoned once he steadied from their quick transport to one of the inn’s upstairs rooms. “I'll tell you whatever you'd like to hear.”

“Just….you,” she replied as she chased his lips, her body quivering as he tugged quickly at her shirt. “I want to hear you.”

His smile spread as his breath lingered over hers, a soft brush of his lips taking her under and into that sea of passion he seemed to always pull her to. With his touch tracing her cheek, Emma felt her legs weaken familiarly and he instantly adjusted to keep her upright. With his palm hot against her lower back, she reached up to curl her fingers around the collar of his dark leather jacket. It was a move she couldn't resist and one he'd still never tired of if his low moan against her mouth was any indication.

“You'll be the death of me, love,” he mumbled as his hips leaned into hers. “Though I’m hard pressed to find myself upset at the thought.”

“Hard is-” she grinned, her mouth falling open as his teeth traced her collarbone. “-one way to say it.”

“Suppose I should see if there’s a few other ways I can add to that list,” he said with a gasp as she ripped open his shirt. “You’ll need to be a little more indecent for those though, Swan.”

“Seems reasonable,” she smirked as his fingers deftly curled around the fabric of her sweater. “But only if you are first.”

He chuckled at that, a dark and needy sound that went right to her core. She’d never been so easily affected by words or by the lilting tone his seemed to wrap themselves in, but he’d always had a way with that - turning her into a desperate mess with a mere mumble or whisper. Emma felt her knees tremble as his hands brushed her bare skin, their clothes pooling at her feet as he lifted her onto the bed. The mattress creaked as expected - a little fact they’d picked up on one night when they’d had a bit too much to drink and decided to rent a room just up the hall instead of heading home. The noise wasn’t off putting in the least and the low moan the escaped his throat as her touch found his shoulderblades was proof of just how much he didn’t care about the bedsprings.

“Love, lift up,” he requested, rutting against her once as he prompted her to move. “Legs around me.”

Emma followed his heated directions, wondering just where her stubborn spirit had gone. It didn’t seem to exist in the same realm as this passionately wordy man, especially when he was using his tone to tease and tantalize her. The firm feel of him between her thighs began to pull a shaky breath from her lips, but he swept her into a deep kiss that dissolved it instantly.

He’d always been good at that too.

“They’re only words, Swan,” he told her as he paused a moment, his mouth gentle against hers as he pushed inside with a smooth thrust. “But you know there’s plenty I love telling you.”

“Oh,” Emma reacted as her arms draped around his neck. “Like what?”

“A multitude of things, darling,” he answered with a grin against her neck. “Perhaps more colorful than anything you’ll read in any one of those books downstairs.”

“Hmmm,” she pondered as he anchored himself above her. “You might have to prove that to me.”

“I intend to, darling,” he laughed, sliding forward a little deeper. “We, fortunately, have all night for just that.”

“Good thing you have such an-” Emma said with a soft moan, her fingers pressed into his back. “-extensive vocabulary.”

“Oh, love,” he replied, his hand tight on her thigh as he hitched her leg up a little higher. “You haven’t heard anything yet.”

The course of the night proved just how much Emma truly hadn’t ever had the opportunity to listening to. Little praises of his familiar ‘there, Swan’ and ‘yes, just like that’ were mixed in with his heavy accent and punctuated groans while she attempted to remain coherent enough to hear more. He said her name endlessly, like it was a mantra he couldn’t keep from clinging to as he moved relentlessly against her. She wasn’t sure how long they’d been at it by the time she finally fell apart, but he held her tight in his lap as he followed her into the verbal abyss of finishing together. Emma knew her mind was clouded with pleasure, but she was almost positive he’d been mumbling something quite filthy in a language she didn’t know he spoke when she collapsed against his chest. His hair was damp and her fingers carded through it lazily while she regained her own ability to talk.

Not that much needed to be said after something like that - well, maybe one thing.

“Killian?”

“Hmmm?”

“I love you-” she told him as she nuzzled his side. “-and thank you for helping me with the books. I know you had other stuff to do today.”

“Perhaps, but you know this is always my first choice,” he countered, twisting her hair around his finger. “Naked while I tell you all the obscene things you coax me into to saying.”

“Alright, you’ve made your point,” she breathed happily as she leaned up to kiss him. “Now we might have time for a little nap before the studying must resume if you’re interested.”

“I may be,” he said thoughtfully. “But I can think of something else-”

“Hey,” she cut in, weakly trying to stop his obvious and honestly very wanted advance. “Shut up….”

“Oh, Swan,” he laughed, flipping them over and starting down at her with an intention she’d grown to love. “We both know that’s not what you want.”

His lips melted against hers as his hands took hold of hers, his fingers wrapping skillfully around her wrists as he proved just how fast he could talk her into anything. Whatever argument she was pretending she might have planned disappeared as the sheets tangled around their legs and he used his mouth in so many more ways than one - a feat only he could manage so perfectly.

“Perhaps not,” she admitted as his blue eyes darkened. “So why don’t you tell me what you think I want?”

“Sounds like a dangerous game you’re interested in playing, love,” he said with a devilish grin. “But whatever you say.”

“Hey,” she teased. “That’s my line.”

“Well,” he quipped, the hint of a challenge in his gaze. “Let’s see if we can make your lines a little more interesting.”

Tagging some folks: @xpumpkindumplingx, @themmaswan, @spartanguard, @laschatzi, @kat2609, @captainswanismyendgame, @timeless-love-story, @cat-sophia, @eala-captian, @kmomof4, @cherrywolf713, @ilovemesomekillianjones, @phiralovesloki, @deathbycaptainswan