#I forget what else they were nominated for but

[hugejk]

2 years.

due to high demand part 2 !!!! feedback is also very much appreciated <3

cw: addiction mentioned, rehab

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After getting settled into your temporary home, you fell asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow. Being woken up to the bright orange sun. You get up. You still didn’t know what to do with yourself. I guess the comments were right. You really do need some professional help.

you just didn’t know where to start, rehab? therapy? checking yourself into a psych ward? You sit at the small work desk at the hotel, clicking the pen and scooting the small writing pad they provided. You assume the best place to start was the addiction problems. You go on your phone and look for places. You find the highest rated one, and call it.

“hi.uhm. i was just uhm… wondering if i can check in? like check myself into rehab.”

the man on the other line told you the process of checking yourself in. You had to go in person and stay there until they think you were better than you had started. This process might take a while. But you’re willing to do it.

You gather your things, planning what you were going to tell the lady downstairs,

“my flight got rescheduled for today.”

“my friend is back at their house i don’t need the room anymore.”

“my parents have a room for me at their place.”

heading out the room and towards the elevator. Spamming the down button to hurry and get to the place. You didn’t care to wear the disguise you had packed. Nobody would see you for a couple more months anyways. At least that’s what you thought.

as the doors opened up, you look up from your shoes and see two young men. One of them wearing a dark beard and the other…well he looks like a kid. Clean shaven face, big brown eyes, short brunette hair.

“that’s exactly what i- wait aren’t you y/n?”

the one with the dark beard said as he pointed at you.

fuck.

“…do you want a picture?…”

you couldn’t even deny it, people recognized you so much now that you can’t say no to pictures, or else people would think your a rude arrogant celeb. And them boom there goes the grammy nomination, the awards, the money. everything you had worked so hard for.

you were so stuck in your head that you didn’t realize he was as talking to the younger one.

“this is the singer i was telling you about just the other day! you know…the one you said was-“

he was cut off by the brunette slapping his arm, giving him the “don’t you dare” look.

“look, i don’t have the time for this, do you want something? i have to be somewhere.”

you didn’t mean to be rude, but you just wanted to be fixed already. You didn’t have time to stop and talk with these guys. You notice the small badge on their nike sweaters.

“oh sorry——you know our football club is sponsored by spotify? you could totally be this years sponsor.”

the beard said to you, side eyeing the brunette and wiggling his eyebrows. Something was up. You just didn’t care enough to ask.

“uhm.yeah. sure whatever.”

you weren’t even planning on making new music anytime soon. you brush it off and push the down button for the other elevator. You didn’t want to be anywhere near a person right now.

now that you were alone in the elevator, you started to wonder and replay how the beard and the brunette were acting. As you got downstairs to the lobby, your worst fear. A packed lobby with screaming people and more guys all wearing the same nike hoodie, that logo.

you make a pit stop at the bathrooms to put on your glasses and mask, there was no way you couldn’t get away from this one. You blend back into the crowd, asking the nearest person,

“what’s this all about?”

“do you live under a rock? this is the best football club of all time right in front of us! FC barcelona!”

that’s when it finally hit you, the logo seemed so familiar. You remember watching a few el classicos with your dad when you were little. How could you forget?

But you had more important things to do that day. You thanked the person who reminded you of the club and went on with your day. Walking with your head down and airpods in, you arrived to your new home for a few months.

you open the door and walk up to the front desk,

“uhm..hi. id like to check myself in..”

you say with your head down, feeing ashamed that you were asking for help. You could’ve done this on your own but here you are.

“okay! before we check you in we’re gonna have to have you fill these papers out, and i hope you know what your doing right now is brave and your in good hands.”

crazy. It’s like the lady behind the desk could read your unsure mind. Her words repeat and bounce around in your head. Taking the papers and taking a seat in the lobby. It was small, and empty.

You have no idea what’s to come but surely it’ll be the best for you.

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tags: @pabl0andm3 @spidybaby @htpssgavi @alexis1taylorr

[greywindys]

Gorillaz lost both Grammy Awards they were nominated for 💀

We're so back. We're winning.

[sunshineandspencer]

Friendly face (Part 3)

A/N: I know I said I always succumb to peer pressure, but that did not need to be tested. Also if I did a Hotch(or Spencer) taglist, would anyone be interested, also.. how do you do a taglist?? I may be 20 and from the UK, but I have only been using tumblr for about two months, I’m learning (slowly). [I’ve made a form for a taglist!! it’s underneath the parts!!]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Receptionist!Reader.

Summary: Little does the team know, their little receptionist and their Unit Chief had been closer for a lot longer than any of them knew. And while he’s brilliant at hiding it, she is now.

Word Count: 825

Warnings: please, stop requesting the fluff it hurts my little heart

part 1! and 2!!

be added to the taglist!!

Honestly, she could come to work with a massive neon sign floating above her head saying ‘stupidly in love with Aaron Hotchner’ and it would have probably the same effect as she normally does to him.

While he goes through the rules, needing to check about whether their relationship - yes, relationship - was actually legal, they needed to keep it secret.

A serious conversation they’d had over dinner well over six months ago, one that she’d seem to conveniently forget whenever they were actually in the office together. Thankfully that isn’t very often, unless he’s personally asked for files she stays by her desk.

Sometimes, he will admit, he requests reports just to get her into the office, but not very often.

However, it seemed to have been just often enough for his coworkers - Emily, mostly - to realise. From there, and after getting everyone else to join her, they were trying to find exactly how much the pair actually cared for each other.

Crowding together at the round table, quickly giving everything they’d noticed before Hotch arrived.

Emily starts, grinning at both Morgan and Spencer, nothing better than a bit of office gossip.

“So, she doesn’t hide anything. But, we’re all well aware that he sometimes uses excuses to get her into his office. But I noticed that she always leaves post-it notes on the files that she does give him, and they do look sickeningly sweet. It’s hard to believe Hotch actually likes that.”

Spencer chimes in, wringing his fingers lightly. He loves gossip as much as the next person, but the receptionist is a sweetheart and treats him so kindly, plus he doesn’t really believe in talking about other people’s business.

However, he’s invested in her happiness, and knows that there’s more to the pair than meets the eye.

“Well.. he smiles at her, more than I’ve ever really seen. And he does things for her that he wouldn’t do for anyone else. He helped her set up her desk and made sure she settled properly with the team.. plus Penelope found the paperwork and he requested her to be moved up.”

“What?! She didn’t tell me that!” Morgan looked pretty dejected, and Emily could only pat his back apologetically. But as much as they want to say that Morgan is her favourite, Spencer is everyone’s favourite.

He just shrugged, and Morgan kept talking, needing to add in what he’d seen - and profiled - about the two of them.

“Whatever. We’ve all seen how smitten Jack is with her, kid practically has hearts coming from his eyes. And I heard them talking about her having stayed over on the weekend. And we all see the way Hotch is with the two of them, it’s like the past decade of the job lifts off him.”

They all eventually came to the agreement that they believed that Hotch and their receptionist were together, and they needed to know more. The achilles heel of most profilers, the desire for gossip whenever they can get it.

Hearing footsteps approaching, they quickly nominated Spencer to ask Hotch, panicking the younger agent as he spluttered over his words.

As Hotch stepped through, with her following close behind, files in her hands as she waited for Hotch to take them. Waving to the rest of the team happily, very grateful the images weren’t on screen yet. Emily booted Spencer under the table and he jolted, getting Hotch’s attention.

“Hotch!” His voice cracked, how cute. “I uh- we, we wondered if you and uhm.. if you two--”

Christ, she wanted to take pity on the poor boy, looking up at Aaron. Thankfully he seemed amused rather than irritated that they’d worked it out. Looks like they got their answers on whether or not the relationship was allowed.

He nodded at her softly and she grinned, leaning up to peck his lips quickly, stuffing the files into his hands.

“Let me know if you take the case?”

“I’ll text you.”

Grinning, she winked at Spencer, which earned her a warning “sweetheart”, which only fed into her giddiness now that they didn’t have to hide it. Loving the surprised looks on their faces, even though Morgan was definitely acting as if he knew the whole time. Exactly as Aaron said he would, god she loves that he knows them so well.

“Stay safe you lot. Bring my boyfriend home safe or I’ll hunt you down!”

As she walked out of the briefing room, she smacked Aaron’s ass and scampered off giggling, being followed with his scolding voice.

“Dove.”

Eventually, he had to turn back around to his grinning teammates - bar a very embarrassed Spencer who now avoided his boss’ gaze - he sunk into his chair. Waiting for whichever one was going to say something first.

Emily, of course, was the one to speak up first, looking at him all innocently as if she didn’t know damn well what she was doing.

“Dove~?”

“Don’t push it.”

Want more?! Good!

[siythn]

Worth The Wait

LEVIXREADER! Working for the hit T.V show, Attack on Titan has truly given you many memories and opportunities. You knew you got along with your Co-Star, Levi Ackerman, a bit different than everybody else. The question was, did he notice it too? _______ ♫ LOVER - taylor swift ❝ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ'ʟʟ ꜱᴀᴠᴇ ᴀʟʟ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅɪʀᴛɪᴇꜱᴛ ᴊᴏᴋᴇꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ᴍᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀᴛ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴛᴀʙʟᴇ, ɪ'ʟʟ ꜱᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀ ꜱᴇᴀᴛ❞

You were four years old when you got your first acting gig. It was a commercial for a clothing brand that you've long forgotten; to say you'll never forget what it soon brought you later on is an understatement.

The grandeur of Oscar night welcomes you the moment you step onto the red carpet, the flashes of cameras and people calling out your name create a symphony of blinding lights, and clicks, with overbearing noise you can't quite make out.

Your assistant guides you and your "plus one" (a teasing nickname that arose when someone recognized you and not Levi when grabbing lunch), who just is your co-star and closest friend; Levi Ackerman, past the shouts of photographers trying to capture a moment of two well-known actors for Attack on Titan's critical acclaim.

To say Attack On Titan wasn't a huge hit was an insulting statement. It's proved itself by its many awards won over the years. It's bringing home one or more Oscars tonight to sit pretty for the rest to celebrate.

But for you, the real turmoil churns inside your stomach and into your already existing nerves as you await the category of Best Supporting Actress—your category. 

Working with the cast who's seen you grow as an actor, most importantly; a person from the start is enough fulfillment for you. To share experiences that are one of a household is short of a blessing.

But when you heard the news you were nominated for an Oscar, nothing could've prepared you for the rush of emotions that was to come. With the satisfaction you already gained with Attack On Titan; being considered to be a real winner was the cherry on top.

The famous show has been your haven for years now. It's where your career took one for the books; where your name became one familiar. You remember your first day on set, the bundle of anxiety that sat in your stomach and never quite left until you got to understand the people you would be calling your family in interviews.

One person clicked differently from the rest. Levi Ackerman is someone you'd consider a best friend or even more. To be real, you couldn't even figure out your feelings for yourself, which led you to swear you'd never admit it due to sheer embarrassment. Plus, it seems quite scandalous to have a "crush" on a co-star you've been so dear with.

It never stopped the fans though.

They have long picked up on the chemistry between you two, both on-screen and off. Your characters, connect in ways of war, along with the unspoken tension that fans adore. You weren't complaining since it brought more media attention, but the cast always had a field day when an interviewer brought it up. 

Long over the years of working together, your bond became inseparable. Close moments in the set transcribed to real life with the both of you.

Meeting him for the first time is always a funny story since both of you seemed to hold distaste for the other. When you sucked up the courage to confront him at his trailer as to why he hated you so much, you received a dumbfounded look. With crossed arms, he claimed, "I thought you hated me, so I just assumed you wanted space."

You two become closer and closer from that day on. Not to boost his ego—but his presence alone is a force in itself. The familiarity of his nearness is a comfort you've latched onto.

And, with the way you're latched onto his arm, grip tightening as the minutes fly by, anyone could pick up a clue.

You've been grasping his arm for who knows how long, but not a word of complaint has come from Levi yet. You feel bad, but your nerves are a title wave compared to the guilt.

Levi, ever the calm, senses how tense you are as he stares. "Just breathe," he whispers, leaning close enough that his words only reach your ear in the chaos.

You feel his breath grazing your neck, before pulling away with a soft nod; making sure his comforting words reach you. With a brief nod, you continue being directed to your seats.

As you and the cast find your seats, located in the middle with fancy chairs and decorum; you thank every high being you can think of when you see your name tag, then Levi's name, sitting right next to you.

"Oh no, look who's sitting next to me," Confused, you look to see Hange pulling in her chair as she sits. Levi, noticing your gaze, nudges your shoulder to redirect your stare. Following it, you find yourself looking back at your name.

"Shut up," You mumble, releasing the hold you have on his arm to smack him slightly, in return he gives you a grin. 

Being sat at one of the tables, in the Dolby Theatre, is as surreal as it might sound. You can't take your eyes off the gravitating stage. You wonder if you'll be standing up there in a bit.

As the night progresses, the time for Best Supporting Actress draws near. You haven't moved from your seat in the dim glow of the theater, too hot and overwhelmed. Levi's hand finds yours again under the table, his grip firm. It feels different this time, probably considering how you're holding his hand rather than grasping onto his forearm.

From the corner of your eye, you can see him watching you, not bothering to watch what's happening on the big stage. "No matter what happens, we celebrate tonight," he assures you, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"I think that's just an excuse for drinking." With a suppressed laugh and a smile matching Levi's, he gives you a snarky glare, he responds with a "watch out" kind of look, and a squeeze of his hand.

The lights dim and brighten, continuing the show even though you feel stuck in one. In this grand theatre, spotlighting the famous and the influential, there you are, seated next to Levi, your hand clasped tightly in his.

It's comical to think about.

As the category for Best Supporting Actress shows up in big bold letters, your heart pounds like it's trying to beat right out of your chest. You can practically hear your blood pumping.

You're nominated this is it; is what goes through your mind over and over, and the reality is as daunting as it is thrilling.

Your palm sweats against Levi's, but he gives your hand another reassuring squeeze. When you glance at him, he offers you a small, confident nod, as if he knows a secret you don't.

