#I will admit that my entire wardrobe is black or dark colors

[apollolewis]

You gotta love that in period product commercials the women are almost always wearing white pants. Because as we all do, they also wear white pants on their periods. I don’t even know anyone who owns white pants, how common are people wearing them not counting white suits.

[fukanouna]

Midnight Escape

Pairing: Wanda x Natasha

Words: 1.5k

Warnings: none, just WandaNat being restless insomniacs and having fun together.

A small, wholesome one-shot as thanks for 50 followers :)

---

When Wanda left her room to make herself a cup of chamomile tea to relax herself for another sleepless night, she wasn't expecting Natasha to be standing in the middle of the compound kitchen, chomping away on a bright, red apple, clad in grey hoodie with a black leather jacket over it and paired with washed blue jeans.

Meanwhile, Wanda was in a loose black long sleeve and grey sweats. She felt under-dressed in comparison and a little self-conscious, even though she had no reason to be.

Truthfully speaking, Wanda wasn't quite sure where her relationship with her mentor stood. They were cordial towards one another, sure, but Natasha being who she was made it difficult for Wanda to understand what the spy was thinking.

"Hey, Maximoff," Natasha greeted before taking another bite of her apple.

"Hello, Natasha," Wanda greeted back as she made her way to the cupboard to grab her favorite red mug. She felt the redhead's eyes on her the entire time but made the effort to not show any hints how that jade-colored stare made her nervous.

"Can't sleep?"

"It's difficult when nightmares interrupt your sleep," Wanda answered straightforwardly as she pulled open the teabag drawer to sift through the selection inside. She slightly jumped in shock when she realized Natasha was standing right beside her all of a sudden, forgetting how stealthy the woman could be. Whether it was intention or unintentional was an entirely different question.

"Great. Then that means you're available. I could use a buddy," Natasha said while she flashed Wanda a crooked grin. Before Wanda could react, former SHIELD agent plucked the teabag packet from her fingers and put it back into the drawer. "No tea for you. You're coming with me."

The Sokovian blinked in confusion. "To where?"

Natasha shrugged, taking one last bite of her apple then tossed the core into the trash. "A late-night adventure to the city."

"B-But we have training with Steve in the morning," Wand weakly protested. Even as the words left her mouth, they were far from convincing, and judging by the deadpanned look Natasha was giving her, she was thinking the same.

"Wanda. We're adults. We don't need permission. We can go out after dark." Natasha eyed the young Avenger carefully, softening her tone. "It's alright if you don't want to come with me. You can be honest."

Guilt pricked at Wanda's skin and hastened to correct herself. "I do want to come." It was true. It was a chance for Wanda to get to get closer to the redhead. She felt her heart swell when her answer made Natasha smile.

"Glad to hear that. Go get changed into something warmer and meet me in the garage downstairs."

With that said, Natasha walked past Wanda before she could respond, leaving no more room for discussion. The brunette sighed to herself and put back her mug, wondering what the night held in store for her and the unreadable Russian woman.

---

When Wanda finally came down, Natasha was unable to hold back her smirk when she saw the brunette wearing a very familiar red leather jacket over a black tee and ripped black jeans. "Trying to flatter me by wearing that jacket?"

Wanda felt her cheeks flush but somehow she didn't look away from Natasha's piercing gaze. "I need to do laundry... and I don't have a lot of clothes left." Which was unfortunately the truth. What she didn't admit to the older woman was that the red leather jacket was her favorite piece of outerwear that she rarely wore.

Natasha let out a hum. "Is that so? Maybe our next adventure will be shopping some new clothes for you. Nothing wrong with expanding your wardrobe." The spy hummed again and grabbed a helmet to push into Wanda's hands. "I've doubled checked the pressures of my bike's tires. We're good to go."

Wanda's eyes flitted from the helmet, Natasha, then to the motorcycle parked right beside Natasha. She gulped. "We're going on your motorcycle?"

"Yep." As Natasha pulled down her own helmet, that's when she noticed the reluctance and uncertainty on Wanda's facial expression; she was afraid. "Hey, don't worry. I promise it will be fun."

The ride was not fun.

Wanda was sure Natasha was pushing the bike over a hundred miles per hour (she was also sure that those speeds were illegal). To the Russian's credit, she was very skilled at driving her bike, but Wanda wasn't used to such high velocities that didn't involve being inside a Quinjet and desperately clung to Natasha's waist for dear life. To calm her worryingly rapid heart rate, Wanda forced herself to focus on the sweet scent of vanilla coming from fiery red curls mixed with the mellow smell of Natasha's floral perfume. The combined scents did succeed in relaxing Wanda's anxiety somewhat (Natasha was still driving like a speed demon, after all).

Natasha took them to the Brooklyn Bridge Park. The park was supposed to be closed but security were already well acquainted with Natasha. The Russian saw the perplexed look Wanda was giving her, and quickly mentioned the perks of being one of the Avengers to stop the Chitauri from destroying New York. Once they were inside the park, Natasha wasted no time to guide Wanda to her favorite spot.

Wanda stood on sand and stone by the waterfront with an incredible view of the Brooklyn Bridge lit up and towering over them, illuminating the still waters that stretched out for miles.

Natasha stood right beside Wanda with her hands tucked into the front pocket of her hoodie, unable to keep her eyes off the other girl who was entranced by the night view. "Pretty cool, right?"

"It's beautiful..." Wanda murmured in awe. "It's the first time I've seen the bridge lit up like this. It's so much bigger up close." With innocent curiosity, she turned to avert her attention to the redhead. "How often do you come here?"

"Whenever the nightmares become too much," Natasha answered simply and casually, as if it typically were the topic of a lighthearted conversation. Wanda immediately regretted asking but the other woman didn't seem to mind and gave her a reassuring smile before continuing. "The thoughts, the memories from my time in the Red Room... The world inside my head is ugly. But when I come out here on quiet nights like these and take in the view, I think to myself that this world actually isn't so bad."

The way Natasha spoke tugged at something inside of Wanda, a small yet dull ache that made her want to reach out to offer a comforting touch to her mentor because she truly did have an idea what Natasha was trying to say. However, she kept her hand to herself, still uncertain if she was allowed to do so. Though if Wanda was being honest with herself, she was more afraid of being rejected by Natasha.

A gust of wind abruptly blew past them and made Wanda shiver from the cold. She thought it would be a one time thing but the wind soon became continuous. Wanda shouldn't have been surprised since they were near the water. She tried her best to suppress her shudders but it wasn't long until the other woman noticed.

"Are you cold?"

"N-No..." Wanda chattered through her teeth, which made Natasha chuckle.

"Probably should have worn another layer under my jacket and not ripped jeans that exposed your knees."

"It's a-alright, I'll b-be f-fine—" Wanda was cut off when Natasha moved to embrace her behind, toned arms wrapping themselves around the Sokovian's waist. Wanda held her breath when she felt Natasha propped her chin on her shoulder, her warm breath felt against the shell of her ear when she spoke.

"Is this better?" Natasha checked in softly, her voice an octave lower than usual. Wanda wasn't sure if she felt warmer because of Natasha shielding her from the cold or for other reasons.

Feeling bold, Wanda placed her hands over Natasha's. "Yes, but... what are you doing?" she asked quietly, the butterflies fluttering wildly in her stomach.

"Keeping you warm," Natasha answered naturally, holding Wanda even closer. "Do you want to head back? I don't want you to catch a cold."

Wanda swallowed, her cheeks flushed, then looked over her shoulder to see Natasha's face so close to hers, to meet those striking green eyes gazing at her earnestly. "Can we stay a little longer? I'm not ready to go back yet."

Natasha simply nodded, a smile on her lips when she felt Wanda lean back into her arms, subtly burying her face into the Sokovian's silky chestnut brown hair.

As for Wanda, she still wasn't quite sure what this thing between her and Natasha was, but maybe she didn't need to decide or place a label on it.

For now, Wanda decided to stop overthinking and focus on the warmth Natasha was giving her through her embrace, hoping this would not be the last time.

---

A/N: Thank you for reading :) Apologies for writing this a rush and for not proofreading, heh.

Will probably post this on AO3 at some point but for now, enjoy Tumblr friends!

[marzipanandminutiae]

Ranking Crimson Peak Looks- Lucille

AKA the hard one because I am a big goth bitch and oh my god put all of these in my wardrobe at once immediately

5. Underwear (deleted scene)

Girl put on a chemise. I know you’re, as the youths do say, a certified freak, but I find it hard to believe even YOU would enjoy being chafed 24/7.

That aside, and while I’m glad this scene was deleted because it makes her hair being down at the end more impactful, this IS a stunning 1880s-style corset and petticoat set. I love the color. I love the wear to show that she’s had it forever. I love that you can actually see the prosthetic scars that were apparently applied to the actress’ body for certain scenes but which are almost never visible in the movie

I hate that I cannot find actual video of this scene, just GIFs, because not to be a lesbian but oH MY GOD

4. Ball gown

God, putting this anywhere near the end of even a list that I’ve admitted is entirely outfits I love pains me, but...the super-high ruff collar tips it over the edge for me. Also the fact that it’s not really cut like an evening gown, with the high neck and long sleeves. Then again, I realy don’t see Lucille getting very off-shoulder in anything but loungewear. Partially because of personal comfort; partially because of the aforementioned Extensive Parental Abuse Scars.

Also not my favorite hairstyle on her, tbh. I’m not a big fan of a lot of side volume. I do love and want her garnet hairpins, though- I’m on a quest for good garnet pins that has been thus far unsuccessful

But I still love it. I love the Jacobean elements that push her even further behind the times. I love the color (DEEP RED IS EVERYTHING). I love the tiny dangling beads on her collar. I love that this was apparently made with like a couple of DAYS’ notice because Del Toro was like “no wait she should be wearing red at the party.”

3. Park dress

F in the chat for the hotel maid cleaning the dust ruffles on the underside of Lucille’s skirt trains. geez, woman- you never met trailing fabric you didn’t love

this dress is almost completely monochromatic, but so detailed when you look more closely. lots of texture and black-on-black trim. it’s a masterpiece carefully calculated to make all the fem goths in the audience swoon and I adore it

(Also her hat is a SCREAMING GARGOYLE. EVERYBODY IN BUFFALO IN 1901 IS AN IDIOT FOR TRUSTING A THING THIS WOMAN SAYS)

2. Blue dress

I, too, long for a dress that matches my house

I, too, long for a house like that

(I also like that the collar is high but not closed all the way around. super-high collars aren’t my thing, but if they’re open in front, I like them a lot better. and her hair in this outfit is much more to my taste)

1. Nightgown/robe

I am a simple woman. I see huge flowy sleeves, I Yearn.

but seriously, I love that the nightgown has the opposite meaning for Lucille taht it does for Edith. Edith in a nightgown has lost control. She’s unhealthy, tormented, and fighting for her life. It’s not her most real self. Lucille in a nightgown is Lucille being honest for the first time. she says it herself- “This is who I am.” the true depth of her darkness is on display, in ironically the lightest thing she wears the whole movie, and I adore that symbolism so much

...but mostly it’s the huge flowy sleeves

[debbiechanclub]

“Homesick for Christmas,” Part 1

A prequel one-shot to “Take My Hand, Wreck My Plans.” Find the entire series here.

Title: “Homesick for Christmas,” Part 1 (of 2) Theme: @12daysofchristmas Day 7 - Family/Home Fandom/Character(s): NJPW - Jay x OFC (Nellie Keegan) Warnings: Some alcohol Word Count: 2,208

Synopsis: Nellie is stuck in Tokyo for Christmas... but, thanks to Jay, she’s far from lonely.