The presenter takes the stage, envelope in hand, and the murmur of the room hushes. "And now," the presenter begins, her voice echoing throughout the grand auditorium, "the nominees for Best Supporting Actress."

Your heart skips a beat as your face appears on the screen, a well-known clip from Attack on Titan, Season Four. It shows an emotional moment, a scene that took you weeks to prepare for; and fuck did you do it well, the tears pouring down your face add to the dramatics.

You can hear your cast and others cheer and clap, long before it's interrupted by another face, one of your competitors.

In your peripheral vision, you can see a cameraman waltz towards you, ready to get your reaction to who wins the Oscar. Hopefully, the tablecloths are long.

Your heart pounds in your ears, drowning out the next few moments until the sharp sound of your name cuts through, clear and irrevocable. "And the Oscar goes to. . .,"

The presenter takes so long to open the envelope, to the point where you don't care who wins or loses. You want the anticipation to be over with.

With a tiny cough to clear up her voice, the presenter's voice is loud and clear and she presses her lips close to the mic. ". . . with Attack on Titan!"

At first, you don't even hear your name. Not even realizing you won, you open your closed eyes; that you didn't know were shut, to see multiple eyes staring right at you, the camera now shoved into your face.

A surge of disbelief washes over you, followed swiftly by adrenaline that rockets through your veins. As reality sets in, tears well up in your waterline, a few escape, running down to meet makeup that took your stylist a good hour.

You can't care though, it's a testament to the journey and the struggles that brought you here.

You can't even get up from your seat at first, you just sit trying to process this tremendous wave of emotions. You look to the left of you to see that Levi is already feet before you, his applause thunderous, joined by the cheers of your peers.

As you stand, overwhelmed, he reaches out, cupping your checks gently wiping away your tears with a laugh. "Hey, no tears now, get up there," he teases gently, pulling you into a hug, as you choke up a laugh and hold him right, slightly rocking the both of you right to left.

Letting go of the warmth of his embrace, you give him a smile, ear to ear; hoping it can express the amount of gratitude you hold for him in this moment.

Moving from your seat to approach other members of the cast you love, you hug and thank each one of them that's near as they shout congratulations at you. You know your time is limited; you give one final hug to Armin who's in your reach before speed walking towards the stage.

Making your way up where your face is plastered and a few new clips play, your dress falls long behind you as you rush up the steps, making quick work but not enough to trip and fall over your heels. Walking up to the presenter, you first greet her with a hug and kiss on the cheek. With a few words of congrats, she hands you the award.

Its solid weight feels real in your hands, it's something you'd never imagine having the privilege to hold let alone have. It'll forever be a tangible reminder of the years of hard work and passion you've poured into your career.

Approaching the microphone, you look out at the sea of faces—some familiar, some not—all smiling at you. There's so so so many people, is all you can think of as you release a sigh.

"Wow, um," you let out a laugh, wiping down the tears that continue to flow down. You pause, taking in the light that beams down before you start your speech.

"I honestly don't even know where to start. Thank you so much to the Academy for this incredible honor, to our director, and the amazing cast and crew of Attack on Titan. This is a dream I've never dared to dream."

You pause, collecting your thoughts and the courage to articulate the depth of your gratitude. That's when it hits you.

Your eyes scan the crowd until they rest on Levi. "And I need to say a special thank you to my co-star, Levi Ackerman," you continue, your voice already starting to crack. "Levi, you have been my rock through this entire journey. On-screen, you challenge me to push harder, and off-screen, you keep me sane. I can honestly say I wouldn't be standing here without your friendship and support. Thank you for being so, so amazing."

With a side glance, you see the camera cut from you to Levi, capturing his slight blush and proud smile, expressions that send another wave of cheers through the audience.

"Most importantly, my family and friends. I can't make up the words to describe all my love for you. My parents, who supported me always, and my siblings who even though always tense me," you smile at the memories, "were the ones always there. And as always, the fans. I would never be here without all of you, I love each and every one of you from the bottom of my heart!"

As you finish your speech, the crowd erupts into applause. The noise is so loud, and with the few people yelling their hearts out, it's a moment of realization that this is real. You feel a hot blush rising your neck as you take a few bows, before hushing off backstage.

You are greeted with a glass of champagne, as camera crews gather around, calling your name in all different directions to try and snap a photo of you still holding the Oscar before you take off for interviews.

There, it seems like a press conference. More people are there than before, and many of them are out with microphones and notepads already prepared. You hear a few clicks of photos being taken as you answer questions, but you can't help but laugh when they ask about Levi and the special shoutout you gave him. "I had to give what was due," was your answer.

Finally being released, you're escorted backstage to your seat, in doing so, a few give you bright smiles and nods of compliments for your win. You return them all with smiley whites.

As you arrive back at your table, some of the members of your cast excitingly greet you, reaching out their hands with yours to give praise.

When the previous moments seem to have died down, you can focus on Levi. Who's been patiently waiting for his turn. When your eyes fall on him, you know the words before it comes out of his mouth.

"Told you," he murmurs, as he takes your free hand in his, his pride in you shining brightly. "I still can't believe it," as he places both of your hands onto his lap, you take the next step to intertwine them.

You don't know what his reaction was to it, since you looked away as soon as you made the move, embarrassment written across your features. You feel accomplished when he doesn't show any sign of breaking it.

Levi leans over, whispering, "How does it feel, Oscar-winning actress?"

You chuckle, a light, bubbly sound that matches the champagne bubbles you'd enjoyed earlier. "It feels like I'm dreaming. Don't let me wake up, okay?"

Levi's response is a soft, genuine laugh. "I won't. We're just getting started, you know."

- ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱᴋɪᴘ -

The shots you took with Connie, Sasha, and Jean are taking a toll on your body now. You feel tipsy, well that's what you're hoping. It's not that dizzy, but the occasional bumping into people/things and apologizing with slurred words shows you're not sober.

As the glittering after-party unfolds around you, the music thrumming and laughter echoing under the luxurious chandeliers,

You can feel someone's intense gaze fixated on you. When you move your eyes to search for the culprit, you find Levi's eyes rock hard on you.

Realizing you're now straight directly at him, he excuses himself from a group of producers and makes his way to you. Your heart races a bit, a reaction you're still getting used to despite the months of filming together.

"Need some air?" he asks, a knowing smile tugging at his lips as if he can read your mind. Without waiting for your reply, he nods toward a quieter balcony area. You follow, grateful for a break from the overwhelming crowd.

The cool night air is a welcoming relief, the city lights below providing a soft, romantic backdrop that you try not to read too much into.

The cold air feels blissful as it hits your skin, you know you should have something to cover yourself, but the feelings to nice to let go. Plus, the way Levi's aligned shoulder to shoulder with you making his body height seep onto yours, you know you can last a few more moments here.

Yet, there's an undeniable tension at the moment, made clearer when Levi turns to you with a look of admiration. "You did amazing tonight, by the way. That speech was something else."

You smile, touched by his words. Trying to hide the obvious attempt of panic, you knew he was going to bring up the shoutout you gave him. You just didn't know if you were ready to face it. "I was just speaking from the heart. But thank you, Levi. I couldn't have gotten through tonight without you."

He nods, his gaze lingering on yours. "It's not just tonight. You know that, right? You've got this energy about you. It's like—infectious, and makes everyone around better. Made me better."

His words seem to send a shock through your body as you slowly digest his words. As silence warps around the two of you, you quickly change the subject in hopes he won't can't a glimpse of your body becoming suspiciously flush.

"Remember that time during filming when Sasha accidentally set fire to the catering tent?" you ask, a fond smile playing on your lips.

You turn your head from the view to look at Levi. Who has yet to say a word in the comfortable silence, keeping his eyes fixed on you? He snaps out of it quickly, seeming startled by your words before making his face fall back into one normal.

His lips quirk into a grin, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "How could I forget?" he replies, a hint of laughter in his voice. "It took hours to put out the flames, and poor Hange nearly lost their eyebrows in the process."

As your laughter begins to subside, Levi's expression turns thoughtful, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. "Remember that time during the blooper reel when Marco accidentally tripped over his own feet and knocked over the entire set?"

The memory hits you like a wave, and you can't help but burst into laughter, tears streaming down your cheeks. "Oh my gosh, yes!" you gasp between fits of laughter. "And then Petra tried to save him, but ended up falling on top of him instead!"

Levi joins in your laughter, the sound filling the air with a warmth that seems to wrap around you like a comforting embrace. And as you both stare at each other, a few tears of laughter streaming down your faces, you realize just how lucky you are to have someone like Levi by your side—someone who knows you inside and out, who can make you laugh even in the darkest of times, and who is always there to wipe away your tears, whether they're from laughter or something else entirely.

The moment stretches between you, filled with unspoken words and hints of tension that seem to hang in the air like a delicate tapestry, woven from the threads of friendship and maybe something underlying more. As Levi's hand brushes away the tear from your cheek, you reminisce from when he cupped your cheek when facing the shock of winning.

You feel a fluttering in your chest, a warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the cool night air as you feel your eyelids become jaded.

His touch lingers, the pad of his thumb tracing a gentle path along your cheekbone, and you find yourself leaning into his touch, your eyes now fluttering closed at the sensation.

His other hand finds its way sneaking to your waist, pulling you softly a fraction closer, and you feel the heat of his body seeping through the thin fabric of your dress.

With a shy, tentative smile, you reach up as your hazy eyes open to meet his. Your fingers tangling in the soft strands of his jet-black hair. The gesture is instinctual, a silent invitation that speaks volumes more than words ever could.

Yeah, you'd had your hands in his hair for multiple shots in Attack on Titan, and as much as it was a familiar feeling, it was one way more intimate.

Levi's eyes darken slightly at the touch, his gaze dropping to your lips before flickering back up to meet yours, seeking permission with his eyes.

You can feel your heart pound in your chest as you nod, the movement barely exaggerated but enough to convey your consent. And then, finally, he closes the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that feels warm; it was worth the wait.

It starts slow, a gentle exploration of lips and breath, each touch sending sparks flying through you like fireworks. You can't think of anything but him, Levi, and how his lips touch yours.

His hand cups your cheek, his touch warm and reassuring, while the other settles at the small of your back, drawing you closer until there's barely an inch of space between you.

The kiss deepens, fueled by a growing hunger that seems to consume you both, a fire that burns brighter with each passing moment. Your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer, while his grip on your waist tightens, anchoring you to him as if afraid to let go.

The both of you pause for a moment, catching your breath but not making any move to interrupt the position you're in. As Levi grips your waist tightly, he pulls you in for a kiss.

For a moment, the world falls away, leaving just the two of you suspended in a bubble of time and space, a universe unto yourselves where nothing else matters except the warmth of each other's touch and the softness of each other's lips.

You slightly move your head to the right, permitting him to go deeper than it already is. He gets the message, lips moving together, faster, as if they were made to be locked on one another.

And oh, do you wish you could last here in this moment forever.

Just as suddenly as it began, the "spell" is broken by the discreet click of a camera shutter from somewhere inside. You pull away, breathless and flushed, your eyes meeting Levi's in a silent exchange that speaks volumes more than words ever could.

Silence greets you both, as you both catch your breath for the second time. You ignore the camera, only focusing on what's more important. Levi breaks first, grinning as he stares at you up and down, then moves his eyes to peer up.

"Guess we should have checked for paparazzi," Levi murmurs, a playful glint in his eyes as he brushes a stray strand of hair from your face that fell.

You laugh softly, the sound a mix of nerves and excitement as you lean against him, arms wrapping around his neck. Without hesitation, he wraps his arms around your waist tightly. In the stillness of it all, you can feel the steady beat of his heart. "Yeah," you agree, your voice barely above a whisper. "But no regrets."

"None at all," he confirms, his arms giving you one more reassuring squeeze.

- ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱᴋɪᴘ -

The next morning when you wake up, you feel as if your head is about to pound out of your head. It's like you can still hear the remnants of champagne and laughter (and multiple shots sitting in the back of your throat that you drank down) You turn annoyed to find your phone buzzing relentlessly on the nightstand.

Squinting, you pick it up to find a barrage of messages and missed calls. The top one from Hange captures your attention with its flurry of emojis and exclamation points.

[glasses]: "YOU TWO ARE TRENDING!!! BTW, when TFFF did this happen OMG!!!!

Attached is a link to a gossip site, the headline screaming about the 'intimate moment caught between AOT stars at the Oscars after-party.' The photo shows you and Levi on the balcony, mid-kiss, a moment that felt intensely private now splashed across the internet.

Your heart sinks a bit at the intrusion but warms at the memory. You knew this was bound to happen, but couldn't it have waited a day or two? You're about to type a response when another message from Hange pops up.

[glasses]: "Prepare for paparazzi madness today! 😂 And call me! Need ALLLL the deets!!!!!!!"

You toss the phone aside, landing on your bed as you groan into your pillow. The weight of the newfound public scrutiny settling in. But then you remember Levi's lips on yours, the genuine connection in his eyes, and you can't help but slightly smile.

No matter what the public says or thinks, last night you found a new depth to your relationship with Levi, one that went beyond cameras and scripts. And for now, that was enough to face whatever the day would bring.

@siythn all rights reserved!

[therealcocoshady]

RED CARPET APPEARANCE 🎥

Eminem x Young Actress Reader

This is Part 2 of Daddy's Spaghetti 🥰

Synopsis : You argue with Em about a red carpet appearance at the Oscars.

The last thing you wanted was to argue with your boyfriend right before going to the Oscars, but there you were. Lately, the two of you had been arguing quite a bit. To be fair, both of you were working a lot and being in a long distance relationship didn’t help. Not only did you have to manage hectic schedules, you also had to deal with time difference and last minute changes in plans. You had been dating Marshall for a few months now and you weren’t too sure how long things would last. Sure, when you were together, things were great, but actually getting together seemed impossible, these days. Right when you thought you could both make time, there was always something coming up, like an unplanned studio session, a meeting, or God knows what else. It didn’t help either that Marshall was paranoid about the two of you being seen together. 