Tag Squad: @galacticstat @hotyeehawman @hdbngsprnva @kingswitchblade @champhangman @bec0m @betsy-bradock @linziland13 @librathepheonix13 @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @meteora-fc @kawaiikels @exe-babymox-exe @rocca09 @gabbynorth98 @brokenglassslippers @thatgirlforever5 @adriii-omega

A/n: If you haven’t already, I recommend reading “Winter Wonderland” before this, as it references back to things that happen in that fic. Otherwise, enjoy!

Thursday, December 24, 2020 Tokyo, Japan

Nellie had never felt less holiday cheer in her entire life. Because, for the first time in her life, she wouldn’t be home for Christmas.

Granted, it was for good reason. To date, only four women had ever wrestled at NJPW Wrestle Kingdom, and on January 5, Nellie would make her mark on history as the first gaijin woman to do so when she would wrestle in one of two Stardom exhibition matches on night two of Wrestle Kingdom 15. It was a tremendous honor, and absolute validation that she’d made the right decision in moving to Tokyo… and yet, it was bittersweet. She hadn’t seen her family in over a year, and with mandatory quarantine periods after international travel still in effect in both the U.S. and Japan, flying back home to Pennsylvania for Christmas just wasn’t possible without taking time off from Stardom—something that she couldn’t do without risking her spot in the Wrestle Kingdom match. And even though Nellie knew she had her family’s full support—her own father had told her not to take time off—she still couldn’t help but feel guilty for missing Christmas.

But she didn’t want to dwell on what she was missing. She might be on the other side of the world from her family, but at least she didn’t have to spend the holiday alone. In fact, she had a date with Jay that night—and she had a lot more nervous butterflies about it than she’d expected.

She stood in front of the full-length floor mirror in her bedroom and did a final appearance check. It had taken going through half her wardrobe, but she’d decided on a burgundy sweater dress that she’d paired with chunky heeled over-the-knee black boots and a dark red lip; she’d even styled her espresso-colored hair in loose waves instead of straight for once. It was festive and sophisticated and just the right amount of sexy, and Nellie had to admit—she was feeling herself.

She grabbed her phone and opened the camera to take a picture for her Instagram; but before she could, it rang in her hand. Her brow furrowed in surprise at the caller ID. It was a FaceTime call from Torrance.

Nellie didn’t even bother with “hello.” “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for your date?” she answered.

“I’ll have you know I’m waiting on Taiji for once,” Torrance proudly returned. “So I thought I’d check in with you about your date.”

Nellie’s eyebrows arched. “You’re waiting on Ishimori? I know it’s cold outside, but I didn’t realize hell had frozen over,” she said; but Torrance ignored the comment with a roll of her eyes.

“So… what are you wearing?!”

Nellie breathed a laugh; of course that was the first order of business with Torrance. She flipped the camera view so she could show her the entire ensemble in the mirror. “I was actually trying to take a picture when you called.”

Torrance responded with an excited sound of approval. “Ahhh, you look so good! Ugh, I hate you and your long-ass legs.”

She laughed again and flipped the camera back toward herself. “That’s why I went with this. Jay likes my legs.”

“Jay likes your ass.”

Nellie shot her a baffled look through the phone screen.

“What?” Torrance innocently returned. “I overheard him say so.”

“To who?” she asked; but then she thought better of it and shook her head. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.”

Torrance just grinned, looking all too like the Cheshire Cat what with her cotton candy pink hair. “But speaking of Mr. White…” she segued, “are you excited about your date?”

Nellie breathed out as she sat down on the side of her bed. “I am. But I’m also more nervous than I thought I’d be.”

Her brow creased in question. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” she returned—but it was total bullshit. She did know. Because while she and Jay had been out plenty of times over the last two months, tonight felt different. Christmas Eve was the most romantic day of the year in Japan; it was, essentially, their version of Valentine’s Day. And while he could just be taking her out so that neither of them had to spend the holiday alone, something in her gut told her it wasn’t that.

“Don’t be nervous,” Torrance said, cutting into her thoughts. “I have a good feeling about it.”

“You ready?”

Nellie suddenly heard Ishimori’s voice in the background of the call. Torrance looked up at him off-camera. “Oh—yeah,” she returned. “Wait, come say hi to Nellie!”

He ducked into frame, a big smile on his face. “Hi, Nellie! Are you excited for your date?”

“She said she’s nervous,” Torrance supplied. It made him frown.

“Why?”

“Okay, you’re gonna be late for your reservation,” Nellie deflected; she really didn’t want to get into a discussion about it. “You can speculate about Jay and me over dinner.”

“Oh, we will,” Torrance admitted. Nellie good-naturedly rolled her eyes. At least she was being honest. “But don’t be nervous! And tell me all about it tomorrow.”

“Bye, Torr,” Nellie returned, eager to end the call. And as Torrance and Ishimori waved their goodbyes and she hung up, her friend’s earlier words echoed in her head.

I have a good feeling about it.

For whatever reason, it suddenly made her think of last Christmastime. In London, at the top of an observation wheel, cuddled up next to someone else. Nellie had had a good feeling about that then; an amazing, incredible feeling. And then, a few months later, it had all fallen apart.

But she shook off the memory and stood from her bed—just as there was a knock at her front door.

“Shit,” she cursed under her breath. She looked in the mirror and tousled her hair one last time and before walking quickly out of her bedroom and down the hall to the front of her apartment. She opened the door. Jay stood on the other side, looking handsome as ever in a white sweater, fitted jeans, and a dark gray pea coat.

“Hey,” he grinned as he stepped inside.

“Hey,” Nellie echoed, and she brought her hands to either side of his face and kissed him. He blindly caught the door before it could slam shut, and after he guided it closed, he pulled her close against him. Nellie always got all warm and tingly whenever Jay kissed her, but it was somehow different that time; bigger, deeper. Maybe there was something to Torrance’s good feeling, after all.

They pulled apart, and he smirked down at her, still holding her close. “Is your lipstick all over me now?”

“No,” she smiled as she reached up and gently rubbed away the little bit of color that had come off on his bottom lip. “Is it messed up on me?”

He shook his head. “No.”

She grinned wider. “And that’s why I put on the good stuff.”

“I can see that.” He took a step back so he could look her over. “I was thinking we’d have dessert at the restaurant, but maybe we should get it to go.”

Nellie’s face flushed hot. But then she noticed he was holding something in his hand. A shiny Christmas gift bag with red and white tissue paper sticking out of the top.

“What’s that?” she asked, genuinely surprised. “I thought we said no gifts?”

“I know,” he returned. “But I couldn’t help myself.”

He handed the bag to her. She pouted in appreciation as she accepted it. “Jay…”

“It’s just something small,” he assured.

“Well, I feel bad because I didn’t get you anything.”

A corner of his mouth quirked up. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to make it up to me.”

Nellie blushed again, but she smiled and pulled the tissue paper from the bag so she could look inside—and she gasped at what she saw. She reached in and pulled out a small snow globe, a replica of the famous Philadelphia LOVE statue inside.

“Jay,” she breathed. She was at a loss for words. The gift might have been physically small, but the thought behind it wasn’t small at all.

“I know how homesick you’ve been the last few weeks,” he explained. “And I know this hardly stands in for the real thing, but… I thought you’d like it.”

“I love it,” she corrected, and she gave him another kiss, grateful and tender. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he said; and when he looked at her, Nellie felt it. That good, incredible, warm feeling in her gut, undeniable.

* * * * * * * * * *

If Christmas Eve was the most romantic day of the year in Japan, then Jay had certainly understood the assignment.

He’d gotten them a private table at her favorite steakhouse in Tokyo. She hadn’t even realized he’d known it was her favorite; she was sure Torrance had had something to do with that. They’d ordered a bottle of red wine, salmon onigiri as an appetizer, and some of the most delicious wagyu steak Nellie had ever had for the main course. But more than the private table, or the wine, or the food, what mattered to Nellie was the quality time. They actually talked. Not just surface-level conversation; they talked in-depth about their families, the past experiences that had molded them, their goals, what they wanted in the future, both short- and long-term. It wasn’t the type of conversation you’d have with someone you weren’t considering including in that future; it wasn’t the type of date you’d take someone on if things weren’t getting “serious.” And even though they hadn’t yet explicitly addressed the topic of “them,” Nellie could feel that there had been a shift in their relationship. They weren’t just dating anymore. It was more than that.

But at the moment, the wine had finally encouraged the conversation to take a turn for the less-than-serious.

“Torrance told you what?” Jay asked through a laugh.

“She told me she overheard you tell someone that you like my ass,” she repeated with a grin.

“Well yeah,” he bluntly returned. “I do.”

“So who are you talking to about it, then?”

She sent him a smirk over her wine glass as he looked away, caught. He actually seemed a little embarrassed by it. It was cute. “It was locker room talk that she walked in on,” he admitted.

Her grin widened. “Oh really?”

“Yeah. I guess you’re not upset about it?”

She shook her head. “No. I like that you like my ass so much you feel the need to brag about it.”

Jay laughed again, louder that time. “Well, like I said earlier… maybe we should get dessert to go.”

Nellie let out a breath. “I don’t think I have room for dessert.” She pouted down at the dessert menu the waiter had brought. “That matcha ice cream sounds really good right now, though.”

“Well, if that’s what you want, we can swing by a convenience store on the way back to yours and pick some up for later.”

There were those warm tingles in her stomach again. “You’re gonna spoil me.”

He shrugged a shoulder. “Well, that’s something else I like—spoiling you.”

His eyes turned dark as he sipped his wine. Nellie squirmed in her seat. They needed to get the check. Thankfully, the waiter reappeared as if summoned by the thought, and Jay asked for the bill. The waiter already had it ready to go, and he pulled it out of his apron and set it on the table. Jay immediately reached for it.

“Should we split it?” Nellie asked—she knew this restaurant wasn’t exactly cheap.

“Absolutely not,” Jay returned. “I just said I like spoiling you, didn’t I?”

She bit back a grin. “Fine. But I’m getting the ice cream.”

He smiled. “Deal.”

He signed the bill, and then he helped her into her coat, and they headed outside to wait for their Uber. It was cold, just above freezing, and the sky looked like it was on the verge of snow. Jay pulled Nellie into him to help stave off the bite in the air, and Nellie breathed in the fading smell of his cologne. If the night ended right now, it couldn’t have been more perfect. But she was glad it wasn’t over yet.

“Spoiling you aside,” he started, “I really did want to make this night special for you, Nell. I know it’s hard on you being away from home right now; it’s not the easiest for me, either. But there’s no one else I’d rather spend this Christmas with.”

Nellie lifted her head to look up at him. She thought of the snow globe, of the statue inside, those little-big four letters. And in that moment, it didn’t feel like it was just a trinket he’d gotten her because he knew she missed home.

“You’ve made the last three months special for me, Jay. Not just tonight.”

Jay brought his hands to her face, but she didn’t even notice the cold of their touch when he kissed her. And, for the first time in actual years, Nellie realized she wasn’t wondering about anyone else.

[le0watch]

i cant get this out of my mind so imma just type it out:

god au where the main characters of sk8 are sort of their own pantheon.

-Masai, Goddess of Fertility and the Stars. she gave birth to reki similar to the ways the old gods of north and greek mythology did- in unconventional ways. reki was born from a star, after masai touched its surface with her finger. reki formed inside, forming and being "born" just as the earth was created, and the sun came from the remenants of his formation. she wears a crown of tiny stars, and the edges of her cloak are dotted with the stars as well.

Children of Masai, lesser gods(still powerful beyond belief, however):

-Reki, God of the Sun and Warmth. reki is the embodiment of the sun, as well as the controller of warmth and heat. he controls the sun, similar to apollo, and makes sure that the earth revolves around every day. he is also the creator of fire, creating it while he was playing with the sun's surface. when people were formed, he gave fire to them as a gift. this helped people evolve drastically. he is constantly surrounded by a bright, godly glow, his eyes holding every color of heat and warmth. he has a halo of light over his head, created by his mother from the light of stars as a gift. he wears it proudly. he gives off a constant heat, proof that is was born from the star known as the sun.

-Koyomi, Goddess of Spring. she was born from a white cloud, warmed by her mother's touch. she came up with the idea of the first season on earth: spring. this was before the other seasons were created, and so many reptilians evolved rapidly under her touch. she is often found wearing green and pink robes, as well as a crown similar to that of reki's.

-Nanaka and Chihiro, Twin Goddesses of Summer. They were born from the petals of a flower, held gently in their mother's hands. They were small at first, tiny as a pair of seeds, and still have yet to grow into their full goddesshood. but that didn't stop them from "copying" their older sister's idea of a season, and they wound up creating summer, a season of heat and more heat. they asked their eldest sibling, reki, to help with the creation, and he gave in, but ended up sending a bit too much heat. reptilians continued to thrive beneath the sun's strong waves. they wear a matching pair of sun like crowns, gifted to them from reki, as well as robes of orange and red.

Nanako, Goddess of Space and Kindness. nanako was the first god or goddess to ever be born, and was brought to life along with the existence of space. she is the eldest of the gods, yet she is also the most kind and gentle. she existed alone in the void, until a nearby spark lit up, before bursting outwards, and masai came into existence with the stars. they worked together to create planets. nanako grew jealous of masai as she gave birth to children, but it was impossible for her to do it similarly, since she is not the goddess of fertility. she begged for masai to make her fertile for at least one child, and was told she could only give birth with the help of a mortal man. this is how she met and chose oliver, a mortal from the time just before the ice age, who was blessed with the most intelligence and wisdom over any other, recognizing her and treating her kindly. this is how langa was conceived. she too wears a crown created by masai, and wears a cloak as dark and unconceivable as the void of space, dark matter rising from it like smoke. despite her choice of wardrobe, she radiates kindness and love.

Child of Nanako, a lesser god:

Langa, God of Snow and Growth. though it may sound confusing as to why langa, god of the snow, also contains the ability of growth, it is not the growth of plants, since most die from his chilling touch. he is the god of growth in people and their abilities, helping to shape them and give them inspiration in whatever they chose to do. he is one of the gods that blessed mortals the most after his mother, blessing them with natural ability and adaptative personalities. he is also the creator of winter, somehow snuffing out the sun's heat from affecting the earth as much, creating snow and ice in the process. he has not yet met reki the sun god, and does not of his transgression, but the third season was created, causing the ice age the extinction of 90% of the earth's population. he is also the youngest of the gods, the others being born prior to the creation of men. he made himself a crown of ice, that is also snowing across his blue hair. he also wears a large coat, snow cascading from the shoulders like the fur of a wolf (he asked miya for the favor of creating wolves, and he stills owes a favor to miya in return). most of his wardrobe are blues, whites and greys.

Miya, God of Animals and Mischief. miya is the creator of every single animal that roams the earth. he started with the bacteria before he grew bored, and then created evolution, helping the animals to change into different variations of themselves, dropping different creations during the time before humans. he helped to make dinosaurs and birds and mammals and fish and bugs, until he grew bored of unintelligent creatures. he made human from the first monkey he saw, touching it with intelligence and watching it grow. he also loves to tease and prank the other gods and goddesses, throwing them for loops. his best friend, though he won't admit it, is the sun god himself, who enjoys partaking in his play every now and again. he has a wardrobe made entirely of the pelts of various unknown animals to humans, which are in the colors of purple and pink and green. he also likes to make a tail for himself. miya prefers to not wear a crown, but when he has to, it is a crown of bronze.

Kojiro, God of Strength and Wisdom. kojiro is the definition of brain and brawn, helping the animals miya made have both strength and the minor wisdom they needed to survive. when miya created humans, he asked kojiro to give the humans more wisdom along with the intelligence he gave them. kojiro agreed, intruged by miya's newest creation. he visits with mortals often, granting them strength and wisdom, or one or the other. he doesn't wear a shirt, much to kaoru's chagrin, but luckily, he does wear a pair of pants that are as soft as a cloud. kojiro wears a silver crown.

Kaoru, God of Art and Creation: every god mentioned above has at one point or another created something. this is the doing of kaoru, allowing them the idea of creating anything. he gifted it to each of the gods- some more than others (kojiro was given the least amount, as well as anoisuke), and brought art to the humans in their early stages, helping them reach their full potential of wisdom and creation. this led to humans becoming the dominant species on earth. kaoru was the one to create miya from the oil of one of his paintings alongside kojiro, and thus miya refers to them as his parents, much to kaoru's annoyance. he wears robes similar to the kimonos in japan, and he favors the japanese over most other humans, giving them many gifts of art and creation. he wears a golden crown atop his head.

because of this, kojiro and kaoru are often depicated together, and they are referred to as the patron gods of techonolgy, humanity's greatest show of creation with their wisdom. occasionally, miya is also depicted with them both, and they are recognized as the patrons of family.

Hiromi, God of Plants and Life. hiromi was the one that made miya and kojiro's ideas of life on earth possible. he created the first life on earth ever: a tiny, pre-tree plant. he gave it life, making it grow and breathe until the earth was inhabitable for the creatures kojiro and miya desired to create. his favorite creation of all is that of flowers. he made those with love and care, nurturing the first flowers to life with his hands rather than his godly power. he has a crown of flower petals, as well as a robe made mostly of flowers.

Anoisuke, God of Death and Despair. anoiskue has a long and twisted history with the other gods, and as such, was locked and chained to the underworld, where he could still properly preform his job of taking those who were meant to go. he is still a heavy subject among the pantheon, as well the mortals below. it is said that he terrorized the others of the pantheon before he was locked away, and even tried to kill the sun god reki, before the god of snow stopped him, freezing him in place. anoisuke had been planning to kill the sun god to put out the sun and throw the mortals into utmost despair, so he could drag them all to the depths of the underworld below. he also had a particular interest in the snow god, believing that with his power over cold, they could freeze the entire planet over, making it unhabital for any mortal. langa outright refused.

this was how the snow god and the god of the sun met, and eventually fell in love. the mixture of their heat and cold created the final season, fall, which presides on its own without the control of a god. one would think that they could be around one another often due to their opposing temperatures, but they would be wrong. langa is so cold that he could never experience heat, while reki is so hot he could never experience cold. when they are together, the mortals consider them the patron gods of love, and they are often depicted together, with the sun and moon merged together.

Minor gods (not apart of the main pantheon):

Oka, God of Trust. oka is the god of trust, making him popular among the true believers of the human race. he helps them to root out the toxic people in their lives, as well as those they can trust the most. he is also called upon to solidify promises that can never be broken, until the promise is fulfilled.

Tadashi, God of Servitude. tadashi is the patron god of past slaves, servants, and the blue collar workers of the human population. they pray to him to lower their work, and help them get through a long day. depictions of him are a lot of the time that of a black labrador retriever, the symbol of obidience in their world. as such, he obidiently retrieves the souls of the dead to bring to his master, the god of the dead. he is also known as the god of soul reaping due to this.

due to tadashi and anoisuke's close relationship, they are often depicted together as a warning to those working, as a warning to not be too submissive, or you will be undoubtedly taken advantage of. when a person wants ward off possible bosses who force them into an unfair working situation, they will wear a pendant of tadashi and anoisuke's combined symbols- that of a skeleton holding the chain of a dog.

???, God of Youth. this is a god that everyone has forgotten the name of, but refer to as Youthian. no one has a solid depiction of they, nor entirely what they truly are a patron of, but most believe them to be that of youth and the protection of children. this god is rumored to have once been the close friend of the sun god reki, before they suddenly vanished from the pantheon.

[ahsxual]

Purple and Green Desire

Pairing: Ledger!Joker x Female!Reader

Summary: You wanted to make J a surprise by painting your hair half purple, half green, and provoke him to see what his reaction would be. Little did you know what would come for you...

Warnings: Rough and mad J, possessive and jealous J, J scaring the reader, reader with psychotic thoughts, sir kink, dom/sub, vaginal sex, hard spanking, oral sex (male and female), fingering, nipple play, some blood involved, swearing, degradation, a little bit of edging, mentions of anal sex

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 4,2 k

A/N: Sooo this was supposed to be posted on Halloween, but as always I'm late. I had this idea a while ago, and thought: "why not write a smut out of it?". I thought it would be a good idea to join your request and my ideas together, my lovely @mountainjiwish. Thank you so much for your incredible idea!! I wanted to write something like this for so long, but I thought I wouldn't be able to write such a rough J fic... but how do we know we're not good at something if we don’t try it? Anyway, I still hope you all enjoy it <33

In the last few months, your life has changed drastically. You never thought you would be where you were right now, however you couldn't complain about it, not at all. How could you? You received what you had always wanted and desired for the longest time, something you had always idealized, waiting for your darkest kinks turn into reality with someone you trusted... and he, well, he could have his little toy only for himself, something he didn't know how tremendously he craved until he landed his hungry eyes on you.

If it was possible, your relationship would be seen as extremely toxic by others: you didn't have, or at least you never admitted out loud, the true feelings you had for each other. You just made your darkest wishes come true every time you were together, feeding the hunger that was growing inside your hearts and cores, and that only you could make that happen.

He could be compared to the biggest and most dangerous lion in the jungle, and you to a little masochist deer who would always be eager for the lion to come after you, and eat you in the most cruel way possible. But what was "funny" to you, was the fact that the lion would never let his deer escape from him without causing it some deep wounds... however, he would never kill the deer, wanting for it to come back to him so he could catch it and have some fun. That was the game you both enjoyed playing since day one.

Today was october 31st, your favorite day of the year. Why? It's simple: on this day, you felt like you could be yourself, without being judged or being too obvious that you also had psychopathic instincts. Of course you had your own dark thoughts. Of course you also had the cruel desire to rip someone's throat every time they messed with you or with someone you loved. But you didn't have enough courage to cause such bloody chaos, so instead you decided to be with someone who represented your inner self. Unlike you, J does not fear the consequences of his acts, or even feels guilty. But you do, so that's why it's so much funnier to watch the world burn by someone you love. That way you don't have to feel guilty about anything, because you didn't do anything by your own hands, right? You're not guilty for liking to see the blood coming out of people's mouth and eyes, while they scream in agony. You're not guilty for craving so much to watch the world be destroyed by the scalding fire before your sadic eyes, to love someone who would realize your wishes for you. But that didn't matter right now. What mattered is that you wanted to surprise J, to show him once agaim how a good and dedicated submissive you are for him.

You painted your hair half purple, half green, and put it in two ponytails, each one with a different color, while your makeup also had those gorgeous colors. You wanted to look sexy, yet cute and innocent for him, even if you were the bratiest woman he had ever met in his entire life. And believe me... he had met a lot of girls. Yet none of them were as good as you, and none of them would be loyal and stay with him for so long, even when he had been considered a monster before everyone's eyes... but not yours. He always saw you as his little bunny, his little doll, his little loyal masochist... and he surely planned to keep you for himself for a very long, long time. Your outfit was a little different and scandalous too: you dressed yourself in a fit leather dress you had recently bought, with the highest leather boots you had in your wardrobe, while wearing your sexiest black lace thong briefs and the choker with a diamond "J" on it that he gave you in the beginning of your "relationship". This item was utterly sacred. He always made you to wear it: everyday, at any second of the day, so you wouldn't forget to who you belong to. You then thought carefully if you should wear a bra or not, and decided it would be better if you didn't wear any at all, before putting a comfortable leather jacket on.