After more than a decade in the spotlight and living in Los Angeles, you were used to paparazzi and having your picture taken whenever you were running errands. Of course, sometimes, it was annoying, but you had learned to live with it. Marshall, on the other hand, in spite of having a career lasting over twenty-five years was as paranoid as one could get. It was one of the many reasons why he hated being in Los Angeles and always tried to get you to come to Detroit instead, along with the weather being too hot. In truth, you didn’t mind going to Michigan or spending a lot of time inside, just the two of you. This time, however, you wished he would be the one making an effort. You were nominated for an Oscar for the first time and it was a big night for you. You knew he wasn’t a big fan of public appearances but you wished he would agree to coming with you. After all, he was a nominee himself - for the same movie as you, mind you - and everyone pretty much knew about your relationship, even though none of you had officially confirmed it. To you, there was no reason not to walk the red carpet together. However, when you asked him if he would be your date to the Academy Awards, he wasn’t too enthusiast. In fact, all you got from him was a « erm, I don’t know. We’ll see. Let me think about it. ». And after giving it some thought, he decided not to go with you, breaking it to you over FaceTime, three days before the event. He brought up a bunch of reasons, like having a studio session with Dre that might run late and prevent him from making it in time, hating the red carpet anyway and not wanting to be paraded in a suit that made him look like a penguin. He did not seem to care that you having to take someone else as your date would mean you wouldn’t be sitting next to each other or that you would have wanted him to be by your side. You were mad. You had always known he didn’t really care about awards and public appearances, but you wished he would make an effort for you. Him being set in his ways made you feel like he wouldn’t put you first, just for once. 

Do you even want to be with me ? You blurted out after he told you to find another date. 

What the fuck ? He asked with disbelief all over his face. What does that have to do with that damn red carpet, Y/N ? 

You cancelled the last time you were supposed to come to LA, you’re never available and now you won’t even make an effort for me, you explained. If you don’t want to be with me anymore, just say so… 

You’re so dramatic, they better give you that Oscar, he groaned. Not everything is about you, you know ? I’m working my ass off to get the album done in time, I don’t need you complaining over a stupid red carpet appearance. 

Oh I’m being dramatic ? You asked as you stared at his face on the screen. I’ll give you drama : you can book a hotel room and forget about all the nasty things you were planning on doing to me in bed for next time we were supposed to see each other. 

Whatever, he said as he rolled his eyes. Just go and rehearse your acceptance speech. I have to go anyway. I have Dre calling on the other line. I’ll call you later. 

He did try to call you a couple of hours later, but you didn’t feel like picking up. You were still pissed off and, frankly, a little stressed out too. After all, he hadn’t answered your question about wanting to be with you. You knew you’d have to talk to him at some point - and get to the bottom of the situation, but you also didn’t want to break up over the phone merely three days before one of the most important events of your life. Whatever it was, it could wait until after the Oscars. 

You ended up walking the red carpet with your older brother as your date. The two of you were extremely close and he had always been your plus one to events. It sort of made sense to go to the Oscars with him, even though you would have loved to have Marshall by your side. Your big brother was all smiles as he watched you pose for the photographers in a stunning custom Alaïa dress. However, your attire or possible Best Actress win wasn’t exactly the main focus of the journalists, who were yelling questions about your boyfriend who was nowhere to be found. 

Where is Eminem, Y/N ? One asked. Is he coming tonight ? 

Are the two of you together ? Another yelled. 

You didn’t answer the questions about him, only the ones about your nomination, how you’d feel about winning, the movie and your outfit. You tried to focus on the positives and everything this night meant for your career, but you had a hard time focusing. All you wanted was Marshall’s hand in yours and him to be by your side. Hell, you had even picked the dress color because you thought he would like it. You knew that blue was his favorite color and had figured that, if the two of you were to walk the red carpet together, it would make his eyes pop. 

Breathe, your brother said. You look tense. Is this about Em ? 

Just call him by his name, you said as you rolled his eyes. You’ve met him. 

Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to be your date and enjoy the open bar, he continued, but you look… upset ? 

I think he wants to break up with me, you said nervously. 

No he doesn’t, your brother scoffed. Where did you get that from ? 

Well, he’s never available, he didn’t want to be here with me tonight, and he called me dramatic, and… 

First of all, you are dramatic, your brother chuckled. Also, you know he’s working a lot… 

I should have known better than to ask his biggest fan for support, you said as you rolled your eyes. 

Just shut up and focus on your big night, sis, he said with a smile. My baby sister might be getting the biggest award there is for being dramatic, tonight. Now, I think we should focus on that, as well as the fact that stylists managed to make you look presentable. 

Your brother’s weird encouragement was a good way to make you smile, and the glasses of champagne waiters kept on handing you did a great job when it came to taking the edge off. You were taken to your seats and the ceremony began. You kept nervously searching for Marshall in the crowd but you didn’t manage to spot him. Was he skipping the whole thing ? Your mind wandered as the ceremony unfolded and you were soon on autopilot. It was your first time attending the Academy Awards and this had to be the longest ceremony ever. The only entertaining things were the various performances. Your heart skipped a beat when you heard the music of Marshall’s song - the one he had written for the movie. He was not supposed to perform tonight - this had not been announced - but he was on stage, rapping the song that got him his second Oscars nomination exactly twenty years after winning Best Original Song for Lose Yourself. The crowd was wild and you were excited as well. Seeing him on stage made you forget how mad at him you were and you were back to being his number one fan, gushing over how good he looked and rapping the lyrics at the same time, like the groupie you very much were. His performance got him a standing ovation and, twenty minutes and a commercial break later, he was back on stage, accepting the award for Best Original Song. Only this time, he was conforming to the Academy’s dress code, looking dapper in a tux. He might hate this type of outfit, but no one could deny he looked absolutely incredible. One detail did catch your eye : the bow tie he was wearing was made of the same fabric as your dress. He was matching with you ! 

When you wouldn’t return his calls, he called me to ask who you were going to wear, your brother told you. 

He did ? You squeed. 

Yep. Not the kind of thing anyone who wants to break up with you would do, I think. I’m not supposed to tell you, but he’s got another one to match your second dress, too… 

You couldn’t help but smile. The fact that he would go out of his way to call your brother, as well as the dressmakers to have a bowtie matching your dress was absolutely adorable. You couldn’t keep your eyes off Marshall, who was giving a heartfelt speech about how great it felt to have the Academy acknowledge hip-hop and how grateful he was to have the opportunity to be on this stage, two decades after Lose Yourself won. His speech was just like him : elegant and understated. When he went back to his seat, you could see him search for you in the crowd and you waved quietly, sending him a kiss. You couldn’t wait to go and hug him. 

Can’t you behave ? Your brother chuckled. There’s cameras, Y/N. And try not to eye fuck him or drool, this time, will you ? 

I’ll try, you giggled. 

You were almost in agony the rest of the night and the two of you kept looking  and smiling at each other. As always when the two of you were in the same room, you were unable to take your eyes off him for a single second. You didn’t pay much attention to anything else that was going on, so much so that you almost missed your name being called for Best Actress. Everyone around you got up and cheered for you and you were lost. You had actually won an Oscar ?! You ? It didn’t feel right. Bit it was indeed, your name on the screen, and people kept on looking at you. Your brother had to help you get up as you came to your senses and realized that your childhood dream had come true. You made your way to the stage as tears of joy were welling in your eyes. You were almost shaking with nerves as you started your acceptance speech. You had one written and memorized but you couldn’t remember it for the life of you. You spotted Marshall in the crowd, who was smiling and looking at you with pride in his eyes, mouthing a silent « I love you ». 

I… Wow, you said nervously into the microphone. I can’t believe this is happening. I had something really heartfelt, clever and funny written but I can’t remember a single word so please bear with me. Hum… Standing here, on this stage, holding this award is a childhood dream come true. First, I want to thank my family who has always supported my passion, and I’d like to thank everyone in Hollywood that gave me a chance to act. And everyone who didn’t. In fact, I want to acknowledge every person who doubted me. And every boyfriend of mine who called me dramatic. There have been a few, and you best believe I’m creating a group chat tonight and telling them that I actually got an award for being dramatic and made it my full-time job. Um… What else ? Oh, uh, thank you to my manager, assistant, glam squad… Shout out to Alaïa for getting me into this dress tonight, and shout out to Marshall Mathers who will be taking it off me tonight. Dreams do come true, guys ! 

The crowd erupted in cheers and laughter and you could see Marshall laughing before you exited the stage. When you made it backstage, you took a moment to sit and realize what just happened. You had won an Oscar. Oh, and you had accidentally mentioned Marshall taking off your clothes. On stage. While million of people probably watched the ceremony on TV… Oops. A few people came to congratulate you, though you were quickly ushered back to your seat for the remainder of the ceremony. The movie you were in did not end up winning Best Picture, but you easily got over your disappointment. When the ceremony ended, you were swarmed by an army of people who came to congratulate you. You even got to hug Meryl Streep and tell her how she was the one who made you want to act in the first place, and this was definitely the highlight of your night. Your brother had gotten out of your sight and was enjoying the open bar, as he always did whenever he came with you to an event. When the crowd began to vacate, you had a moment to yourself. That’s when you spotted your boyfriend. 

Congratulations, he said as he pulled you into his arms. 

Congratulations to you too, you said giddily. You were amazing on stage ! 

As were you, he replied with a smile. Great speech, by the way… 

Oh my God, I am so sorry, you said. I forgot my speech, and I-I… Are you mad ? 

It’s fine, he chuckled. You’re way too adorable for me to be mad. 

Really ? You asked nervously. I know how you are about privacy… 

Really, he said reassuringly. And with you looking like this… ? I am glad everyone knows you’re spoken for. 

I think they got the idea when they saw you matching with me, you said with excitement. 

You like it ? He asked with a smile. I had to ask your brother and harass the dressmakers. They hate me. 

He told me, you said giddily. And I know you have another one to match my dress for the afterparty, too… 

If you still want me as your date, that is, he pointed out. 

I do, you giggled. But I’m going to need your help to get out of this dress and into the other… 

Let’s go, then. 

He grabbed your hand and you walked out of the theater, holding your awards, while an army of journalists were screaming to get your attention. You half-expected Marshall to let go of your hand, knowing how guarded he was when it came to the press, but he only squeezed it tighter before grabbing you by the waist as you made your way to a car. 

Em, how are you feeling tonight ? A journalist asked. 

Have you seen my date ? I’m great, man, he grinned as he looked at you lovingly. 

VIDEO : WATCH AS EMINEM GUSHES OVER Y/N AFTER THE OSCARS

Eminem & Y/N have officially confirmed their relationship ! The couple did not walk the red carpet together but they certainly made a memorable exit, as Eminem gushed over his date to journalists while not letting go of her. This happened after Y/N hinted at Em taking her Alaïa dress off her in her acceptance speech. While the Rap God did not mention his girlfriend in his own speech, he certainly appeared in love. While known for his stoic face, he was seen smiling all evening, especially when they made their way to the Vanity Fair afterparty (almost an hour late, mind you…)  in matching outfits. And if he does not seem like one to kiss and tell, no one missed Y/N’s lipstick all over his mouth, nor the hickies in his neck. 

That night was a big one for the rapper and the movie star, as they both took home statues, respectively for Best Original Song and Best Actress. And from the looks of it, they certainly celebrated. 

[avatar-anna]

young mom or professor !!

It was a busy afternoon at the Styles residence. Hair and makeup teams were running around, style teams were laying out last-minute options in case he or Y/n wished to change their outfit ideas for the night, and obviously, his most important team was hard at work to get him ready.

"Stay still, Daddy!" Collette, his second daughter said, looking up at him with a pout.

"Sorry, sorry. I'll try my best," Harry said, nodding for her to continue painting his nails. He peered down at her, eyeing the careful work she was doing. "You're quite good at this, you know."

Collette didn't look up from his hand, but Harry saw her smile, one that was nearly identical to her mother's if it wasn't for the dimples in her cheeks. "Thank you."

Before he could respond, Harry's chin was being tilted up by Simone. "This should make the bags under your eyes go away," she said, placing gel masks just under his eyes.

Harry tried not to frown at the implication that he had bags under his eyes to begin with. He never thought his daughters would be so brutally honest, but they never minced their words, especially when it came to his appearance.

So instead of opening that can of worms, he asked who was helping their mum get ready.

"The twins, but I think it's more pretend," Simone said, combing his eyebrows in place with a little brush.

"I see," he mumbled. "Well, thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to help me look pretty."

In truth, Simone was so excited about Harry going to the Grammys, she wanted to be a part of it in some way, shape, or form. She wouldn't be able to go, as that would stir up a media frenzy. For the first time, though, Harry had considered risking it all just so he could have a Daddy-daughter date tonight. Ultimately, he decided that it was better to keep that secret a secret, though he did have to promise to get Olivia Rodrigo's autograph and bring it home by the end of the night to make up for Simone not going. How he was going to manage that, he had no idea.

Still, it was a big night, for many reasons. Not only was Harry nominated for some of the night's biggest awards, Y/n was also joining him, marking their first public appearance. Ever.

His wife had been nervous, and rightfully so, but Harry wanted her to be there, wanted to spend this night with the people he loved, and there was no one else he loved more than Y/n. Except for his children, obviously.

So Y/n was in a different room getting her hair and makeup done, preparing for a night no one would soon forget while Harry was letting his two oldest children pamper him before he had to get dressed.

"Do you know what your mum is wearing? She refuses to tell me," Harry said. Simone seemed to be done with his face for the time being and was helping Collette paint his nails.

"We're not going to tell you, either!" Collette said.

Harry frowned playfully. "And that is why Julian is my favorite. He would've told me."

The girls giggled before continuing on. When it came time for Harry to start getting dressed in his red carpet outfit—a fun jumpsuit that passed voting from all six of his children (mostly four because Geneva and Natalia couldn't talk yet, but they seemed as excited as they could be)—Simone and Collette watched with wide eyes. The hair and makeup teams, who were all under strict NDAs, were incredibly kind to Harry's daughters and even styled their hair and put a little blush and lip gloss on them. Harry could only be glad that they got to have a small part of this whole experience.

He was ready in no time, and suddenly it was time to go. Harry waited patiently and anxiously downstairs as the time to walk on the red carpet drew nearer. He was nervous about tonight for so many reasons, but all he could think about was what revealing such a well-kept secret would mean for his family.

Had they really thought this through? Did Y/n want to come tonight or was she humoring Harry? Would she be more comfortable watching from a dressing room? Or even here at home? What if something happened to GiGi or Natalia or Maeve—

"Harry?"

All his thoughts came to a halt as his wife appeared in front of him, brows furrowed with concern.

And as he blinked, taking her in for the first time since she disappeared to get ready, the only thought he was capable of thinking was he was pretty sure he'd just fallen in love all over again.

Y/n had secretly gone to a handful of events for years, they'd gone to dates at fancy restaurants, and had attended weddings that required dressing up. But all of those times Y/n had dressed to blend into the background so as not to raise suspicion. Tonight, however...

Tonight Y/n was meant to stand out, was meant to be noticed. She was in a dress of gauzy, white fabric that gathered in ruffles all the way down until the gown hit the floor. The fabric was light enough to see just a hint of skin, but not enough to reveal much, though Harry could identify every curve and dip her body made. She was ethereal, an angel in white, almost like—

"It almost looks like a wedding dress, huh?" Y/n mused, twisting so the gown swished back and forth on the floor. "Don't know if I would've worn this to our wedding, though."

Harry and Y/n never had a big white wedding. They'd snuck out to a courthouse one afternoon while One Direction was touring, with Niall and Louis as their witnesses while Liam distracted everyone at the hotel. It was small and rushed, and the judge definitely thought the couple was much too young to be getting married. They didn't even have rings, as a wedding band on Harry's finger would be completely unacceptable. But none of that mattered as they both recited the vows they prepared and sealed their union with a kiss.

Her jokes did the trick, and Harry's brain began functioning normally once more. He grinned and took her hand so she could spin and show him the whole thing. "The judge definitely would've raised his eyebrows."

Years went by and they never had a vow renewal. Since Harry had bought out his contract with One Direction's management, he'd wanted to have a proper wedding, but there was just never any time. And now that they were six kids in, free time was a pipe dream, though they were the kind of busy he would never be sorry for.

Tonight, though, in this dress, Y/n looked like she could walk down an aisle, and Harry was nearly tempted to run upstairs and grab the velvet box he'd had since he was seventeen years old.

"If you're not ready, I completely understand," he said.

"I'm nervous about tonight," Y/n admitted, and with one look at her face, Harry could see the anxiety written all over it.

They could keep the secret going, he could brave this night with Kid and Jeffrey and it would be great. He would miss Y/n and the rest of his family, but he would manage as he always did.

Y/n shook her head, and Harry's shoulders sagged just the tiniest bit with relief. "I want to be with you tonight. This is a big deal."

"It's nothing—"

"Don't do that," Y/n chided, holding Harry's face in her hands. "Don't minimize what a great achievement just being nominated is."

Y/n knew Harry like no one else. She knew he would try to downplay tonight if it made her worry about him less, but this was his big night. Win or lose, she was immensely proud of him, he had to know that.

"I'm coming, you just have to promise to hold my hand the entire night," she said.

Harry grinned. "What if I win and have to make a big speech?"

She wrapped her hands around his neck, her fingers tangling in the soft strands of his hair. "Then and only then can you let go. Oh, and for your performance. But that's it."

"I think I can make that work."

Harry leaned in, his nose brushing against Y/n's teasingly until she pressed her lips against his. They were hardly brushing when the sound of footsteps hurtled down the stairs.

"Mommy! Simone says she gets to stay up all night to watch the show and I don't!"

"You're not old enough, Collette!"

"Neither are you!"

"Daddy, don't go," Julian cried, tugging on Harry's pant leg. He gave Y/n a look as they pulled apart to attend to their children. Sweeping Jules into his arms, he gave his only son a kiss on the cheek, which was already sticky with shed tears.

"Don't cry, Julian," he said softly, pushing the boy's thick hair from his face. "We won't be gone long. I promise."

Julian continued to cry, nuzzling his nose into the crook of Harry's neck, and Harry whispered softly into his ear until his son's little heart stopped beating so wildly in his chest. Jules hiccuped as Harry walked over to see that the argument between Maeve and Collette had been settled, and they were now admiring Y/n in her dress.

"I wish I could take you with me, Jules, but I don't think you'd like it very much," Harry said. He tried to set his son down, but his little legs clung to Harry's waist even tighter. "It'll be loud with lots of bright lights and not a chicken nugget in sight. I think it's best you stay home, don't you think?"

Julian nodded, but he was still clinging to Harry, who shot a look of desperation to his wife. Harry loved all of his children dearly, but they were on a tight schedule.

Y/n understood and took Julian into her arms, not at all worried about the couture dress she was wearing. She took him back upstairs where the babysitter was with Geneva and Natalia and Maeve. When she came back down a couple minutes later, Julian was gone.

"Poor thing tired himself out," she explained. Then, to her two oldest children, she said, "The second the last acceptance speech is done, up to bed. Understood?"

Simone and Collette nodded, then rushed forward to hug Y/n and Harry before ushering them out of the house, telling them to say hi to Auntie Lizzo.

As promised, Harry took Y/n's hand as they walked to the car that would take them to the theater that was hosting the Grammys. She looked at him appreciatively, resting her head on his shoulder as the car pulled away from their house.

"I'm proud of you," she said out of the blue. "If I don't get the chance to say it when you win, when you win," she repeated when Harry tried to object. "I just want you to know how proud I am of you, and not just as an artist, but as a dad and a husband too. You're one in a million, H, and I'm so happy I get to be a small part of that."

Harry was speechless. There was nothing to say that would express how much he appreciated Y/n, so he settled for a kiss. His hand was steady as he cradled the back of her head, his lips immediately finding the familiar place around her bottom lip. He suddenly wished Y/n's dress didn't have so much fabric so he could have better access to her, but he settled for trailing his hands up and down her arms and kissing all along her jaw and neck and chest until she eventually pulled him up again.

"This is one way to settle nerves," she joked, thumb grazing his jaw.

"Let me know if your nerves need any more settling throughout the night. We can sneak away during commercial breaks."

Y/n shook her head at the look Harry gave her, the same one that landed her pregnant six times. "I'll keep that in mind."

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.**.*.*.*.*.*.*.**.*.*.*.*.*.*.**.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Harry took a bow at the end of his performance, then straightened. His eyes trailed the room back to where his table was, finding Y/n's gaze instantly. Her hands were clasped together tightly, covering the bright smile on her face.

Looking at her, his heart settled. He'd gotten lost in the heat of the performance, but she always managed to bring him back down to earth.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.**.*.*.*.*.*.*.**.*.*.*.*.*.*.**.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Before he could think about it, he pressed his fingers to his mouth, then gestured out, blowing a kiss to his wife. Not caring who was watching, Y/n reached up and grabbed the kiss out of the air and placed it on her chest, her eyes crinkling even further as she continued to smile from ear to ear.

"So, Harry, talk to us a little about how it feels to win Album of the Year."

Harry gave his answer, talking about how surprised he was to win and what it meant to him that his music meant so much to people. Y/n thought it was cute how he stumbled over his words, trying to piece together how he felt.

"And how do you plan to celebrate? Can we expect to see you at any after parties tonight?"

"Uh, no. It's back home to the little ones for me," he said, the answer rolling off his tongue before it was too late.

"Little ones?"

"My, um, my cats. I have a few cats that are practically my children. I'll be celebrating with them tonight."

"There's no way in hell anyone is gonna believe that," Y/n muttered to Jeff, who was holding his head in his hands, not unlike Harry had when he won earlier.

"Well, Harry, we wish you all the best!"

"Thank you, I appreciate that," he said before shuffling away from the press room.

[calcium-chan]

DRAWMEGLE DUMP FROM LIKEFORVER AGO

drawmegle was this weird little website that was like omegle, except for drawing and nominally fewer nazis?? tho at launch that was a bit of an issue lol (idk the creator went on vacation right after advertising or something? oops). i got sucked into it for like a day or two and ended up drawing a bunch of stuff. ive lost some of it because there was this weird glitch that just deleted my drawings before i could save them or anything. OH WELL. thats also the reason some of these are slightly unfinished. im also going to be cropping most of these to just my side, exceptions where its funny, or the other persons art was nice or whatever. just know that these almost all had people on the other side who were also drawing their own thing. also of note, i wont be posting these in order of creation, its mostly arbitrary tbh

this first one is of haru from dorohedodo. i had just finished reading the manga about a month or so prior, and i really loved this character a lot. disregard the amogus or whatever. dorohedoro is really cool and its really special to me now. not a fan of the anime adaption but what the fuck else is new (im sorry if you like the anime, i just didnt like the style very much). Q hayashida is brilliant, and she clearly just really loves women like a lot, thank you miss Q!

next is this silly drawing of knives chau. scott pilgrim takes off had just aired, and i was slightly enamored with knives for a bit, i kin the scott pilgrim girl fucking sue me. i also drew kim, but the drawing deleted and this was the last save i had WAHOOOOOO its so fucking over. scott pilgrim takes off was obviously really really good in my opinion, and its like the perfect way to adapt an original work in my mind. uh shout outs knives or whatever.

oops shitty cowboy bebop drawing. i like this one well enough for how goofy it is. jets fucking face still kinda gets me. i love bebop a ton, but i dont think ive ever drawn the characters despite that. theyre actually a ton of fun to draw, like their shapes are all super varied and they have distinct style about them. very good cast of characters. i didnt even realize or mean to, but i kinda gave spike a fucking granny face, oops

uuuuhthese pissing dogs are really funny, they were fun to draw, and seeing peoples reactions to this one in particular was cool. having even a little bit of ability to draw on sites like this where randos are looking at your work as youre drawing it is always kind of an ego boost. like none of these drawings are really that great, but for the medium im happy with them, and having people show up and go "woah" was always really flattering and it was fun watching the other people draw and interacting with them in some limited capacity.

ggggundam bullshit. i left the other persons side this time because i thought it was kinda funny. i had been rewatching the early part of turn A gundam, and it really reminded me how fucking cool that series is? loran is like top 10 gender non conforming mech pilots (there are a surprising amount honestly). and it always kinda takes me off guard when i watch any gundam because they were just so forward thinking in a nominally "boy" coded genre. shoutouts the fucking gundam staff frfr.

@oretal joined me for these next two!

a lot of the shit in the second drawing is probably totally incomprehensible to like anyone outside of a select group. were both have that like, 3ds era nintendo brain parasite, so a lot of these are just weird obscure game characters or memes, or just straight up OCs. most of these are actually oretals little characters which have kind of entered that inside joke canon of being so ubiquitous between the two of us (and honestly i assume oretals friend group at large) that i kinda forget "glasses girl" isnt a well known character. many such cases. thank you oretal for drawing silly shit with me! i really like your drawing of james and your madotsuki yapping about blunt rotations to uboa. very cool

uuuh quick fire round of stuff i dont like how i drew but want to post anyways. the first one is my irl husband, aki from chainsaw man. i love him a lot, kinda hate this drawing tho, i think it was the first one i did? the second one is basil from omori, im a big fan of little blorbos who peep the horror, and basil is no exception. my friend got me the little vinyl figure of him for my birthday so i end up thinking about him a lot and i doodle him every now and then. very good design. the last one is kiruko from heavenly delusion. i did not have much hype going into the show after my middling feelings on summertime rendering (they were both in the news for being on disney+ for absolutely no reason). i dont remember what got me to watch it, but by the time episode 2 ended i was stuck in big time. i ended up binging the whole series in like one night and it was such a good time. the prototypical calcium show is probably somewhere between heavenly delusion and made in abyss. its a rough watch at times, but if you have this specific brainrot, its probably one of the best in its league tbh.

second to last is this drawing of vriska homestuck. i kept the other side because it was really pretty. im genuinely quite pleased witht his drawing, its not perfect but for what it is i find it visually appealing enough to like it. vriskas design is probably the best in homestuck, at least to me. its been a long time since ive read through homestuck proper, but something about these little shits sticks with you pretty much forever. actual fucking deadly brain parasites you get from dunking your head underwater in an infested pool, dead within days.

OOPS ALL KUMI CHAN! it had to be alien nine, it could only be alien nine. i love alien nine more than i love any of my blood relatives. kumi is literally me, i love this stupid fucking series so much you have no idea.

[satocidal]

𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ * ࣭ 𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ * ࣭“It’s ok” — Nanami Kento

A/n: idk why this is so short it what this is—I just know my man is supportive (listen to have longer pieces in the works ok😭? I just had a thought and yes)

[TW: hinted pregnancy]

He had you wrapped up tight in a blanket, steaming hot tea on the stove and an array of snacks at your hand—and he sat beside you worried.

Worried, with the glasses almost tipping off the bridge if his nose and face peering deep into the screen he had open—“it says your symptoms could be seasonal sickness, or…uh, potentially cancer,”

A snort—yours, snorted throughout the room, and then a choked cough—“Ken, mm’ telling you it’s just that I’m a little nauseated but that’s all,” a smile you pass—his eyes never leaving the screen once as his finger continued scrolling—“it’s all ok Kento, im fine,”

“I'm thoroughly sure it isn’t cancer my love,” his words were lowered slight, “but,” a pause, heavy—“it could be something else,”

An eyebrow cocked, your smile faltering slight, “something…else?”

It was then that he kept the phone aside entirely—body turning towards you, “how have you been feeling? Like…overall?”

“Overall?” A hesitant “sore slightly,” you added—a nod and the soothing circles on your hand beckoned you closer—suddenly the temperature seemed to have dropped drastically.

“Soreness…where, abdominal?” Now that question was sudden—new, you couldn’t help but nod to it though, “uhm, yes? But it’s probably because my period- wait,”

Your period…you’d missed it this month, how could you forget? Oh but you did.

The stress you’d blamed it, a nominal lie so to say.

And he did, patiently, waiting for you catch onto what he was drifting about—“you don’t think,” you passed aside—“do you want to test it love? It’s better if we…”

Your eyes panned into his, slight concern tugged behind his voice, you fined.

“What if…?”

“Then we’ll do do as you want, it’s ok, everything is ok—you’re here and I am, it’s ok,”

The silence wasn’t comforting this time—Kento was, not as much as you’d have liked but he was.