You checked yourself in the mirror and for what felt like an eternity, you felt stunning. Halloween never failed to make you feel more confident about yourself, neither the expensive clothes J "bought" you or the compliments he gaves after seeing you wearing them. You stared in the mirror a little while, until you realized that you had something that was excessive on your body: the "J" choker. You knew too well that he would be furious if he didn't see you wearing it... but after all, that's what you wanted, to see the ravenous lion being released from its cage. However, you didn't feel satisfied. Not yet. You were also planning something else to make him even more mad: what about, pretending you went to a party without his gift and permission, while using your favorite perfume in your most exuberant outfit, and then not giving him the attention he always craved from you? Deep down, you even feared he would kill you out of anger, because of your malicious and provocative plan... oh, you really didn't know who you were messing with. But thinking about it, what better way to die than to have sex with the person you were so immensely addicted to?

When you finished fixing your hair by making each ponytail look messy, you heard the door of your house being closed so hard that you genuinely believed he had broken it, which meant he was already mad. Perfect. You ran to your room and started to act normal, pretending to be packing your sex toys. But now that he was there, you felt yourself slightly shaking from pure fear and anticipation. You had a slight idea of what was coming, you just didn't know the gravity of it.

Suddenly your room's door was carefully opened, which wasn't a good sign. The calm before the storm. Maybe he felt your perfume from afar, and knowing that you would only use it for very special occasions, and that he wasn't there with you before, it only meant you did use it for something else. He could even be compared to a quiet dangerous dog, because of his keen sense of smell... and because of his unpredictable behavior. You could sense his stare burning into your back, but you acted like you had a durable shield against his fervent fire. You purposely positioned yourself in a way so that he had a good view of what you were doing: packing your sex toys that were forbidden to be used, unless J used them on you. Now, you could feel and smell the hot and suffocating flames of his fire getting way too intense. You then finished packing them under your bed, and stood up to take your jacket off, making sure he noticed you weren't wearing the choker he gave you.

"You don't look very joyful. Rough day?" you answered contemptuously, calmly taking your boots off in the process. From his point of view, you went somewhere else to do who knows what without his permission, and since you were too desesperate and lazy to undress yourself first, you masturbated with your clothes on. According to his perspective, you didn’t give a shit about his rules, like the obedient slut you should be to him.

Saying that his glare towards you was terrifying and caused shivers down your spine, was an absolute understatement. You instantly regreted making all of this up, but it was too late. Now, you would have to deal with the real consequences of your brat decisions. J slowly walked towards you, making you unconsciously step back until you met the rigid wall of your suddenly cold room. He was so close to you, making you feel his hot, yet deep and rhythmic breathing on your face, and without your leather boots, you felt once again intimidated by his much taller figure. He took this opportunity to analyze you better: your messy colored ponytails and makeup, that for a moment almost made him crack a smile because of your choices, your sexy outfit... to the absence of your necklace.

"Something is ah... missing on ya, dont'cha think, doll? Huh?" completely ignoring your question, he calmly, yet dangerously asked, making known the fact that he instantly noticed you weren't wearing his precious and meaningful accessory. His gloved hands slid to your naked neck and grabbed it forcefully, making you unable to respond him, because of the lacking of air in your throat and lungs. Once he realized you would literally pass out if he continued to choke you, he slightly let it go, just enough to make you receive some oxygen to your now extremely frightened brain.

"I don't k-know what you're talking about..." you really weren't one to give up easily. You wanted to see how your little game would end, even though you had just been almost choked to death. His pupils became so much darker once he realized what game you were playing.

"Ya don't... know?" he suddenly started laughing maniacally, the loudest and scariest sound you had ever heard in your entire life. You knew he had already discovered what your intentions were, however he still didn't know if the fact that you went out with someone else and played with yourself, was true. Yet you would keep him thinking about  that... What a strong and determined woman you were.

His laugh started to slow down and his not so happy expression returned to his scarred face. "Do I really need to ah... remind ya of the rules dollface, huh?" his voice was deeper and hoarse, and you could tell he was trying to contain his humiliating words towards you to himself... at least for now. He walked away from you to grabbed the box under your bed, keeping an intense eye contact with you, and put it above the bed. You were watching very attentively with each step he made, not having the courage to look away from him. He then grabbed each vibrator you had, and started to break them with his own hands. Since when did he have so much strength??

"J, what the hell?!" you screamed at him and the moment you took a step forward, he nimbly took a knife from his pocket and pointed it in your direction.

"Ata-tada!" he warned you with his fatal object in his left hand while giving you a sharp stare, making you return immediately to your initial position. "Dont'cha wanna make things harder for yourself. This is all your fault." he grabbed a broken piece of your favorite vibrator and threw it caressly to a random corner of your room. Much to your control, your eyes started to water instantly: you wanted to provoke him, not ending up having your dear toys broken. But that's what you get when you get on J's nerves... and this was nothing compared to what he wanted to do to you...

A single tear came out of your eye and you instantly looked way, ashamed for feeling so unnecessarily sad for having your sexual toys destroyed. You closed your eyes, and all you could only hear, was your own sobs and his heavy steps.

"Shh-Shh why are ya crying bunny? Ya knew this was ah... gonna happen the moment you messed with your owner, didn't ya?" you didn't answer to him. You were way too pissed to give him what he wanted, but once again... you made the wrong choice. "ANSWER ME!" you never felt so intimidated by anyone the way you did at that moment. You were now trembling with fear, and even if you didn't want to admit it, you were also trembling by lust, excitement and hunger for him. He suddenly harshly grabbed your cheeks and made you look up at him: your makeup was already ruined because of the mix of emotions that filled your slippery salty tears, and by his rough movements on your face.

"YES!!" you responded the loudest you could, but he didn't seem satisfied.

"Yes, what?!" he asked calmer while tightening his grip on your aching jaw, yet he was calm by far.

"Yes sir!!!" for the first time for what felt like hours, you saw a proud grin form on his scarred cheeks. You unconsciously smiled too, but that didn't last for too long since he caressly shoved you against the bed. If your bed wasn't so soft, you were sure you would have bruises or even broken your face. He then roughly pinned your hands together, and tied them tightly with some handcuffs he found in the box beside you both. He turned you on your back, and instantly placed a knife on your jaw. You didn't dare to move, because if you did... that scene would definitely turn into a bloody mess. He was so concentrated on your body, memorizing every detail of your soft skin into his psychotic mind, and without a warning, he cut your dress in half with his pointy knife, and this time, you didn't dare to complain.

"Hmm, no bra..?" he pretended to look surprised and looked like he didn't care about your decision, but his body language betrayed his mind since his excitement was way more noticeable. "Now tell me... how ah... naughty and filthy can ya be, huh?" he then grabbed your hips with such force that you knew for sure he would leave dark bruises there. You didn't know anymore if it was the fact that you were so distracted in leading your own emotions, or if it was due to you being completely consumed by pure desire, that you didn't prepare yourself from what was coming: you suddenly felt his sharpened knife being softly, yet firmly craved into your chest. You couldn't see it, but you did feel the fatal object drawing a "J" letter on your once soft chest. He wanted to mark you forever, so if a goddamn choker couldn't make that happen... a deep scar definitely will. Your screams were mistaken for loud moans, so he continued to do his work, blood running out of your body into the sheets, that were once white, into a dark, permanent red.

When he turned you around, you felt another hot and painful sensation, but this time on your butt cheek, so painful and hard it was, that you almost fell out of the bed, only to be abruptly grabbed by your ponytails to make you still.

"Where do ya think you're going, huh?" he pushed you to himself by each ponytail. A muffled sound of pleasure and pain came out involuntarily of your mouth, yet you couldn't care less.

"Please..." you pleaded, blinded by the absurd amount of pleasure that was running into your veins for him.

"Please what, huh? Tell me... Tell your sir want you ah... desire from him. And if ya behave like ah... good little slut for him, maybe he will reward ya." you opened your eyes that were previously tightly closed and looked deep into eyes, noticing that his eyes were now completely black, like he was possessed by the devil himself. You could feel his huge and solid bulge leaning against your now reddish ass since he pulled you so close to him, and you knew that everything was finally leading to where you wanted.

"I want more... please sir, I want you to destroy me..." the moment those words came out of your mouth, he totally lost it. Neither him or you could hold yourselves anymore. With your leather dress thrown into a corner, your ass was now exposed. He caressed your butt not so softly with his strong hands, admiring the gorgeous view for a few seconds. Oh, how he loved to see his doll with lace.

Your room was then filled with loud moans, deep groans from him, and even louder sounds of skin being roughly spanked. He knows your limits very well, so he stopped once he noticed you couldn't take it anymore: after all, the pain is beauty for him, but so is pleasure and trust from both sides. Your ass was now covered in shades of dark purple and red, a view that J never got tired of... in fact, it was his favorite.

"The purple really ah... suits ya, doll. So does the green and the red..." he whispered more to himself, getting lost in the beauty of the job you both did: the spanking session he just gave you, and the look you chose for yourself that had everything to do with him, as it proved your submission for him as well. While he was saying that, you were trying to catch your breath and collect yourself from what just happened. Your ass was hurting so bad, and you were sure you wouldn't be able to sit properly for weeks, but the pleasure that came from it... it made it all worth it. You were almost getting your breath back, almost, when you felt your ponytails getting pulled once again. He really liked the idea of the colored ponytails, you proudly thought for yourself.

"Ata-tada, ya weren't going ta sleep on me, now would ya? Oh sweet cheeks, we are just-getting-started..." you shaked your head, and before he could punish you again, you immediately remembered what you must do.

"No sir!! I won't upset you again... I-I promise I will be a good slut for you!" you obediently answered, fearing to be punished again. Your makeup must be already ruined because of your uncontrollable crying. Your cheeks were covered in a black mascara, and purple and green makeup that was very blurred because your previous position, so it was practically inevitable to rub your face against the bed. This was something that always made J's pants twist with randiness: the messier, the better.

After your response, you heard a satisfied groan from his throat: he had already forgotten the fact that he was extremely mad, only for that feeling be replaced and completely consumed by lust. He then approached your neck and sucked it roughly, leaving marks that would last for a very long time because of the force it was made, while grabbing your throat to make you still. It came to your mind the idea of him being a vampire who was immensely thirsty by your blood.

You gently rubbed your ass on his throbbing, hard cock: it hurted really bad, but it was the only movement you could do to caught his attention, since he was restraining almost all of your body movements.

"Someone is feeling really eager, huh? Ha! All it takes is ta teach ya some ah... manners, to get those panties all soaked for me..." after that, he ripped your lace briefs with his own hands, making you flinch, and then put two long gloved fingers in you. He was never a very patient man and he wasn’t going to be now, so he started to finger you as fast as he could, curling his skilled fingers into your g-spot from time to time. It felt like pure bless, and it was impossible for you to contain all of your sweet sounds. But even if you did, you knew you would be in real trouble for containing them: J loved to hear your moans and screams of pleasure and pain for him, so he had forbidden you to hide them from him. When you were about to cum, he turned you around and replaced his experienced fingers by his hot and wet tongue on your clit, sucking it hard.

" Oh God, J!!" you moaned as loud as you could, and if it weren't the cuffs holding you still, you would ride your orgasm while fucking his face. This was the first time he let you cum without edging you first. Looks like he's feeling generous. Yet neither of you would be satisfied with only one orgasm, especially you, and J knew it.

"God has nothing to do with your ah... pleasure, doll. I am the only one who makes ya cum like a fucking squirter whore, do ya hear me?" he grabbed your face hard enough to make it hurt, and then forced you to look at him while he slowly sucked his gloved fingers with your juices on it, right in front of your face, wanting to make a show for you. "Hmm, always so... tasty." he admitted with the sexiest tone you have ever heard from anyone. "But now... I've gotta prepare ya for da real deal." once he said that, he pushed three fingers into your mouth.

You could taste your own cum and his saliva mixed on his fingers, and you would be lying if you said it wasn't your favorite taste. You knew you had little time to adjust to his fingers, trying so hard to control yourself from gagging... and that was what was worrying you, since if you couldn't take his fingers... it would be ten times worse once you sucked his dick. He decided to take his fingers off of your wet mouth, since his cock was starting to get so tight in his pants, to the point of being painful. While he was unbuttoning his pants, you took the chance to breathe properly, yet that didn't last too long.

"Come here." he ordered while he grabbed your legs, and then pushed them out of the bed to make you kneel on the ground, before grabbing your freshly painted purple and green ponytails.

"Now open wide that pretty mouth of yours. Sir is gonna ah... feed his slut until she's full." with a smirk printed on his scarred white and red cheeks, he wasted no time in shoving his erected cock inside your already wet mouth. "Fuck! That mouth of yours never fails to get me all riled up, dollface!" he started laughing maniacally right after while thrusting faster and harder into your mouth. You could barely breathe, especially when he shoved all of his dick down on your throat, only to get it out for a few seconds before shoving it back inside, where it belongs. Your boobs (that were also covered in blood because his previous signature he made especifically for you), upper legs and even the floor were covered in saliva and some of his cum, and you couldn't wait for him to release all of his cum inside your mouth... you couldn't wait to make him proud of you.

You started to feel his movements getting sloppier, his groans and breath getting uncontrollably deeper, and his dick twitching in your throat. You could tell he was close, and the moment you felt your ponytails getting pulled closer to his pubic hair, you knew that was it.

"Fuck!" he loudly cursed before releasing all of his cum inside your mouth and down through your sore throat. His taste felt more salty than before, but you still managed to swallow it. It was too much cum for you to keep in your mouth, so some of it escaped from it into the ground. After looking at you silently, he caught your attention by his demanding tone towards you.

"What are ya waiting for, huh? Clean your mess. Now." his glare was fatal, and his hold on your hair started to become unbearable, so you didn't challenge him any further. You crouched down on the ground and started to lick the rest of his cum that fell out of your tiny mouth, yearning a satisfied groan from him after you were done.

"Good girl..." he praised, before helping you getting up from the rigid floor to kiss you passionately. You melted completely into the kiss, his tongue fighting for dominance and obviously winning, until you felt his sharp, yellow teeth bitting your lower lip, making it bleed. He sucked all of your blood like his life depended on it, and you couldn't help but feel wetter with each second. Seems like J wants to be a vampire for halloween this year.

When he got bored of it, he pushed you onto the bed, and lifted you legs around his neck once he was positioned on top of you. You could tell he was really hard again, until you felt him rubbing only the tip of his cock on your clit. He remained in that position for some time, creating the perfect amount of friction on your clit to make you squirm under him. It seemed strange, however it was something you learned from him that felt so incredibly good. He decided to suck your hard nipples meanwhile, which made you gasp because of the unexpected, yet very welcome act, and moan harder. When you were about to cum, he shoved himself inside your dripping cunt, this time having no mercy on you. His thrusts were fast, hard and pounded you so deeply, that you could swear you were seeing shiny stars all over your room.

"Oh fuck, right there sir, please let me cum!!!" you closed your eyes, only to be slapped in the face as a warning to keep them wide open.

"Ya wanna cum, huh? Do ya think you deserve it?" he asked, staring into your soul to see if you would dare lie to him. "Dirty sluts don't get to cum, and believe me when I say that I'm gonna fucking destroy ya." after that, he put both of his gloved hands around your neck, grabbing it with such force with the porpuse to punish you from your supposed desobedience. You could see the madness itself returning to his eyes, and before you weren't able to talk anymore by lack of air, you decided to expose the truth to him, before it was too late for you.

"I-I didn't go anywhere! I didn't f-fuck anyone and... a-and I didn't go to any p-party!" it was so difficult to talk, but at the same time, in the situation and position you were currently on, it made you cum so hard without even getting time to ask him for permission, yet he didn't care about it since he was now focused on what you said.

"What?" he looked so confused, and his eyes started to return to their original color, getting also softer in the process. He suddenly stopped fucking you, and in that moment you thanked to whoever was up there for letting you cum before he stopped.

"I-I just wanted to make you mad... I wanted this..." you admitted, ashamed for making yourself look silly and desperate in front of him. You couldn't tell if he was still mad and irritated, or relieved. Maybe all of them, because now he had the guarantee that you obeyed him and didn't fuck anyone else.

"Oh, doll... If ya want me to fuck ya this hard, all ya need to do his to ask nicely. But ya like to play games instead, dont'cha? I always knew how kinky you were. Then congratulations, ya got what ya wanted! Ya really pissed me off, but dont'cha think you're gonna get out of this that ah... easily..." he warned you. For some reason, he decided to look at your bedside table, only to discover where your very badly hidden J’s choker had landed. He grabbed the innocent object, that was also the responsible for the best sex of your life, while still being inside of you, and then put it back where it belongs: on your neck. After making sure his gift was well tightened around your neck, he took his dick out of your vagina and lined it up right with your tight ass hole.

Now this was going to be a long night...

[samwilsonshandsandass]

Somewhere Safe Chapter 1

Somewhere Safe Chapter 1

Pairing: soft!dark!Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: You wake up somewhere you don’t know and there’s someone in the room with you, who you don’t know. What will happen?

Series and chapter warnings: Non-sexual dubcon/noncon, kidnapping, abduction, ddlg undertones, Stockholm syndrome

Word count: ~2000

You heard something that could be taken for mumbled English, but you weren’t sure. You tried opening your eyes and after some tries, they opened. You couldn’t move your head. That was the first thing you noticed of your body.

“Ugh” You moaned, trying to make sense of that dizzy feeling in your head.

“So, you are awake” You heard a male voice say. It came from the foot of whatever you were laying on, in the left corner. You could see that much when you moved your eyes.

“What?”

“You already drifted in and out of consciousness a few times. Seems like the sedative is finally wearing off” The voice explained.

“Sedative?” You mumbled.

“Yes. I had to get you here somehow.”

“Where am I?” Your voice was slurred.

“Somewhere safe.”

All of this didn’t make sense. It couldn’t. This all had to be some weird nightmare; you’d just like to know what the hell your brain was trying to work through in your sleep.

You closed your eyes and slowly, everything went black.

Some time later, you woke up again.

“I hope, you stay awake this time” The same voice came from the same place with the same volume as before. Quieter, it added: “Shit, I think I overdosed her a little.”

You didn’t answer, instead you focused on feeling something. Or moving something except your eyes.

‘Start with your toes. Or your fingers’ You thought. And you could. But those body parts were about as much as you could move.

“You can move your fingers! That’s good” The voice sounded glad and not threatening but it made you jump. He could see that little movement under the soft blanket that had been put over you.

He took a bottle of water and asked: “Are you thirsty? Don’t worry, I didn’t spike it.”

Could you trust this person? He admitted to sedating you, apparently even overdosing you and brought you to wherever the hell you were. But your throat hurt, and even the unspoken promise of water was enough to make you nod.

He stood up and walked over to you and you could see him for the first time. He was tall, muscular, had longer brown hair and blue eyes.

“I’ll help you move into a sitting position, okay? And when your back is upright, you lean against my arm. Got it?”

When you mumbled an “Okay”, he reached below the blanket to hook his left arm behind your knees and put his right hand on your back to steady you and move you into position. Moving you, the blanket slipped down a bit and you were surprised to see you were still in your own pajamas.

He sat down on your left side and reached for a small bottle. His hand engulfed the bottom of it and he put his thumb on the body of it. His thumb seemed to reflect a little in the dim light of the room, and suddenly there was a low whirring sound.

Then, both things were gone and you didn’t know if you imagined them or not.

Meanwhile, the man put the bottle to your lips and tilted it, until slowly, water flowed into your mouth. It felt heavenly. Like a cold, clear mountain spring.

“Slowly, slowly. Don’t want you to choke” You could hear a smile in his voice.

After two gulps, you pulled back, and in the process some water dribbled on your chin. He put the bottle back and dried your chin off with his shirt sleeve.

“Thank you” You whispered, and that was when you heard it again. As he moved his arm, to put the bottle back, the whirring sound was back.

He smiled at you and moved you back down to lay on your back again, head propped up by a pillow.

Back in his chair, it seemed to be a high-backed armchair, he started to talk.

“Now that you’re really conscious, we can start. I’m Bucky, but you will either call me ‘Sir’ or ‘Daddy’. If you don’t, you’ll be punished. You obey me and do something or stop doing something when I tell you to. Understood?”

You nodded weakly. What other choice did you have? Appeasing him was probably the fastest way to get you out of wherever you were. Or at least get you some concessions.

“Answer me with words, and title please.” Bucky looked sternly at you.

“Yes… Sir.”

“Good girl. I will bring you food and water at set times. Breakfast will be at 7am, lunch at 12am and dinner at 6pm. You will get some snacks in the afternoon. Every two hours, I will bring you water. Breakfast will be something smaller, just to get you going and without coffee. So, say goodbye to your favorite caffeinated beverage. The day before you came here was the last day with coffee for you.”

You didn’t know how to react. On one hand, that sounded okay and reasonable. Like he cared for you. And that was the weird thing. But on the other hand, he had kidnapped you.

“That’s the first part. On to the next. You’ll live in this room until I’m sure you can follow rules. Next to this room is a bathroom. I’ll bathe you and wash your hair when necessary. I will also choose your clothes. Again, if you show me you can follow rules, you’ll have a say in what you wear. Although even then, you may only pick something of the clothes in the wardrobe. You hear me?”

You were frozen. He would bathe you? What did he mean by that? Did he mean everywhere? You didn’t know this man!

“What?” You squeaked.

“What do you mean?”

“What do you mean by ‘bathing’? Will you… will you touch me? There?”

“Yes, although not like that. Only to clean you up. You don’t have to fear anything. I’ll never touch you like that without your consent.”

He seemed honest. Still, you’d only believe that when, or if, it should, and probably would, happen.

“Okay?” His voice was softer.

Was his voice softer now? Or did you imagine that, because you hoped for it to be?

You nodded.

“Good” He smiled.

Silence now stretched into the room.

“Are you hungry?” Bucky asked. “I got something here, if you want.”

“I’m not hungry” You whispered. Putting some defiance in your voice, you added: “And I won’t eat anything while I’m here!”

“As you wish. And believe me, when I say you will eat. I don’t care how long it’ll take, but you will eat.”

He stood up and made for the door. “I’ll leave you to it. Oh, and bed time is at 9pm.”

With that, he left. And you didn’t know what to do. Yes, now you could move your entire body, but there was literally nothing you could do. You could walk around the room and then the bathroom and that was about it. Maybe you could look at the room closer? At least that would be something to do.

You slowly stood up and looked around. The bed you had been on was a queen size. It was entirely in light pink. The cushions, you didn’t count them, there were so many, were in different colors of pink and some white thrown in. They still had the imprint of Bucky’s back on them from when he had sat you up so you could drink something. The headboard was light pink velvet with a dark pink pattern on it and a canopy on it.

On the left side of the wall opposite the headboard was that high-backed arm chair in yellow, with a side table and next to it a tall book shelf. It was empty. On the other side of the wall was a slightly ajar door. That was most likely the bathroom door. Between the door and the shelf were two wardrobes that had a vanity between them. The wardrobes were empty as well. What kinda clothes would he put in there?

Anything that wasn’t some kind of cloth was white wood.

The door left of the bed was closed. That had to be the door through which you could, in theory, get out. Even if you managed that, you’d probably have to get through a house or at least a flat and then who knew what kind of surroundings for who knew how long.

Still, you tried the door handle. No luck. Defeated, you flopped back down on the bed.

---

Later, you didn’t know how much time later since there were no clocks in the room, which was no doubt deliberately, Bucky appeared again. He carried a tray. You could see a glass water on it, some pancakes and a syrup bottle.

“It’s dinner time” He smiled and set everything down.

So, it was 7pm on the first day you were awake. You vowed to remember that. Maybe keeping tabs on this structure would help you keep sane, for you to stay yourself.