“It’s kept in the drawer…” he must’ve known for the moment you turned to the side- to direct him, he held it there already in his hands, two tests.

“I’ll be here, outside, waiting,”

A nod, quiet—oh how you wanted it to be seasonal cold instead—but oh how you wanted it to be something else too.

Something for you, for Kento- together.

All of this work is original and entirely my own please refrain from copying or reposting.

Likes and Reblogs highly appreciated!

[cosmicanemoia]

Strange Encounter

Amelia Shepherd x Reader

Love Me Till You Leave Me part 1

Amelia stands up from her seat while staring at her phone and said that she's going to the bathroom. Her eyes fixated on her phone, she's reading meredith's research who claimed that they should forget everything they know about alzheimers. She had missed Meredith presenting an award for Dr. Bailey, who is on complete shock, given the fact that she wasn't even nominated.

Her eyes didn't bother to look up to see where she was, and someone who seemed to be in a rush bumped into her. Amelia almost dropped her phone, and anyone could tell that she was already pissed, but the person she bumped into catched her phone before it hit the floor. That someone said sorry and gave Amelia back her phone, and rushed out into the hallway, it looked almost like she was running. Amelia only get a glimpse of her face, so her eyes followed the girl's figure and look as she run down the hallway who didn't bother to look back to see if she was okay, her brows furrowed and she shake her head from left to right and went on to whatever it is she's supposed to do that she seems to have forgotten because of that strange encounter. She walked forward. Then she stopped on her track and turned around, and went back to the awarding ceremony instead.

************Later that night************

Amelia was lying on her bed in her hotel room, staring at the ceiling, and couldn't seem to fall asleep. She took her phone to see if there were any messages or voice mails, but there was none. She suddenly remembered that her phone almost dropped on the floor, but the girl she bumped with had fast reflexes and catched it. She try to remember what the girl look like and all she could remember was that the girl was wearing a low neckline green dress with long sleeves, and golden seams that compliment her body, and has a H/C hair tied up in a messy bun, some of it falling into her face, she also has a faint scent that she can't quite figure out what, but it piqued her. She kept replaying those moments in her head to try and remember what the girl looked like, but she didn't, or more likely, she just couldn't. She didn't notice what time it was and didn't bother to check, so she tried to empty her mind and went to sleep. By the time she's asleep; the sun is almost rising.

A few hours later, and she's still asleep, thinking about that girl all night makes her fall into a deep slumber. Even when her phone kept ringing in the morning, she's still fast asleep. It is past noon when a rapid knocking at her door and a repetition of her name being called out, wake her up. She sat up in her bed and stretched a little, and walked to open the door. When she opened it, it was maggie and meredith. She looked at the two women, bewildered, and ask "what the hell? It's so early in the morning, and you are so loud." Maggie let out a sigh, and Meredith, with a straight face, let's out a little smile.

"Thank God you're okay, I kept calling and texting you earlier, but you weren't answering. So I called Meredith, and here we are." Maggie said

"See, she's okay. She's just probably up all night with someone." Meredith stated as she raised her eyebrows at Amelia while also smirking.

"Maggie had a nightmare about you being abducted. She got very worried when you didn't answer her phone." Meredith said and turned to look at Maggie, who added "also it is not early in the morning. It is already twelve thirty in the afternoon. Who is it? Are they still there?"

"It's already past noon? I thought it's still early. Who is what? I don't know what you guys are talking about, but I wasn't up all night with someone, and nobody's here besides me." Amelia opened the door, fully signalling her sisters to come in. Maggie and Meredith checked the room, and they finally believed that nobody else was there.

They all sat beside the bed with Amelia in the middle.

Maggie: Did someone keep you up all night? It's very late, and if we didn't come knocking at your door, you probably would still be asleep by now.

Meredith: Of course, someone kept her up.

Amelia: I'm hungry. Let's go get something to eat.

Amelia stands up and changed her clothes while her sisters are now sitting side by side with a wide grin on their faces.

***********At the restaurant***********

Maggie: Winston and I slept together yesterday.

Amelia almost choke on her food, but Meredith just looked at her, waiting for an elaboration.

Maggie: It just sort of happens (She widened her eyes)

Amelia: Those kinds of things don't just sort of happen (She said with an annoying smirk)

Meredith: I'm with Amelia on this one. What does this mean? Are you guys back together or what?

Maggie: No, we're not back together. I don't know. Things are way too complicated.

"I bumped into someone last night." Amelia blurted out. Maggie and Meredith looked at each other before they turned to look at Amelia. Amelia lifts her head up to see her sisters reaction and saw confusion in both their faces.

Meredith: Who is it?

Maggie: Is it someone we know?

Amelia: No, just some random person. We bumped, and I almost dropped my phone, but the woman caught it. She hands me my phone said sorry and walked away. I didn't even see her face and get her name. I forgot what I was doing in that hallway, so I just came back to the ceremony.

Maggie looks down on her food, and a smile begins to form in her mouth. Meredith looked at Amelia suspiciously and said, "so that's what kept you up all night." With a grin plastered on her face.

"What? Of course not. No, nope." Amelia denied in a high-pitched voice. Her sisters chuckles at her. "Okay, fine! But in my defense, it was a strange encounter, " she added. Maggie said, "It was not that strange." Meredith nods way too many times it seems almost like she's bopping her head. "Whatever," Amelia replies with an eye roll on the side.

[dearmrshudson]

The post of saddest(?) supernatural moment gave me the idea to maka a list of my own... You know, an honest list which will not push any agenda or exclude one of the main character completely to forcefully feed to a romantic pair which does not even exist.

so here it goes-

10. Dean's reaction after Sam's death in 13x21 :

This one is so nominal and insignificant to be in this list and not one of top moments for a lot, but this scene ripped my heart open when I saw it for the first time. It manages to show us how Dean's whole world will literally fall apart and make him an empty vessel if Sam is gone and he can do nothing about it - and Jensen manages to portray it with just a walk, two blank eyes and then one drop of tear. Kudos.

9. Church Scene in 'Sacrifice' (8x23):

Anyone who has not cried in this scene? Perfeftly shows the core of the show, the deep love between two brothers- despite all the reasons, all the idiological differences, all the mature discussion and all- Sam is the baby brother of Dean; at the end he needs Dean to be there as a big bro, to tell him to let it go, to clutch him in his chest. Ultimately they will always choose each other and nothing else will come between them.

8. Dean's death in 9x23:

One of the saddest death of Dean, and perhaps it comes to this list because of the build-up and drama follows this. Both had their own reasons for the tension they had this whole season, but when the tragedy comes it hits so hard that all those logics fell apart. It scares to peep in Sam's headspace at this time of dean's dying- imagine you discarding the person you love the most as you are reasonably angry with him, and in a few days he is dying in your arms when you have hardly talked out your differences.

7. Why don’t you believe in us too (14x12) :

Probably should come much later in this list, but this scene stood out in my eyes because it was such a fresh air in the terrible plotless mimicry that SPN had become in later seasons. The scene after ages which sums up Sam and Dean, the codependent brothers whom we had forgotten. Such a long time after we see Sam the little brother, witness the emotional turmoil he was going through silently and how it exploded. The only scene which makes season 14 worth remembering. Also Jared just nailed this scene!

6.) Dead or Alive (3x16):

This scene breaks my heart in pieces. Dean bravely going for the last fight before the horrible death he will be facing. And he trying to cheer up baby bro, he wants the last memory with his brother to be in this car- singing along together... How his face slowly glooms at the end and his eyes full of fear... Early seasons really were gems!

5. Sam in Mystery spot (3x11) :

Undoubtedly one of the best SPN episode with perfect blend of mystery, fun, laughter, tragedy and emotion... The funny vibe of the episode ends in a moment when we see Sam is not waking up from the nightmare loop. Then we see a robot- a scary robot who only wants to get his brother back at any cost. This episode is yet another example of how Sam loves Dean just as fiercely as Dean does, and he is not any less codependent.

4. Barn scene and alone Sam (15x20) :

God! What can I say about this!

Just want to add, Sam wandering alone in the bunker after creamating Dean hurts me equally.

3. John's death (2x01):

Cannot forget this one. This episode happens to be another favourite of mine, and the way John sacrifices himself for his son proves that a father can go to any extent for his children. The farewell scene of John - where he asks for forgiveness and goodbye to dean without him understanding brings tears to my eyes. Such a beautiful acting by JDM and so realistic portrayal of a flawed, helpless and loving father.

2. End of Season 5 (5x22)

The ground was set, the battle was about to begin, the ultimate faceoff between Lucifer and Michael was going to start- then what happens? A stubborn idiot boy with a muscle car and hellbent attitude comes in between- knowing that he cannot survive this- just because one of these celestial entities have captured his brother as a vessel and he won’t leave his brother alone. Till his last drop of blood he keeps on trying- trying to reach his brother who is trapped under something much bigger- keeps on telling that It's okay, he is not alone, his big brother is here. And guess what, he succeed. His brother broke free the bind of one of the strongest entity of universe and fought. The climax scene gives me goosebump always followed by a bunch of grief and saddness the ending carries. Had season 5 been the last season of SPN, and this be the exact way the series ended, I would absolutely have no regret!

1. Sammy's first Death (2x21):

No matter how many sad scenes are perfectly executed in SPN, nothing can exceed the emotion of this one. Jensen will also not be able to exceed the level of performance be set in this particular scene. Period.

So this is it... I must have excluded many. And turns out my list is full of Sam and Dean only and I am also not unbiased 🤣🤣 Well, there are sad scenes that do not involve only the brothers and I still like them, but not my top 10. Maybe have to make list of top 11 to 20 in order to include them. 😁

Please share your favourite saddest top 10 as well.

[christinaroseandrews]

A lot of people are talking about how Disney didn't get nominated for their flagship 100th animated feature, Wish. Which is a big deal, I am not disputing that. This was a stellar year for animation and the academy had a glut of good options that did not include Wish. (I would have liked makoto shinkai's Suzume to be nominated but...)

But I want to talk about something else that is probably sticking in Disney's craw.

None of their Animated movies, in particular Wish, were nominated for "best original song."

Starting in 1940 with "when you Wish upon a Star", Disney's animated features could be counted upon to receive a nomination for best original song often winning the Honor. This includes movies such as Bambi; Saludos Amigos; Cinderella, and that racist mess that Disney would like you to forget, Song of the South. Even during the years after Walt's death a bunch of songs were nominated from things like Pete's Dragon and The Rescuers. But it wasn't until The Little Mermaid and the animation Renaissance that Disney's almost stranglehold and expectation that they're animated films would get nominated for an Oscar for best song really came into the forefront.

Take a walk through the best song nominations from 1989 to now and pretty much the majority of Disney and/or Pixar movies put out in those years has a best song nomination. There are a few exceptions, there always are, but generally when Disney includes original songs in its Animated properties it gets nominated.

That makes this year so odd. Disney technically has a nomination with Diane Warren's song for Flamin' Hot, which I suspect has more to do with the fact that the academy loves to nominate Diane Warren and then never give her the Oscar. ~_^ The big thing I noticed was that there were no nominations for Wish or even Elemental. And even more crucially, there was no one setting up a hue or cry that these movies (particularly Wish) didn't get nominated for best song.

Wish had all of the ingredients to be both an Oscar Bait for best animated feature and best original song. And the academy ignored it.

And frankly, I think this is 100% deserved. Wish was an okay movie. It wasn't good it wasn't bad it was just okay. And it's songs were forgettable.

Worse than that, in my opinion, they were unsingable. And what I mean by that is the songs were so complex so lyrically and musically difficult that a four-year-old in a princess dress would struggle to sing them. There were too many jumps and the lyrics were incredibly tongue twisty and they even sounded difficult for an accomplished singer like Ariana DeBose to sing. Seriously, the chorus of This Wish has so many jumps and drops that it is almost impossible to stay on key and also follow the melody. The music is just there.

When I walked out of the theater, I couldn't remember any of the songs. I still can't. And as most of my friends can tell you I have a bloody musical memory. I remember songs.

The first time I saw Barbie, I had three of the songs (What was I made for, I'm just Ken, and Pink) wrestling for dominance over who was going to be my earworm for the day. The same thing was true with Frozen, Moana, Encanto, beauty and the Beast, and even Tarzan. I still can't remember the music from Wish at all. To even write this, I had to go on YouTube and listen to the songs. And after listening to them, I still can't sing them. But just typing "I'm just Ken" has put that song in my head.

So rather than just celebrating Wish being excluded in a very good year for animation (it was so good, y'all) we should also be laughing and pointing that the Disney's attempts at getting a best song nomination for that movie also went unheeded.

Because I sure am.

[electronicwitchcollection]

Accidental mate; chapter 5

I’m going to stop introducing other characters and bring you more Grimmjow/reader interactions soon, honest 😂

You had made the long walk to your own division in search of Captain Kuchiki, wanting to brief him of your mission and return home. You replayed the conversation you had with the Head Captain through your mind as you traveled. He had asked if you believed you could be the one to teach Grimmjow, bring him into the fold. You sincerely hoped he would forget that ridiculous notion.

A week was more than long enough spent in his company. You didn't want to be lumbered with that task, you'd go crazy. You and Grimmjow were just too different. Yet quite similar, you hated to admit. You were both stubborn, unafraid of speak what was on your mind. You had always thought you were quite even tempered, not rising to anger, simply letting things go. Yet with Grimmjow you matched his outbursts.

There was just something about him that riled you up, made you quick to snap at his snarky remarks. You didn't like that, you weren't mean or violent, yet he made you want to throttle him multiple times a day. It would be better for everyone if someone else took over his training, better for him better for you. Familiar faces passing by snapped you from your musings, sending your comrades a cheery wave as you made your way past the Captains koi pond. You hurried up to the main office, hoping your captain would be in a good mood and allow you the rest of the day off.

You knocked on the open office door, peaking your head through as you softly called out "Captain Kuchiki?" You heard a rustle of papers, the drag of a chair against wooden floorboards followed by the sound of footsteps, too heavy to be the soft footed Captain.

"He's not here" Lieutenant Abari called to you as he made his way through the office. Face splitting into a wide familiar grin as you came into view, "YN! " He wrapped you in a brief but powerful bear hug which you happily returned. It was refreshing having human contact without the threat of your arm being bitten off

"Hey Renji, Captain isn't here?"  You asked, walking further into the room at Renji's beckoning hand gesture. He walked back to his desk, perching on the edge of it to face you. He had his arms crossed over his chest loosely, already shaking his head

"He got called away to deal with some noble clan stuff, how was your trip?" The grin he gave you told you everything you needed to know, Renji had already had the pleasure of meeting Grimmjow. The amount of glee on his face at the prospect of you spending the whole week with him was irking you ever so slightly. You had the feeling Renji was the one to nominate you to the Head Captain for that particular task, simultaneously sidestepping the privilege and dropping you well and truly in it.

His smug grin only cemented your suspicions. You and Renji had become friends through another mutual friend many years ago. Your friendship was very much that of squabbling siblings, plenty of teasing and and good natured jabs . You loved him dearly though, and knew he felt the same about you. He was as protective over you as he was all his friends and you made sure he was looking after himself when he got consumed with training or work.

"Probably went as good as you think it did" you shot him a knowing look, falling heavily onto the chair facing his desk. The weeks travel and the extreme emotions you've been dealing with the past week were catching up to you, you were exhausted "It was a nightmare Renji." 

Renji chucked at the look on your face, reaching over to mess up your hair playfully, retracting it quickly just before you swatted his hand away "and here I thought you were just the girl for the job"

"I knew it was you!" Suspicions confirmed. You would be getting him back for this, mark your words. "I've already told the Head Captain my report, he seemed happy with the way the mission went" 

"How was it really?"  He asked, Lieutenant mask replacing his shit eating grin. Renji took his position seriously, and while he was happy to be be friendly, tease and joke with his subordinates, he could knuckle down and be serious when the time called for it. It was something you actually really admired about him, not that you would ever voice that, his head was big enough as it was

"I had seen what I needed too. He's a good fighter, strong, talented. " you decided to give him the brief report, he could read all the details in your written report when you finally get a chance to write it. "But he's got an issue with authority. He doesn't work well as part of a team, and, I cannot stress this enough, he is the biggest asshole I've ever had the misfortune of meeting" 

Renji threw his head back as he barked out his most honest laugh. His stance had relaxed at your less than official end to your report, easing back into his relaxed posture. You were sure he wasn't even aware of it anymore, how effortlessly he changed between lieutenant and friend "Yeah, he's a real piece of work. Tries to take off Ichigo's head every time they see eachother, and every one likes that guy"

He wasn't wrong. You didn't know Ichigo well, had spoken a few times in passing due to having similar friends. Even without the fact that Ichigo had saved soul society multiple times, often at his own risk, he was a really nice guy. The fact that Grimmjow couldn't stand him spoke volumes about Grimmjow himself. "Well, now you can add me to the list of people Grimmjow would rather see without their head" you mumble from behind your hands, tiredly rubbing your face. Fatigue was catching up quickly, and as much as you enjoyed Renji's company, if you didn't leave soon you'd end up asleep on this chair

"Did he hurt you?" The dangerous change in tone had you peeking through your fingers. Renji's posture had straightened up, deeply unhappy look on his face. He looked just about ready to go find the espada himself, fingers slowly curling into loose fists. Renji had an unbreakable sense of honour, and hitting women was at the top of that list. He wouldn't stand for it, in any situation, especially if it involved on of his friends. You couldn't help but smile at his overprotectiveness.

"No, Renji. He didn't hurt me." You placate him quickly, watching the sudden anger fizzle out of him. His hotheadedness hadn't change much over the years, though he was working on listening to the full story before reacting. Something you greatly appreciated in that moment, you didn't want to chase him all over souls society trying to calm him down "We just argued the whole time, you know me, I don't usually bite my tongue"

Renji smile at your attempt of humour. He knew that all too well, you've both hand your share of arguments with eachother, both to stubborn to let the other have the win, wether you were right or wrong. "Hope you gave as good as you got"

"Of course." You match his smile, standing with an exaggerated stretch "Im going to head home for the rest of the day. Can you let the Captain know I'll report in first thing in the morning? I'll try and write up the report tonight" 

Renji nodded, throwing an arm around your shoulder as he walked you to the door "try and get some rest. You look like shit"  you elbowed him roughly in the side, enjoying the grunt you pulled from him. Asshole. He should try spending the week with Grimmjow on the road, bet he wouldn't look half as good as you managed to look.

——————————————————

Grimmjow was practically vibrating with pent up frustration. After the Captains had disappeared, and you had stormed off, he attempted to follow the captains to finish what they had started. Especially that big one. The one that dared to approach you, you, covered in his scent. His mark. Luckily for them, Grimmjow had lost the scent, too many shinigami polluting the air.

He had been aimlessly stalking around, trying to let off steam. He wasn't yet ready to return to where he was staying. He hadn't been allocated a place yet, wouldn't until he was placed into a division. He was temporarily staying in a room changed into a makeshift bedroom in that hat wearing idiots lab, near the edge of the twelfth division. The location wasn't bad, it was just outside a large Forrest, perfect for running and training. Further into the Forrest, leaving the walls that surrounded the shinigamis territory, he had found a few hollows he could hunt.

He didn't know if that goofy bastard was here or in the world of the living though, and wasn't in the mood to put up with his moronic insistence of trying to engage Grimmjow in conversation. During his rage filled walk, Grimmjow had gotten a little turned around. Actually, he didn't have a damn clue where he was. All the streets and buildings looked the exact same, so he didn't notice the fact he was in an unknown division until it was too late to retrace his steps

He wasn't lost. He just wasn't where he thought he was. He couldn't pick up any scents to indicate where he was, or in which direction he should be headed. He would rather chew off his own arm than ask one of the shinigami hurrying past him, avoiding eye contact, for directions . Fucking looking at him as though he were going to bite them. Idiots. Shinigami wouldn't taste good anyway.

The memory of your arousal coating his tongue pushed its way to the forefront of his mind. He could practically taste the phantom memory, mouth filling with saliva. Grimmjow angrily kicked at the ground, sending a puff of dust into the air and startling two shinigami that were passing by. Pussies. Grimmjow snarled at them for good measure, watching disgusted as they scarpered.

His skin was crawling. He hated how you were still invading his mind. Damn witch. It had been a couple of hours since he last saw you, with each passing hour his stomach twisted harder with a deep sense of unease. He was loosing his damn mind. He could still taste you on his tongue, feel you in his arms, smell you in the air. Wait. No, he could actually smell you in the air.

Grimmjow came to an abrupt halt, picking up the faint notes of your scent, his own signature musk intertwined with it. He followed the invisible trail, inhaling deeply, keeping it locked in his sights. As the smell became stronger, the buildings became further apart. Trees could be spotted over the top of the wall, the smell of grass filtering through the leaves.

He came to a stop out side of a small building where your scent was most powerful. This must be your den. Catching movement in one of the windows, Grimmjow jumped up the wall, camouflaging in the lush leaves of the tree, perching on a sturdy branch. He waited patiently, scanning the windows for sign of movement. He should leave. What was he even doing there, watching, waiting for any sign of you. It was pathetic. Weak. He growled deep in his chest at his behaviour, willing himself to leave.

Then you appeared. A light flicked on in a room containing a large nest, his eyes locked on to you. You had all your hair tied up behind your head, the strands swaying side to side with every step you took. Your body was wrapped in pink, flimsy material, it looked shiny under the light. It exposed your thighs, brushing over the soft skin there. He watched as you reached your bed, crawling over the space to lay on your stomach. You kicked up your legs, lazily swinging them back and forth, feet twisting together, rubbing over the back of your shins.

Grimmjow swallowed roughly, adjusting his stance as he crawled nearer for a better look. His trousers were tightening, restricting his slowly inflating dick. You had something thin and black in your hand. A pen, you were writing. Hand quickly scribbling over the paper laid before you. He watched as you tilted your head, flicking your hair down over one shoulder, teasing him with your exposed neck, his mark, shining brightly against your pale skin. Sending unknowingly, a flush of heat through Grimmjow's body. Grimmjow's tongue darted out to wet his suddenly dry lips, battling with himself internally

Screaming at himself to leave, to run as fast as he could away from you. His body refused to listen to his demands, eyes staying fixated on you. What was happening to him? Grimmjow was strong, he was powerful, he was an alpha. It infuriated him, the spell you had cast on him. He needed to find a way to break it. He needed to leave. Grimmjow pulled all his determination, ready to leap from his hiding spot in the tree, find his way back to his own nest. Then you slowly rolled the pen across your full bottom lip, parting your lips you pulled the pen into your mouth and sucked on the tip gently.

FUCK

Grimmjow shoved his hand down his pants, groaning as he took hold of his throbbing erection and squeezing. His hungry eyes focused on your lips, drinking in the image of your lips surrounding the pen. Grimmjow pulled his hand over his cock, squeezing the tip before rolling it back down the length. With a dissatisfied groan, Grimmjow quickly removed his hand, licking wetly over his palm before shoving it back into the confines of his pants,taking his erection back into his hand with long, strong tugs. His hand felt insignificant compared to the tight, wet heat of your cunt

His hand didn't squeeze as tightly, didn't ripple across his length. It didn't coat his cock in sweet slick wetness. Didn't moan in pleasure as he rutted into it. He watched as you pulled out the pen, tip wet with your saliva as you studied the paper beneath you. You tapped the pen against your lips, teasing it between your teeth. Grimmjow groaned, hips jerkily thrusting into his hand, his precum leaking profusely, slicking up the glide of his hand, dampening the inside of his pants.

His breath came out in short pants, eyes narrowing as he watched you intently. The angle and the restrictions of his clothing were uncomfortable, not allowing him the proper movement to adequately stroke his full length. He watched your small hand resume marking the paper, imagining how it would look wrapped around his cock, how small it would look in comparison to his own. He imagined dragging his cock over you lips, painting them with his thick seed. How you would suck on the tip, lick up the length.

He moaned, deep and guttural, hips rutting into his palm. His head was swimming, protests to stop quieting at the dominating commands to take her. There you were, laid out, waiting, willing. His mate, his to use, his to fuck. You grabbed the paper, placing it on a table next to your bed with the pen. You pushed off the bed with your hands, back arching, ass pushed into the air invitingly as you stretched out your arms in front of you. His hand moved furiously over his cock, chasing the explosion that would clear his mind.

You were in the perfect submissive position, like you knew you were being watched. Putting on a show for your king, presenting yourself for his taking. His hand roughly pushed against the clothing covering his engorged cock, trying in vein to make more room for his rapid hand motions. You sat back on your legs, glancing out the window. He held his breath, suddenly nervous you would spot him hidden in the tree. His hand slowed down on his cock, trying to minimise any movement that might catch your eye.

He watched as you crawled closer to the window, staring out into the darkening street before pulling closed the cloth that blocked his view to your room. Grimmjow cursed quietly, no longer having you in his sights. His hand slowed on his length, coming to a complete stop in frustration. He pulled his hand free, disgusted with his actions, touching himself, hidden away like a desperate pup. Grimmjow roughly punched the thick trunk of the tree, bark splitting open the thin skin of his knuckles as it splintered beneath his power.

With new found determination, he jumped from the tree, into the garden beyond the wall. As soon as his feet hit the ground he ran as fast as he could in the opposite direction, away from you and your magic. Running with an erection was uncomfortable, he roughly palmed the ridged length, commanding it to go down. He stuck to the shadows, using his agility to stay undetected.

Grimmjow needed help. As much as it pained him to admit it, he didn't know how else to break the spell you had put him under. Now that he knew where you lived, he didn't trust his instincts not not cloud over his rational thought and kick down your damn door and take you. He needed someone to tell him how to get back control of his own mind. The only person he could think he could demand fix this problem, unfortunately, was also someone Grimmjow wanted to avoid at all costs. Annoying bastard would drive him insane.

——————————————————

You rolled your head back and forth, groaning at the satisfying cracks your neck gave. After returning home you had fallen into your couch, falling into a much needed nap. After waking, showering and having a delicious home cooked meal, you started working on the written report ready for Captain Kuchiki the following morning. You had been sitting at your table for too long, stiffness creeping up your spine. You reread over what you had already written, deciding it was up to your captains standards. You carefully gathered up the paper and pen, deciding to finish writing your conclusions in the comfort of your own bed

You resisted the desire run and leap on your bed, fall into the warm softness. Laying on your stomach you absentmindedly kick your legs up into the air, steadily swaying them back and forth as you began jotting down your explanations. You had written about finding the hollow you were sent to cleanse. The battle plan you had drawn up and how Grimmjow completely disregarded your ideas, running head first into, what you could only describe as, a violent slaughtering.

You wrote about Grimmjows skills, his shortcomings. What you felt he could work on and what you thought was a lost cause. You wrote your recommendations for a scouting team, highlighting his enhanced senses, and how you witnessed them being used in the field. You reread what you had written, rolling the pen across your lips, sucking on the tip. It was a habit you had from way back in your academy days, it helped clear your mind enough to focus solely on your task.

You wrote about Grimmjows lack of knowledge to human life. His struggle with reading and chopsticks, adding a few others you thought should be investigated. Concluding your report with what you had verbalised with the head captain. You believed Grimmjow could be a great ally, if only the time was given to help acclimate him into this unknown way of life. You attempted to think of an example of Grimmjows ability to pick up on things quickly, when your mind drifted into a less professional setting.

Grimmjow quickly picked up on your non-verbal cues, adjusting his treatment of you accordingly to your reactions. He learned quickly the best places to touch you to draw out sinful moans. Adjusted his pace at the minute gestures you gave, bringing you to the most powerful orgasm you've ever had. Now how could you write about that while sounding professional? You tried to shake the thoughts, turning back to your report to make sure it was all correct

Everything seemed adequate as you chewed on the tip of your pen, looking over carefully for any mistakes or anything you could add. You had to force yourself to stop, before you spent the whole night adding and changing little details trying to make it perfect. You put everything on your bedside table before stretching out your stiff back. You stretched your arms over your head, kneeling up on your knees to elongate your spine and hear it pop multiple times.