“Scoot over here and you can have something to eat.”

You did, your tummy had been rumbling since he left you alone.

Now near the corner of the bed, you reached for the cutlery to cut up the pancakes. Before you could grasp it, both of Bucky’s hands grabbed it and that’s when you saw it. He didn’t exactly hide it but apparently you had been too distracted and sedated to really notice it before. The hand grasping the knife was human. The hand grasping the fork had human form, but it was made of metal.

“You’re not allowed to use cutlery. I said you’d have something to eat. Not that you could fed yourself.”

“Sorry” You mumbled, your eyes glued to his metal hand.

“’Sorry’ what?”

“Sorry, Sir.” Still, your eyes were glued to his metal hand. There was just one question swirling in your head but how would he react to you asking a question without him saying something beforehand? And then such an invasive question?

“Thank you. And I’m sure you know it’s rude to stare. Ask.”

Your head snapped up.

“I… uhm, what- what happened to your hand?” You whispered.

“My whole arm actually” He shrugged and your eyes went wide. “Something bad. That’s all you need to know, but this prosthetic is a good replacement.”

Your mouth formed an “Oh”.

“Now, pancakes?” He asked and cut them up and drizzled syrup over them.

You nodded timidly. You still didn’t know what to make of all this.

The pancakes actually tasted good. You had to wait for him to feed you every small bite. If that was what it took to get some nutrition, you could play along with whatever this was.

When you were done eating, Bucky softly wiped the corners of your mouth and chin with a napkin although you were sure nothing had drizzled down and that action hadn’t been necessary.

“What do you say?”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Good girl” He smiled. “I’ll come back when it’s time for bed.”

You nodded, and Bucky left.

---

It had to be 9pm, or around that time, because the door on the left opened and in came Bucky with a book and a glass of milk.

“I’ll read you a story and you’ll drink your milk, how’s that sound?”

You smiled to appease him.

Bucky propped himself up against the headboard and beckoned you over to him, to sit between his legs and lean against his chest. You hesitated.

“C’mere. I don’t bite.”

You went over to him and accepted the glass of milk he gave you. It was warm and tasted sweet. He must have put honey in it.

Bucky started to read the book. It was some generic fairytale and not even that long, but you felt yourself being lulled to sleep by his voice, the warmth of his body around you and the warm milk.

Your eyes fell close and your last thought before you fell asleep was how until now he had fed you, gave you water, didn’t touch you in any way you didn’t want. And yet, all this had only happened because he had abducted you.

You slept like a log and didn’t notice Bucky slipping out of the bed nor him stroking your head before he left the room.

[wecantseeyou]

a note on color - how line of duty series 6 uses wardrobe to frame narrative (pt 1)

author’s note: this began as a personal observation on the use of cool tones for AC-12 and warm tones in opposition to AC-12, and evolved into a spreadsheet tracking most every outfit 3 of the 4 leads wear in every episode (through 6). 

Why Jo, Kate, and Steve? 

Jo: This is ultimately a rumination on Jo and her character, and the non-textual ways the show indicates Jo’s feelings, actions, and allegiances.

Kate: Jo’s major emotional connection in the series. Kate’s wardrobe often mirrors Jo’s in both style and color, and Kate’s wardrobe also gives hints to Jo’s true identity, while also reminding the audience of her allegiance with AC-12 (in both principles and action)

Steve: As the face of AC-12 in many ways (especially in this season, whereas past seasons that would’ve been Kate), Steve’s wardrobe is the control. He is firmly planted as an anti-corruption officer, is an ally of Kate, and he acts as Jo’s foil.

Why not Hastings?: Lord knows I love Ted, but the man really only ever wears his uniform (which is an entirely different essay about his views of the police force, ‘bent coppers’, and the ‘bad apples’ view of addressing police misconduct)

Some of the colors folks wear are difficult to quantify - I note circumstances where a shirt or sweater could be interpreted as multiple colors, and some instances where I believe that open interpretation is intentional. To be incredibly simplistic for how I coded the colors, cool tones are the good guys, and warm tones are the bad guys. Where possible, I have included reference images for the outfits I’m discussing (low quality screencaps ahead). 

It took me some time to choose the organization of this essay, but ultimately there’s only one way to really do it - scene to scene. So buckle in, cause this is a doozy. I’m posting just episode 1 today, and then plan to post analyses breaking down the other episodes through Saturday. Essay under the cut.

DISCLAIMER: I’m American, so there’s likely something about the UK that I miss here. Alas, we’ll persevere. I barely edited this because I’m no longer a student and don’t have that kind of time. Also, I already wrote one dissertation and I refused to admit I wrote another one. 

METHODOLOGY

To kick off, I went through and looked at every outfit worn by Jo Davidson and Kate Fleming, and most worn by Steve Arnott, in series 6. Steve acts as my control because he begins and ends my sample as a working member of AC-12, which for the purposes of this narrative represents police who are not corrupt. He is exclusively shown in cool tones in every scene I discuss here. Kate serves to bridge that gap in analysis between Jo and Steve - she is anti-corruption through and through, but she is no longer a member of AC-12, and she also has a close relationship with Jo, which is clearly romantic in tone. Kate often wears cool tones and white, but the occasional brown, orange, and green pop up (hold that thought on green). Jo is my main focus of my analysis, because I believe her wardrobe is most clearly impacted by the struggle between internal desires and external pressures. She wears a range of colors, but most frequently it is a combination of warm and cool tones. For the purpose of this analysis, black is considered a warm tone, white is both cool and absent allegiance, and grey is considered a cool tone.

THESIS

Since the first episode of series 6, Line of Duty has used color to indicate that Jo Davidson is not bent by aligning her with the tone of AC-12 as a whole and Kate Fleming specifically. TL;DR: The show has used wardrobe to tell us that Jo is not (intentionally) bent from the beginning.

Jo isn’t ‘bent’ in that she doesn’t want to be corrupt, but she’s forced to be. Surrounded on all sides by the OCG because of her uncle/father, Tommy Hunter, Jo therefore has no choice but to follow OCG orders for fear for her life. The show works to show us this visually in a few ways. Cool tones, representing ‘justice’ through AC-12, are seen throughout her screen time, but they are often peppered with warm tones, representing corruption and the OCG. This is true of her wardrobe overall, but is perhaps most succinctly demonstrated in her apartment. Keep these thoughts in mind as I break down each outfit. 

EPISODE 1

There are points where the wardrobe informs us of things that the text directly contradicts. For instance, in the opening scene of episode 1, Jo arrives at the Hill wearing a black coat over a dark grey turtleneck, and is shown talking to Lomax about a new lead in the Gail Vella murder investigation. She is then shown talking to Buckells about this lead, an unknown CHIS who claims to have spoken with a man named Ross Turner who claimed to have killed Gail. The interaction seems innocuous, and Buckells denies permission for a raid on Turner’s home, but look more carefully at the dialogue here. Jo is manipulating Buckells by presenting him with information about the source, including that he was a sex worker and speculating on his potential drug use. These two factors are what makes Buckells hesitate, and he ultimately stops the raid from being carried out that night. 

While Jo in this scene seems to push Buckells to give permission for the operation, Jo’s dark wardrobe is telling the audience that something else is happening on another level here. We learn later that Jo would take advantage of Buckells baser instincts and desire for upward advancement in order to manipulate him, which is what she does in this scene. She specifically mentions the CHIS’s sex work and the potential drug use because she knows Buckells will worry about the reliability of the witness and want more to go off of, hence cancelling the operation. Jo’s dark clothes hint at her manipulation of Buckells while the audience is not yet clued in.

The next time we see Jo during the team briefing about Ross Turner is also the first time we get a hint at the fliration between her and Kate. Jo’s “dirty stop-out” line and Kate’s “glass houses, boss” response, coupled with Jo’s smile that she hides by looking down show a clear shift in tone. The black jacket is removed, and she’s wearing a grey turtleneck. Jo is slightly more at ease here, enjoying the easy banter. Meanwhile, Kate is wearing a cream/light brown sweater, our first visual clue of her separation from AC-12 and her connection to Jo. 

Note here that Jo’s black jacket was on top of her grey turtleneck, and could be removed. The turtleneck, a very modest and in some ways restrictive top, also serves as an armor Jo wears to brace herself against her own actions. 

When the operation to arrest Ross Turner is approved, Jo again dons a black jacket under her body armor, while Kate wears a green coat under her body armor. Jo putting on the black jacket is symbolic of how she is about to waylay the team with the staged armed robbery at the bookie, allowing time for the OCG to replace Owen Banks with Terry Boyle. Kate’s green coat is symbolic of her mixed allegiances between AC-12’s blue and Jo’s yellow.

Later, when debriefing the operation with Lomax and discussing the importance of learning the CHIS’s identity, Jo and Kate are back to the grey and cream sweaters they were wearing earlier. Their banter is also back with Kate’s “great minds” line, demonstrating their comfort and also telling the audience these two women are in sync with one another. 

Immediately after this series of scenes, we see Steve for the first time. His first scene is at AC-12, wearing a grey suit, white shirt, and red tie, when he is notified that Farida Jatri is there to see him. We learn in the next scene, where Steve is in a blue suit with a blue shirt and blue tie, that Farida brought her concerns about Jo to AC-12, particularly about the odd armed robbery that Jo spotted. He asks Hastings for permission to look into it further, which is granted. The all blue outfit on Steve represents his desire to root out potential corruption in this complaint. He continues to wear this outfit for most of the episode when dealing with the investigation and MIT.

(Note: there’s an interlude scene here of the MIT crew in crime scene suits at Terry’s, but I’m not including that here.)

We next see Jo with Lomax, interrogating a frightened Terry Boyle, while Kate watches the video feed of the interview. Jo is wearing another grey turtleneck, but this time is wearing a grey jacket, while Kate watches on with a cream oversized sweater. The interview with Terry goes nowhere for the most part, as he refuses to comment, which seems to be to Jo’s relief. Kate, however, clearly isn’t done.

Donned in a green mockneck and navy suit, Kate visits the crime scene at Terry’s apartment again. This green top still aligns her with both AC-12 and Jo, but the navy suit serves as a reminder that she doesn’t think the MIT has the full story on Terry Boyle. 

Later, we see Kate in the same outfit debriefing Jo on the new information at the crime scene, namely that there is no new information because it’s been wiped clean. Jo is wearing a grey suit jacket, brown sweater, and a white shirt. Both agree that Terry isn’t a solid suspect, and want the ID of the CHIS in order to confirm that he’s the man identified as Ross Turner. Jo’s layering here is interesting - cool tone, warm tone, cool tone. She agrees with Kate externally, she knows Terry is in the frame for Vella’s murder, and she doesn’t feel comfortable pursuing Terry as a suspect she knows is innocent.

They then visit the CHIS’s handler, who refuses to give up his informant’s ID, but reveals to Kate that he is concerned about the CHIS’s welfare. Kate is wearing a long navy coat, while Jo is wearing a long grey coat with a blue and orange scarf. Kate wants to know the CHIS’s ID to genuinely pursue justice, hence the blue, while Jo wants the CHIS’s ID for ostensibly the same reason, but for her, pursuing justice with the CHIS would also clear Terry’s name. Jo doesn’t want Terry to be punished because he’s innocent, but she also knows a negative ID on Terry will lead to trouble for her with the OCG.

We see Jo in the same outfit minus outerwear in the next few scenes - when she is called into Buckell’s office and convinces him to put pressure on for the CHIS’s ID (while Kate watches), and later when Kate informs her that there was a surveillance gap on Terry Boyle’s flat due to the wrong authority being sought. Jo pushes Buckells and manipulates him to reveal the CHIS’s ID, and also blames him for the gap that she’s responsible for, hence the warm coloring of her sweater. Kate, meanwhile, is showing her allegiance to Jo by telling her about the gaffe, the green of her shirt being the visual representation of that act. 