Cracking your spine, all your joints really, was a habit that drove Renji crazy. He hated the noise, it made his skin crawl. So as any friend would, you did it as often as possible in his company. You huffed out an amused chuckle, sitting yourself back on your folded legs. You looked through your window, noticing how dark it was getting.

Grimmjow floated through your mind again. You couldn't help but wonder what he was doing. He didn't seem the time to go to the bar, socialise with the shinigami, did he even have friends? No, he was probably out picking fights like an idiot. Hopefully he had steered clear of the two captains from earlier, that particular fight wouldn't be pretty, and it wouldn't help him securing a place in the goeti.

You forced the thoughts away, closing your curtains to get ready to turn in. It didn't take you long to end up in darkness, sinking into your mattress with a long awaited sigh. You had missed being home, being in your bed. You tried to fall asleep, clearing your mind and relaxing into your mattress. Grimmjows cocky grin flashed behind your closed eyes, heart skipping a beat as you pushed the image away. You rolled to your back, screwing your eyes closed tight, willing sleep to take you.

Heat started to flush through your body, the first tingle of arousal made you squeeze your thighs together under the quilt. Your eyes snapped open, staring at your ceiling cast in darkness. Why was that brute still in your thoughts, it was a one time thing. A two time thing. It wasn't going to happen again, ever. Time to forget about it. There were plenty of single men around here, you were not short of options should you get an inch you needed help scratching.

You didn't notice your hand caressing over your body until it reached your breast. Your fingers circled your pebbling nipple under your gown, pinching gently. You moaned at the pressure, bringing up your other hand to give the same attention to your neglected breast. You tried to conjure up an image to help you raise your libido, images of bulging muscles and a chiselled jaw. You imagined strong hands replacing your own, following the curves of your body down to your core.

Your fingers brushed against your clothed pussy, remembering a heavy weight looming over you, pushing you into the mattress as they tease your opening. When you brush a finger over your hidden clit, hips rolling up to meet the sensation, Grimmjows face appeared looming over you, grinning down at you. Nope. You pulled your hands away from you, punching the mattress besides you in frustration. You were not going to lay here and touch yourself while thinking of that man,

You definitely turned to your side, grabbing your spare pillow to hug against your chest. You concentrated on emptying your mind, willing sleep to pull you under it's merciful hold. You fell asleep pushing away increasingly intrusive thoughts of Grimmjow as they infiltrated your mind, tossing and turning at the memories of Grimmjow growling into your ear. You dreamt of his hands on your body, the guttural way he'd groan in your ear. Reliving all the pleasure you had received in those two days that you would refuse to think about again.

[weirsight]

i understand that it can get quite exhausting when one's enjoying a piece of media and go online to look for any sort of engagement, only to find a vocal minority (or maybe even a sizeable majority) continuously criticizing it. no doubt, this would lead anybody to feel a bit frustrated and questioning the participation of others ... but i also think that's just a pretty universal aspect of any fandom. there is undeniably blatant disrespect hurled at the showrunners and writers of GOT/HOTD, and bad faith arguments over which team is right or wrong that feeds into a truly harrowing degree of tribalism. however, i do think that the media we partake in and the people who create it shouldn't be allowed to escape criticism, as they are in fact fallible and some of the choices they make should be questioned, especially when the project they are working on is an adaptation of someone else's work.

let's not forget the treatment of women, people of color, lgbtq individuals, the disabled, etc. under the leadership of benioff & weiss. there were plenty of critics who were rightfully taking them to task way before s7-8 of GOT for their "choices" that had less to do with adapting book material, and more to do with awards nominations. in their hubris, they turned grrm's work which is filled with critiques of war, monarchy, feudalistic society, and reduced it to shock value, oversexualization, and straight up character erasure. these changes went unchallenged for the longest time because the spectacle of a big-budget prestige fantasy show was relatively unheard of. now while i do agree with the sentiment of just letting people enjoy things and that criticism can easily lead to pedantic behavior, i also would like to posit that without critiquing media that we dislike and like, it diminishes the ability to identify the kind of storytelling that can be seen as worthwhile.

yes, fire & blood is a historical text rather than a present-tense narrative that features multiple pov. yes, the dance portion is told from 3 different unreliable narrators with their own agendas. yes, that means no one truly knows what happened, which allows a certain degree of expansion for the book-to-screen adaptation. canonicity can most assuredly be debated with the format of the source material. that all being said, when the choices that are made start to veer off the path set by the author and contradict if not ignore the prominent themes that make the story what it is, then the adaptation should absolutely be criticized.

[tryslora]

...but is it Hugo worthy?

The subconscious can be an evil thing.

When I was a teenager (15 to be exact) I already knew I wanted to be a writer, and had been working at my craft (such as it was) for three long years. I was starting to submit stories (they were rejected). I was growing up in fandom, attending literary SF cons, and on Labor Day weekend in 1983, I was at ConStellation—the World SF convention in Baltimore.

I attended the Hugo Award ceremony, and there I watched Connie Willis win her first Hugo for her Novelette “Fire Watch” (yes, I went and fact-checked my memory on this part). During her speech, she referenced being a teenager and listening to someone else give a speech about winning a Hugo… and I thought… this is my defining moment. I will never forget this. And when I win my own Hugo, I will reference this story.

I have obviously never won a Hugo.

I came to realize long ago that the words I write are not the kinds of stories that win the big awards. This is okay! And this is not a pity party. I write accessible fiction—popcorn fiction, I call it. The kind that has fairly simple language, character-oriented plotlines, and hopefully makes a reader want to sit down and read the whole thing (eat the whole bowl) and maybe grab the next because I’ve whet their appetite.

I know this is how my brain works. When I aim for a more literary style, I end up with incomprehensible text, plots that make no sense, and allusions that are weird enough to take a person out of the story. So… I don’t.

But I still have this expectation baked into my skin—into my soul—that the way to be a Real Writer is to write the kinds of stories that make someone say “this is the best thing I’ve read all year” and nominate it for an award.

Sometimes I read a story (of any length) by a writer who is my peer in some manner and I feel the imposter syndrome bubble up, surrounding me until I can’t think—can’t breathe—any more. The story is so good and sometimes is buried under independent or small press publishing where I know it won’t get the eyes/readers it deserves. I want to scream about it from the rooftops. This story, this amazing story that won’t have a ton of eyes on it, is in my mind Hugo worthy (or Nebula worthy… substitute in whatever proper award fits in your mind).

I also hear that little voice that says “well, isn’t it good you didn’t apply this anthology/magazine/press” or worse yet “you are in this too, and your work isn’t nearly this good” because that’s what I internalized as a teen. That this is the only way to be good. That this wonderful story I am reading, which twists words and plot in unique and fascinating ways, is the only kind of story that merits praise.

I don’t think that voice will ever completely go away.

I do feel better as I continue reading the anthology/magazine/whatever and realize that not every single story in it gives me that same “OMG” reaction. When I sit down and think about it, I know that love of a particular story is subjective. There is no truly objective way to judge the worth of words (despite what our high school English teachers tried to tell us). What a story is, and how it is told, may touch my soul and no one else’s. Or vice versa. I’ve read entire anthologies that are highly regarded without a single story striking me as amazing.

Sometimes I think back to what we say about writing fanfic: write what you love, and there is someone out there looking for this exact story who will be thrilled to find it.

I try to remind myself of this when I fall into the “is it Hugo worthy?” downward spiral.

For every story that sells, someone loves it enough to buy it. And they love it enough to think that there will be others who love it, too.

For every story that is written, there might be that editor out there—the one with all that love for the story (and it might take several failures before finding that one with the love). The trick is drafting the best set of words to tell the story to trip that moment of “I love that” in a reader’s eyes. 

The words don’t have to be necessarily elevated. Floofy. Literary. But they have to tell the story that I want to tell.

And if that story is one fluffy popped kernel in a bowl, that’s okay. My goal can be to make my reader reach for the next, rather than being award-worthy. It’s okay to be a delicious salty snack; people talk about those with joy, too.

I will probably never win a Hugo. I am still delighted every time someone bumps into me at a con and says “Oh, that’s how I know you!” after hearing about the books, stories, and fics I have written. Touching hearts is joy in itself.

[cha-melodius]

Aaaaaaah congrats on 100 fics! I’m so excited that you’re doing this! Can I request Lokius in a western/cowboy setting?

(You were a prophet when you sent this back in August, Old West Lokius is quite the in vogue thing now lol. I hope you enjoy!)

Ain't No Place for a Better Man

(3k, M; read it below or on AO3)

They’ve had easier jobs, that’s for damned sure.

Protecting an entire train of stagecoaches was always going to be a strain on his crew, especially through this territory. They’re good, but they’re not that good. Mobius should have insisted that the client cough up the money to bring on another couple of folks, but they’d been reluctant and Mobius hadn’t wanted to risk the job going to someone else. And really, against most bandits, they’d probably have been fine.

They weren’t up against most bandits, though.

Mobius flips a blood-streaked silver dollar at the barkeep and collects a bottle of whiskey and four glasses in return without a single word exchanged. His crew is damn-near legendary in these parts; people vacate ‘their’ table when they enter the saloon, tip their hats when they pass on the road, and generally treat them with the kind of wary respect they’ve worked hard to cultivate. Mobius’ crew may be nominally ‘good’ guys, but a hard world makes hard people, especially ones who are hired to protect what passes for civilization out west.

Verity grunts in appreciation when he deposits the glasses on the table and sloshes a generous helping of whiskey in each one. Wincing a little as he leans forward, Mobius pushes two across to the others then settles back into the rickety chair. He tosses his hat on the table and kicks his feet up next to it, crossing them at the ankles and ignoring the dirty looks from the barkeep. The burn of cheap whiskey flows down his throat and spreads out in his chest, dulling the ache of what’s probably a bruised rib. 

“How do you think he found out they were moving the gold?” Casey asks, fidgeting with his glass. Twitchy guy, but surprisingly good with a rifle. He’d been riding with the trailing coach on the job and had caught the butt end of a pistol to the face when they’d been boarded, which is now darkening to a mottled purple across his cheekbone. Hadn’t gotten shot, though, which was a small blessing.

“How does he always? He’s got his ways,” Mobius returns with a shrug. “Weren’t one of us.”

“Obviously,” Verity snorts. “Slippery bastard has his fingers in plenty of pies, and people are easily bought. What I don’t get is how no one has managed to shoot him off his horse yet.”

Mobius snorts. “You’re the marksman, Ver. You tell me.”

“Swear he’s goddamn magic. One of them spirits. No one should be able to dodge all those bullets.”

“I assure you, he’s just a man.”

“And how exactly do you know, Mobius?” Verity counters, a too-shrewd look on her face.

Mobius blinks at her slowly and takes another sip of his drink. “Didya forget how I got this?” he asks, tugging aside the collar of his shirt to reveal an ugly scar twisting just under his collarbone. “He was flesh and blood when he drove that dagger into me.”

She looks chastened, but not completely convinced. “Could be he takes human form sometimes,” she mutters into her drink. 

“I heard of spirits like that,” Casey puts in. “One of the girls at the Mariposa was tellin’ me about this guy who comes in—”

“Enough,” Mobius says. His voice isn’t particularly loud or sharp, but everyone falls silent nonetheless. “You tell these stories, you let him get in your head. He ain’t a spirit, or a witch, or whatever else has been said about ‘im. Bleeds as red as the rest of us. Now,” he says, swinging his legs off the table and throwing back the rest of his whiskey, “I’m beat. And I’m takin’ this with me.” He grabs the bottle of whiskey off the table, ignoring their protests, and tugs his hat back on before he turns and walks away.

His steps are onerous as he climbs the stairs leading to the rooms over the saloon, heavy with a deep weariness he can’t seem to shake off these days. He’s getting too old for this shit, that’s for certain, but there’s something else weighing him down that he’d rather forget about in the bottom of this whiskey bottle tonight. He takes another swig as he kicks open the door to his usual room, only to find it already occupied.

The black-clad figure is little more than a lump, sitting hunched over in a chair next to the a small table with his hat pulled down low so that the broad brim of it hides his face from view. He doesn’t react when Mobius enters—unconscious or dead or just uninterested in the newcomer is difficult to say. Mobius’ hand is on his pistol before he knows he’s moving, even as something familiar twinges in his mind at the shape of the man’s shoulders.

“Think you’re in the wrong room, buddy,” he says evenly. “This one’s spoken for.”

The man looks up, a curtain of dark hair falling back from his face, and his lips twist into a wry smile. “I’m exactly where I intend to be, in fact.”

“Shit,” Mobius swears, his hand falling away from his gun as he takes another long swig from the bottle. Kicking the door shut behind him, he pulls his hat off and tosses it onto one of the bed posts. “You know they’re all downstairs, right? This is the last goddamn place you should be.”

“Didn’t have much choice in the matter.”

“What are you doing here, Loki?” Mobius sighs.

“I can’t want to see you?” Loki asks, trying for flippant and falling short by a mile.

As Mobius draws closer, he can see that Loki’s even paler than usual—which is really saying something—and he’s still hunched over, clutching his shoulder. Mobius reaches out and gently takes hold of Loki’s slender wrist, tugging his hand away and sucking in a breath when it comes away covered in red.

“You took a bullet today.”

“Astute observation,” Loki returns dryly. “I fear that Verity of yours is going to shoot me dead one day.”

Mobius squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath, forcing his hand not to tremble. “She’d like that.”

“And you, Mobius?”

“Don’t you dare ask me that, Loki.”

Loki bows his head again, and Mobius turns away before he accidentally says something powerfully stupid. He steps out into the hallway and flags down a maid for a basin, a rag, and some clean water—well, clean as it gets, anyway—then returns to dig through the saddlebag slung over the foot rail of the bed for the sewing kit within, the one that’s mended more flesh than fabric. He leaves it on the table next to Loki along with the whiskey and goes to fetch the basin and water at the sound of a light knock on the door. The legs of the other chair grate loudly against the rough wooden floor as he pulls it around in front of Loki and settles into it, close enough that their knees are knocking together where they’re interleaved.