Next we have a scene of Steve looking at CCTV of the armed robbery, and their suspicions are raised about the speed the convoy was traveling and the likelihood that Jo could have actually spotted it. Again, Steve is in an all blue outfit. 

Back to our favorite murder investigators, Lomax, Jo, and Kate arrive on the scene of a murder victim which turns out to be their missing CHIS. Jo is dressed in a long grey coat, green sweater, and light blue shirt, while Kate is rocking a long navy coat, navy suit, and an orange and navy striped turtleneck. Later at MIT, Kate and Jo discuss the CHIS further, lamenting the loss of the only witness who could ID Terry as Ross Turner. Throughout this scene, Jatri is watching the two of them interact. Jatri then calls Steve, in a grey suit with a blue tie, and tells him she can no longer be an informant. 

Round two of interviewing sweet Terry begins, with Jo in the same outfit and Kate watching on video, again in the same striped turtleneck. They all seem to think Terry is hiding something, but Kate seems taken aback at some of Jo’s lines of questioning (Vicky McClure, expert reactor) but is mostly saddened by Terry. Later, Steve meets with Kate outside of Hillside and they discuss his inquiry into Jo. She refuses to help, but gives him the name Carl Banks as someone to look into. 

We then see Jo arrive at Farida’s house with a suitcase, moving out her final belongings after their breakup, where they have a row over Jo’s refusal to introduce Farida to her nonexistent family. After, Jo returns to her own apartment with its 18 dead bolts. Nearly the entire place is blue - the walls, the furniture, even the refrigerator. However, those warm tones pop up throughout - lemons on the counter, golden pillows in the living room, gold lights framing the picture of her mother. Jo at her heart is good and believes in justice, but she has been groomed and manipulated by the OCG into acting against her nature in the name of self-preservation. She is blue, but the pops of gold and yellow of the OCG catch the eye. 

The following scene shows Jo getting chewed out by Buckells in the briefing room in full view of the rest of MIT, again in the green sweater and blue shirt. Kate looks on in concern, still wearing the orange and navy striped sweater. Buckells storms out, and Jo rushes into the hallway. Kate follows quickly behind, asking after Jo, who vents her frustrations with the pressure to charge Terry with murder because she knows it isn’t right and wants to find real justice for Gail. The color choices in this scene are clear. Kate is wearing orange and navy, highlighting both her connection to Jo and her pursuit of justice. Jo is wearing green, combining the blue of her heart and the pollution of OCG yellow, with a light blue shirt, again highlighting her true self and alignment with Kate.

This also highlights something we don’t learn until episode 6 - Jo wanted Kate on her team to keep her in check and be a barrier to the things the OCG was asking her to do. This includes the arrest of Terry Boyle. Jo specifically identifies several odd things about the recent evidence - and tells Kate that something doesn’t add up, essentially encouraging the DI to look into these inconsistencies further. This is her way of looking for help when she still feels trapped in many ways. 

Of course, no analysis of this scene would be complete without mentioning the hand grab and subsequent hold. They’re gay, kids!

The final scene shows Jo watching as Terry Boyle is released and remanded to police bail, a look of relief on her face. Because yeah, she’s done a lot of bent things, but Jo isn’t bent.

And that’s where the episode wraps.

Stay tuned for more wardrobe analysis tomorrow!

[ironlime]

60 Years After

So somebody in the tumblrverse posted about their headcannon in which Ned Coats was Sam Vimes' kid having traveled through time. I am a fan of this. It explains a lot. So when I read it back in... April? I then sat down and wrote up this little fanfic thing. And assumed that I could not only get it posted today, but also edit it so that it's not filled with so many of my own headcannons. And is closer to the original material. But L-Space is my job, and it really does do crazy things to time (and space.) On top of that I was really hoping I could post this to that original headcannon post but... I can't find it. So, OP, if you come across this... Well, I'm sorry. I'm more sorry to Sir Terry (GNU), though.

Quick note: my friends and I have found it easier to call Vimes' kid "Wee Sam" than "Young Sam" because "Young Sam" is one of the names (along with Vimesy and Lance Constable Vimes) that Vimes calls his younger self and... yeah. We find it confusing when nerding out about a single series with two different characters called 'Young Sam'. So we Feegle it up. Even though I wouldn't be surprised if 'Wee Sam' is actually a bit taller than his dad.

~ ~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~

“What happened just then, Sarge? You blurred.” Wee Sam said, while he thought Oh so that’s what that looks like.

“You only get one question, Ned,” The man who would be his father looked a little seasick, and Wee Sam knew exactly how he felt. “Now, let’s show Snapcase where the line’s drawn, shall we? Let’s finish it--”

To the majority of people there that day, Sergeant-At-Arms John Keel stood, turned towards the enemy, and charged. To two people, Commander Sam Vimes ran towards Carcer, ready to drag him kicking and screaming into the past. Or the future. Depending on who you asked.

That was what gave Wee Sam his frame of reference, actually. He remembered hearing stories about Carcer, about how his dad had arrested the bastard the day Wee Sam was born. But was this actually May 25th for his dad? Was this weeks before the arrest? Hours? He couldn’t ask. Not yet.

“Glad to see you’ve joined us and are getting along with the Sarge, Coats.” Fred Colon said, touching him on the shoulder as they ran towards the fight.

“Yeah, Fred.” Oh, Fred. Fred Colon had died a few years ago, happy and surrounded by great-grandchildren. But here and now he was young and actually capable of running. And he was running towards the fray.

Sweeper had told Wee Sam to stay away from the center of the fight, and to try not to actually kill anybody, so he stayed on the edge near the unconscious Lance-Constable Sam Vimes who had been hidden by his older, more cynical self. Three men in a battle with the same name, and two of them were the same person. Good thing Wee Sam was the only one who had to really keep track of which of them was where. He certainly didn’t trust anybody else to.

So he fought, in a very curbed way, knocking his adversaries unconscious when he could and doing his best not to step on Nobby Nobbs, who was doing his best to very slowly inch away from the battle while simultaneously pretending to be a corpse. Over by the Watch House, Reg Shoe was doing a much better impersonation of a corpse, seeing as how he was one, but in a couple of hours he’d discover that it just didn’t work for him.

“You’re nicked, my ol’ chum.” It was probably because he had been listening for it, but his father’s whisper carried. Nobody else seemed to hear it, and nobody but Wee Sam turned in time to see the two men vanish. In the same instant, a single body appeared on the ground near where they had been. So, now that he had seen that through, there was one more…

A dark grey-green shadow passed by his shoulder, and his mind registered Uncle Havelock before adding the word Young.

Havelock Vetinari ran into the fight, cutting down Carcer’s men much more brazenly than the Assassin's Guild would like, a lilac bud between his teeth. Even in Wee Sam’s time, when Vetinari’s wardrobe consisted entirely of black and everything he did was in moderation, the Patrician indulged in a little drama on a regular basis.

He chose to have Commander Sam Vimes in his life, after all.

There was a sound to Wee Sam’s left, which he recognized though his mind didn’t associate any words with it. It was a sound any human would recognize, even those who first approached the Delta where the Ankh River met the Circle sea thousands of years ago. If Wee Sam had to find Morporkain words for it, and as a Vimes he did like to use his vocabulary, they were Confused, followed by Hurt followed by… wait for it… there it was. Anger.

Wee Sam could make that noise, though he rarely did. His father’s upbringing, on the other hand, had been considerably less balanced. The kid who was the source of the sound ran into the center of the fight, and Wee Sam deftly stepped out of his way while pushing an adversary in his way. The boy chopped down the Unmentionable with one graceful movement, and Wee Sam felt that he could safely say that he hadn’t been the one to kill the bastard. And nobody had been so foolish as to tell him to prevent his father from killing anybody.

Vetinari didn’t pause, but he did turn to look at this vengeful newcomer. Vetinari hadn’t been there when young Sam Vimes participated in the first part of the battle, and Wee Sam recognized the young assassin’s look of interest.

Tell me, Uncle Havelock, will you recognize him in 15 years? Or will you need to get him well and truly angry to realize you’ve found him?

Wee Sam knew this wasn’t the first time Havelock Vetinari saw Sam Vimes, but this was probably the first time he saw the potential. That he was more than just That Kid Who Follows Keel Everywhere. I bet you didn’t actually expect him to be so damned smart. His father still didn’t think of himself as intelligent. It was infuriating, especially when he and his father were having a disagreement. A drawn out, decade-long, disagreement.

Young Sam Vimes sent a lot of the Unmentionables running, and Wee Sam cut down any of them which could be seen as ‘coming towards him with a drawn weapon’. Since they were escaping a fight, that was anyone who came within reach not wearing a lilac.

Time travel really can get to a man. He thought, feeling a little cold. There would be no arrests here, just death and fleeing and at the end of the day Sam Vimes, Havelock Vetinari, Fred Colon, Gaskin, and, less literally, Nobby Nobbs and Reg Shoe would all be left standing. That was all that mattered.

He saw Vetinari turn away from young Sam Vimes, who then spun, and for the briefest moment they had their backs to each other, and Wee Sam wished he had his paints. It was a gods awful place to paint, there was a reason battles were always ‘immortalized’ after the fact, but the color and everything was just perfect--

And then the color faded.

“You should have fallen by now.” Sweeper observed from behind him.

“I wanted to see them fight together.” Wee Sam admitted, not turning. He had a notebook on him, and a pencil, but he knew that even with Time paused he didn’t really have it. Not to sit down and do a proper preliminary sketch. He was just going to have to remember.

Vetinari had a stiletto, an assassin’s weapon used to kill up-close. Young Sam Vimes hadn’t learned to dual-wield yet, but he had good instincts for the sword. Wait until you discover the axe.

Sweeper sighed. “Fine, and now you’ve seen it. I’m going to put the time back on and you had better be prepared to drop.”

“Yes yes alright.” Wee Sam shifted slightly, so he could seriously inconvenience the man who he was blocking before he dropped.

“Oh and stop killing people.”

“I’m a Vimes. You knew that when you hired me.”

“Indeed.” Sweeper said, and it took Wee Sam a moment to realize it was an attempt at a Vetinari impression. Before Wee Sam could reply, the color came back, and his adversary frowned in confusion.

“Oi, you blurred!” The man cried.

“This just isn’t your day.” Wee Sam gave the man a wound which might heal, if somebody tended to it within the next 10 minutes, and then fell over in a needlessly complicated way, specifically so he wouldn’t hit Nobby Nobbs.

And when he landed, the boy was looking right at him, frowning. Damn, Nobby was always the brains of Colon & Nobbs.

“You ain’t injured.” The boy hissed at him.

“Try to pick my pockets and you’ll regret it.” Wee Sam whispered back. Of course he wouldn’t dream of hurting Nobby, but the kid didn’t know that. Besides, picking the contents of his pockets back would be a relaxing way to end the day.

Nobby was still frowning at him. “You got eyes like the Sarge...”

“Nobby, get out of here before you get stepped on.” Wee Sam growled in his best imitation of his father, the Sergeant, within the past three days. The kid’s eyes went wide, and he took off running. Wee Sam glanced over to where Vimes and Vetinari were taking care of the last of Carcer’s men, and the color faded once more.

“I hope you are pleased with yourself.” Sweeper said, which Wee Sam took to mean he could stand up and dust himself off.

“Young Vimes and Vetinari live to grow up and become two of the most powerful men in Ankh-Morpork history, Carcer went back to his time more or less accompanied by my my dad so the one can be arrested by the other, your rogue ‘Time Vigilantes’ have been sorted out, oh and I don’t cease to exist either. My work here is d--” He stopped, and watched as Q and some other Technical Monks lay down a man about the same age, size and coloring as Wee Sam. “Wait, so there really was a Ned Coats?”