The silence stretches out between them, somehow heavy with unspoken words and comfortable all at once, even as Loki flinches when Mobius pushes his jacket off his shoulders, even as Mobius’ fingers find a familiar path in the buttons of his shirt, even as Mobius takes another swig of the whiskey before passing it to Loki. A subtle shine to the fabric of his black shirt is the only visible trace of blood on it, but when Mobius carefully peels it away from the wound, the bright red staining his pale skin tells another story. The disturbance brings a fresh surge of blood oozing to the surface, and Mobius pretends that he doesn’t notice Loki trembling under his hands.

He works with movements far gentler than most people would think him capable of, and the water in the basin steadily darkens as he cleans around the wound. Even though Mobius’ attention is focused on his work, he can tell Loki is watching him raptly the entire time, his eyes fixed on Mobius’ face, until Mobius pulls out the long forceps he keeps in the kit just for this purpose. Only then does his trepidation show on his face, the knowledge of what’s coming only too familiar at this point. Mobius shoves the whiskey bottle at him again, and Loki dutifully drinks before handing it back. The muscle of his jaw jumps when Mobius pours a glug of the alcohol over the wound, but his stoicism is put to the test under the assault of the forceps. Loki inhales sharply and turns his face to the ceiling when Mobius goes digging for the bullet, as if that might hide the tears welling in his eyes.

Fortunately, the bullet comes out easily along with the bit of shirt that it pulled in with it. The unassuming hunk of lead clinks dully when Mobius drops it into the basin, the sound of it a bleak reminder of how close he’d come to losing Loki entirely. Another few inches…

Mobius shoves the thought out of his head. He can’t let his mind travel down those roads, not when he needs his hands steady to finish this hellish task. One thing at a time, one stitch at a time, until the hole in Loki’s shoulder is finally closed and Mobius lets out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. He rinses his own hands, then dampens the rag again and carefully takes Loki’s, gently wiping the now-dried blood from his skin as best as he can manage.

Loki’s head is bowed when he finishes, and Mobius reaches out with both hands to cup the sides of his face. His expression is impassive, but dried tears streak his cheeks, leaving pale tracks through the dirt and grime, and Mobius can’t help but rub his thumb through them in an ineffectual attempt at wiping them away.

“You’re all right, sweetheart,” he says, barely more than a murmur. He lets one corner of his mouth tug upward. “Gonna take more than that to take out the legendary Loki Odinson.”

Something fractures in Loki’s expression. “Mobius—”

“Shhh,” Mobius hushes, pressing a thumb to his lips.

Then he pulls his thumb away, leans closer, and presses their lips together instead.

It’s chaste at first, the barest brush of contact, but a moment later Loki is gasping into it, almost a sob, and his hands come up to curl desperately in Mobius’ shirt. He deepens the kiss hungrily, his teeth tugging at Mobius’ lips and tongue licking into his mouth, until the angle becomes untenable and he’s climbing into Mobius’ lap instead.

“Loki, you can’t—” Mobius protests, but can’t is not a concept that Loki is well-versed in, and he’s swallowing down the rest before Mobius can put voice to it.

He kisses Mobius like a drowning man in the desert slaking his thirst with Mobius’ lips, sinking his good hand into grey locks to pull them ever closer together. Mobius’ hands find the narrow dip of his waist without really meaning to, only that he could never resist that spot, the way Loki’s wiry muscles flex under his grip, the soft smoothness of his skin under hard calloused palms. His own shirt long discarded, Loki sets to work on Mobius’ instead, and despite the way his cock is definitely taking an interest, Mobius stills Loki’s hands with one of his own.

“I just sewed you up,” he scolds, a frown settling into his features.

Loki has the audacity to look annoyed. “And now I’m fine, can we move along—”

“You gotta take care of yourself.”

“Mm, not in my nature,” Loki says bluntly, leaning for another kiss before Mobius can reply. “That’s why I’m here,” he murmurs against Mobius’ lips, “because I know you’ll take care of me.”

“Loki,” Mobius exhales on a shuddery breath, squeezing his eyes closed against the emotions threatening to choke him.

A moment later, Loki’s forehead contacts his, and he brushes their noses together. “Please, Mobius,” he whispers into the narrow space between them. “I could have died today—”

“I know,” Mobius grinds out.

“—so I need you to fuck me until both you and I forget about it.”

Mobius can’t deny it’s an appealing prospect. “But your shoulder—”

“You’ll be careful,” Loki cuts him off. His lips twist wryly. “You’re always careful with me, even when you shouldn’t be.”

For two people who are constantly at odds, Mobius has always been terrible at saying no to him. He doesn’t manage it now, either. “Alright,” he surrenders, his hands already sliding over Loki’s back, lingering in the dip of his spine. “Alright.”

It’s not easy, between Loki’s shoulder and Mobius’ own injuries, but Mobius takes his time. He presses endless kisses to Loki’s skin, perfect in its imperfection, marred by countless scars inflicted over the years. Some by Mobius’ own hand; more by his crew, including the starburst that will form at his shoulder, no matter how neatly Mobius stitches it closed. If Mobius had his way, he’d never gain another one.

In this, Mobius knows he’s destined to be disappointed. Instead, he focuses making sure the pleasure overwhelms the pain, in treasuring every moment like it might be the last. He works Loki open with endless care—well, Loki wasn’t wrong—sinks into the impossible heat of him, rolls their bodies together as Loki urges him on, chasing the moments where they are just this. Not opponents, not adversaries, but two men seeking comfort in each other’s arms, finding what solace they can in a hard world.

In the aftermath, Loki tucks himself against Mobius’ side, pillowing his head on his shoulder, leaving no trace of space between their bodies. He’s unusually quiet, and Mobius doesn’t know if it’s just the trials of the day or something else weighing on him.

Loki’s hand moves idly over his chest, eventually finding the very scar under the collarbone Mobius had showed off earlier that evening. “Do you remember this day?” he asks, trailing a finger over the gnarled flesh.

“Are you asking if I remember the day you stabbed me in the chest?” Mobius returns incredulously.

Loki shrugs. “You’ve had closer calls.”

“Not from someone I love.”

Loki’s hand stills, not unexpectedly. It’s not the first time Mobius has said it, but he doesn’t deploy it often. It tends to make Loki… skittish.

“You didn’t know me back then,” Loki says eventually as he spreads his palm out over Mobius’ heart.

“I know you coulda killed me, but you didn’t.”

“I fear you’ve always made me soft, Mobius,” Loki murmurs, like a confession pressed against his skin.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is in this life.”

“Don’t have to be,” Mobius says. “Not all the time, anyway.”

That, apparently, was a step too far. Or maybe this was always going to be the end of their limited time tonight. Loki doesn’t reply for a long moment, letting the statement hang in the air, then his hand curls into a loose fist.

“I should go before anyone finds out I’m here,” he says. He sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, and grips the edge of the mattress tightly. “I’ve already lingered too long.”

“You don’t have to run,” Mobius tries.

Loki laughs, without a single goddamn trace of humor in it, as he stands and grabs his trousers off the floor, tugging them on and doing up the buttons. “It’s not that simple.”

“It could be,” Mobius insists. He sits up, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I have contacts. People in the marshal’s office, they could get you a deal—”

“And what makes you think I want a deal?” Loki snaps, though a second later his shoulders sag. “I appreciate that you’re willing to stick your neck out for me. I do. But just because you’re on the side of law and order doesn’t mean you’re in the right.” He bends down snag his shirt off the floor, wincing as he tugs the bloodstained garment on. “How do you think your employer got all that gold, hm? It certainly wasn’t by asking nicely.”

This is not the first time they’ve had a similar argument. 

“Don’t know. Don’t care. The law says it’s his,” Mobius answers with a shrug. “You expect me to believe you’re stealin’ out of some kind of highfalutin moral righteousness?”

Loki flashes him a wicked smile as his long fingers fasten his shirt. “Of course not. I’m stealing it because I want it. Which I’m fairly certain is also true of the man who’s paying you.” Once he’s finished with the buttons, he crosses back over to the bed and stands between Mobius’ legs, lifting a hand to the corner of Mobius’ jaw as he stares down at him. “You and I, we’re not all that different, in the end.”

Mobius slides his hands under the loose tails of his shirt until his palms find warm skin again. “In that case, if I asked you, again, to come join me…”

“I’m sorry, darling,” Loki murmurs, bending down to press a lingering kiss to his lips. “I can’t. Not— not yet.”

“I’m never gonna stop asking, you know,” Mobius tells him.

A melancholy smile tips onto Loki’s lips. “You’d break my heart if you did.”

That, right there, is why Mobius will never be strong enough to end this. It’s the hope that kills you, so they say.

“When will I see you again?” he asks instead.

“When’s your next job?” Loki jokes. Or not. It might not be a joke.

“Not funny,” Mobius huffs. 

“I’ll find you,” Loki tells him, then quickly adds, “not during a job, all right? I’ll always find you.”

It shouldn’t be so comforting. Nothing is certain in this life—especially not for men like them—and yet this, he’s come to rely on. “Take care of yourself, sweetheart.”

“All right,” Loki promises. “just for you.”

[a-story-teller]

Seriously one of the most confounding things in the world is pop-Christian moralizing.

"Is ASMR ok for Christians?? 🤨🤔😧" I'm not sure in what world it would be sinful to listen to soothing brushing, ocean sounds, and tapping, yet someone felt the need to ask the question, and someone else felt the need to make a YouTube video answering it. (I didn't watch it, so I don't know the verdict, but somehow you're trusting the verdict to a rando on YouTube and not Discernment from God?)

"Christian facials" because having a hot towel on your face and putting on serum is in any way aligned with a religion or lack thereof, and therefore needs to/even Can be made Christian?

"Christian-friendly sex positions" and the only difference is it's stick figures instead of realistic drawings, and instead of male/female or penetrator/receiver, it's husband/wife. Because you know those goofy health-book illustrations were distracting you from the righteous goal at hand: eating your girl out. But you can't call her your girl, you have to make it clear to everyone seeing you have sex (which... is just the 2 of you, right?) that you're having Good and Not Sinful sex, because you, a Husband, are Married to your Wife. Side note: the stick figures actively make it harder to figure out the intricacies of any of the positions and therefore are objectively shittier at doing what they're made to do.

Christian soap, christian mints, christian calendars, christian music, christian curtains, christian fiction, christian restaurants, christian news, christian shops. There are things in the world that are OK being secular. The fact that your soap does not have an icthus sign etched in that washes away in 3 days anyway does not make you a bad person, or even a bad christian. Your home does not need something Christian™️ in every room for people (or yourself!) not to forget you're christian... I assume?

The king who must say he is king, etcetera. This kind of mindset is so boggling to me, and reeks of nominative faith and deeeeep insecurity. Retail therapy but instead of buying temporary happiness you're buying temporary grace. Being so beholden to the dogma of organized religion that you go to any person feigning authority on the subject rather than using your own brain to make a decision. The idea that things can only be okay to interact with if they're explicitly christian, as though interacting with it as a christian doesn't inherently put it through a christian lens; as though you can only get things trickled down to you from church authority figures with robust enough constitutions to judge what's ok for you because you don't have the ability to think critically; as though you should stay away from what's "sinful" rather than, LIKE JESUS, be able to go into it and be a good example; as though instead of learning to be capable of handling it, you should be as weak to sin as possible; as though you have to go through the world with kid gloves because touching something dirty would soil your soul (which, of course this implies, is sparkling - impossible, arrogant, and kind of denying God, lol [actually, not lol, I'm expanding on that. Denying God by refusing to admit your own sin. Denying God by refusing his grace because you won't admit your own sin. Denying God by acting like his power couldn't absolve something as simple as being exposed to sin, let alone if you did end up making a miatake. Denying God by keeping yourself in Good Christian spaces and not being there for people who need outside help. There's more but I digress]).

Also, the childish áffect of refusing to say things as they are because that would be bad, but referring to it in euphamism is fine - or, transversely, that using colloquialisms is bad, but medical speak is fine, depending on what breed of crackpot christian you're dealing with. "Hanky-panky" just say sex. "Adult drinks" just say wine, beer, liquor. "Flower" for the love of all that is holy just say vulva/vagina/virginity. "Breasts" is fine to describe your chest but "boobs" is not. You can say "buttocks" but not "butt". Discussing bathroom activities is decisively not cool but if utterly necessary you must say "urine" and "feces" because pee and poop are too pedestrian.

Like, entire side tangent, but the weirdly widespread christian-ism of not discussing things frankly or discussing them super detachedly, but both preferring to never discuss them at all, regarding anything "potentially sinful" or "not spiritually uplifting" (usually boiling down to "anything physical") is so whack to me. Do not discuss your period, even in female spaces, because it's tmi. Don't talk about your health issues if they're not Clean enough subjects, even as something to pray about (like breast/prostate cancer, shitting diseases). Don't ever talk about your sex life except to wiggle your eyebrows at your kids when they're old enough. Don't hug your male friends, daughter. Don't play with your little cousins, son. Sex is so so bad but everything is about it, actually. Sex is so so great which is why you should feel guilty about ever wanting it. All nudity is sexual. Dress so they know you're a woman but also that you're a lady. Fart jokes are not allowed. You must remember that all men are looking at you with lust at all times but you can't hold that against them. All things that get you sweaty or muddy are bad. Hair on women is unnatural but just dandy for men, except we can't talk about pubic hair so you're just going to have to figure out on your own if it's less sinful to not think about your vag enough to do anything to it or to ensure you're free of all sinful hair. Here's how to do makeup in a god-honoring way, because you couldn't know on your own, and you must both jump through this hoop to be acceptable to your men but not have enough fun and personal expression with it for it to become anything other than a chore. It is wrong to kill, which is why we support the troops. We are supposed to help the poor, which is why I drive past the beggars that are dirty and ragged and smelly. We are supposed to celebrate God with our bodies, which is why my most spiritually moved state equates to slightly raising my arms.

I can't close this post without including my oft-quoted favorite example of this weird-ass pop-Christian phenomenon translating to real-life people in real-time thoughts: my mom saying she had to take into account "which ice cream flavor is most glorifying to God" at a froyo shop. Either it's raspberry, or she chose sin that day.