Sweeper had walked off without him, and Wee Sam jogged to catch up. The old monk didn’t turn to look at him when they were side-by-side, but he did start talking. “Of course there was. He was also from Psudopolis and knew the real Keel.”

“How’d he die?”

“The Agony Aunts, on his first day here. He was the real reason the real Keel accepted a job in Ankh-Morpork. The real Ned Coats was not a good man.”

“Keel... left his home to track down a criminal…” Wee Sam slowed. “That’s what my dad did! As Keel! Only, it was Carcer he had to catch.”

“Time likes continuity.” Sweeper nodded, and thanked Wee Sam quietly for holding the door open as they entered the monastery. Once in the building, color returned, with motion and sounds and smells. They were back in the Present.

The walk through the building was in relative silence, the rumbling of the procrastinators keeping it from ever becoming truly quiet here. Wee Sam could sleep almost anywhere, but the rumbling reminded him of the steam engines back home and Susan’s offer to help him find a job in Sto Lat ‘if he really couldn’t stay in Ankh-Morpork’.

Not long after his parents first met his dad had gotten fired for a couple of days, and his mom had offered to get him a job working for Susan’s parents. Susan had been young then, and sometimes he wondered what kind of person she would have grown up to be with his dad as part of her household staff.

Of course, with his parents living in two different cities, he would have never been born.

His mother would have never left Ankh-Morpork.

Then again, his father had chosen not to leave. He had stayed on the case. He… sorted it out, more or less. He kept Vetinari from getting killed. Had he done that during the battle? Young Sam and Vetinari had been facing opposite directions, had Vimesy blocked any blows aimed at the future patrician?

There was the crunch of stones under his feet, and Wee Sam consciously acknowledged they had arrived at the Garden of Inner-City Tranquility. His eyes swept the space, falling on and acknowledging the Cigarette Pack of Air, the Cat Doings of Disharmony, the Sonkie of Organic Harmony, the Cabbage Stalks of Dim Comprehension, the Discarded Fish-And-Chip Wrapper of Infinity, the Beer Bottle of Pissing Off Sweeper, and….

“The Cigar of Capriciousness is still here.” Wee Sam said, stopping between the door and the bench Sweeper always went to. He tilted his head slightly. “Or… Another cigar. Same brand, same style, smoked the same amount, probably by the same man, at the same angle... but it’s wrapped just a little differently.”

“Is it? I’ve stopped noticing.”

“You haven’t noticed the cigar that’s been smouldering here for the past month?” Wee Sam turned to Sweeper in disbelief. “I understand not paying attention to the condoms and cat doings, but time passes in here!”

Sweeper shrugged. “There is always a cigar. Even if we get rid of it, a new one shows up. If the new one lands closer to the wall, the garden always pushes it to the center.”

“Always? Since, what, the dawn of time?”

“Oh no. Since the day you were born. Or thirty years before. It’s hard to say.” Sweeper was looking at him evenly, and Wee Sam suddenly realized his reaction was being gauged.

“My dad. But…” Wee Sam looked at the cigar. “He doesn’t smoke them anymore.”

“He does. On special occasions.”

“Like what?”

“Your birthday. And when he pays certain visits.”

“He talked you into not keeping me on?” His gaze moved swiftly from the old man to the cigar, and with purpose he stalked into the middle of the garden and brought his foot back, prepared to give the thing a swift kick.

“You did that just fine without his help.” Sweeper’s voice was quiet, but it froze Wee Sam where he stood. “Corporal, we both know you don’t want to do this.”

“The mission is over. Coats is dead. I’m not a corporal anymore.” His foot fell heavily, not coming into contact with the cigar but still sending a spray of stones ahead of them. He scowled as they came sliding back towards him, settling where they had been around his foot. “This job is the closest I’ve ever gotten to what I was made to do.”

“I realize that. I’m sorry.”

There was some silence as the last of the stones slid into place. The procrastinators here were small, used only for the bathrooms in the far right corner, even though the city’s sewer pipe system now meant that they were just inconveniencing themselves in exchange for saving very little money. Wee Sam had done the math.

“Did you tell Susan?” Wee Sam didn’t want to be the one to tell her, but he also didn’t want anybody else to explain that he had squandered this opportunity.

“No. That is your problem, my boy.”

“Good.” Wee Sam squatted down, getting a closer look at his father’s cigar. The smell brought him back to his childhood, and it was comforting if not at all healthy. His mother had never allowed them in the house, but his father smoked them all the time outside and in his office, so the scent clung to his uniform like… Well like Wee Sam had back then. “Please don’t hold… me... against her. She was just looking out for me. She does that. Wish I knew why.”

“She is aware of your potential.” Sweeper said, and Wee Sam was so surprised he looked over his shoulder at the old man. “You’re good at investigating and putting the pieces together. And, some day, you will once again make a very good cop.”

“Someplace other than Ankh-Morpork.” Wee Sam grunted, but the old man shrugged, and he asked, hopefully “In Ankh-Morpork but in the future?”

“That is not for me to say.”

“No, it’s for my father to say.” He glared at the cigar, and then pushed himself to a standing position.

“You know, I didn’t just take you on because Susan asked and there happened to be another Vimes-shaped opening.” Sweeper said as Wee Sam turned towards the door.

“No?”

“I wanted to get to know the man the Theives Guild deemed ‘too dangerous’ for membership.” Sweeper sounded amused, and Wee Sam turned to look at him.

“I keep killing people. Assassin's school graduate, and all.” Wee Sam reminded him, but Sweeper waved the comment away.

“We both know neither of those things are relevant to today’s theive’s guild.” Sweeper shook his head. “Your father is afraid of you becoming him; and, well, so is everyone else. Vimeses walk in and take control. Especially under Vetinari’s influence.”

“And how do you know what my father is afraid of?” Wee Sam asked, narrowing his eyes. He was choosing to ignore the comment about Vetinari’s influence because it was true. After 300 years of cops and / or drunks it took Havelock Vetinari telling his father ‘not’ to investigate three deaths to bring his family name back to the list of the city’s gentry.

“You should ask him.” Sweeper did not ignore the narrowed eyes, but he did meet them evenly. “What he’s afraid of.”

Wee Sam turned towards the door, intending to stalk out, then thought better of it and spun so he was completely facing the old man. “You know what? I think I will.”

Then he ran, took a leap to place one foot on the bench beside Sweeper and jumped so his hands easily grasped the top of the wall. His own momentum brought him sideways, and he hurtled over the top. There was an alley on the other side, and he landed lightly. He was exactly where he expected to be, of course, and took off at a run towards the Cemetery of Small Gods.

And slowed to a walk before he reached the gates. It would not do for him to be out of breath when he arrived at the graves.

Twilight was falling, so his dad would be there, but so would Uncle Havelock and maybe Reg Shoe. Wee Sam was less concerned about how Reg saw him, especially now that he had seen Reg alive, but as far as his family was concerned he wanted to take steps towards appearing dignified. Even though they had known him his whole life, and knew better.

Sure enough, he passed Reg first. The Zombie was carrying a long-handled shovel over his left shoulder, and nodded in acknowledgement. Wee Sam managed to nod back before they passed each other.

He had expected Reg to recognize him. Reg had never noticed him behind the barricade, his father never noticed him behind the barricade, but Wee Sam had been playing Ned Coats for a full month before Sam Vimes had shown up as John Keel. Maybe Reg had never noticed that his father was Keel? How did Zombie memories work, anyway? Their brains certainly weren’t making new pathways… Did vampyre brains make new pathways?

This train of thought kept him pretty well occupied, along with the question of how he could politely go about getting some answers, when he noticed Uncle Havelock and his ‘cane’ striding silently towards him. A simple nod wouldn’t do.

“Good evening, Uncle Havelock.” Wee Sam called, since his mother had drummed into his head that you always greeted your superiors first. Admittedly, this sometimes meant that he approached his uncle with a question about what he would call the color of the sunset above a specific building at that exact moment, or if there was a poison which exploded in a particularly satisfactory fashion, but the patrician never complained. Nor did he complain if Wee Sam wandered in his office and started talking about alternative methods for coding clax messages or an unusual bird he had noticed riding the thermals above the University. And, thank gods, Havelock Vetinari knew that a formal greeting from Wee Sam Vimes meant that he didn’t want to talk.

“Happy Birthday, Wee Sam.” His uncle replied, “I trust you’ll be on time for dinner?”

Oh. That was a reminder. And a warning. “Thank you. Yes, we won’t be long.”

“Good. See you then.” The Patrician nodded, and then passed him.

“Yes.” Wee Sam muttered, and then reached for his pocket watch. When he pulled it out, he saw the time was all wrong and swore quietly. Well, from the graves he would be able to see the Tower of Art, and set his watch to the present. The battle of the lilac boys had been in the mid-morning, and it was most definitely not a quarter to noon.

John Keel’s grave marker was wood, and though it had been replaced often it had never been strong enough to support the weight of an average-sized man. Reg’s, on the other hand, was granite, and he apparently didn’t mind that Commander Sam Vimes leaned against it more and more every year.

Wee Sam didn’t make any noise, he never made any noise, but he could never sneak around his father. Commander Sam Vimes turned his head ever so slightly, and Wee Sam tooka good look at him.

Oh gods, he was so old. When had that happened? True, the last time he had seen his father he must have been about 50, but before that Wee Sam had spent three decades watching his father age and yet… It had never struck him so hard. He never could quite reconcile his memories of young Sam Vimes, that kid who had joined The Watch for three square meals a day and a little extra cash for his family. But he hadn’t thought his father had changed so much.

The old man looked him up and down. “How’d the battle go? After I left?”

Wee Sam stopped abruptly, and looked down at his outfit. He had forgotten to change into the clothes he had left at the monastery. This outfit was a uniform the Monks had given him, so he wouldn’t have the problems ‘accidental’ time travelers experienced with their clothes and meals and things staying in the time they came from. He even still had his lilac, somehow, even though that had come from the past.

“Don’t you remember?” You kicked ass.

His father shook his head. “I remember the original timeline, when Keel died at the barricade. I was pretty sure Coats wasn’t there.”

“Yeah, I don’t think he was, either.”

“I guess Vetinari showed up?” His father smirked. “Had a lilac in his teeth and everything?”

“I thought you didn’t remember it.” Wee Sam frowned.

“I don’t, but he tells me about it sometimes. I think he’s waiting for me to remember, or maybe now he’s wondering why I don’t.”

“Because time travel is a mess.” Wee Sam turned away from his father and looked across the city. He could see his family’s house from here.

“So Sweeper explained it to you?” The interest in his voice was practically tactile.

“No, but I had to run around for a month foiling somebody who had been sent to kill Havelock Vetinari. And it gave me time to wonder.”

“Why it was different the first time around?”

Wee Sam shook his head. “Would I have survived being born if you didn’t go back and meet Lawn?”

There was absolute silence between them, until Commander Sam Vimes quietly swore.

“Sweeper told me you have to think of things as one event in front of another, which is fine, except if you hadn’t gone back in time you wouldn’t have known Lawn was competent. You had heard of him, sure, but he would have never crossed your mind.”

“So we owe your existence to the damn time monks?” There was an angry edge to his father’s voice, but Wee Sam already knew his father was protective as hell. That was how he had gotten into this mess. Sort of.

“No. As far as I can tell, we owe it to some modern young idiots who thought they could go back and kill Vetinari. Time tries to fix things, and so you were sent back in time, to meet Lawn and Carcer went with you and killed Keel so there was a place for you to be and when you were done my life got saved and the monks were able to send me back to save Vetinari’s life and… Time is what it should be. Go us.” There was something about owing his life to terrorists that made him feel sarcastic.

“For all we know Vetinari or Rosie Palm might have recommended Lawn.” His father pointed out, which wasn’t a bad alternative. But it wasn’t what had happened, and there wasn’t really anybody they could ask. At least, nobody who they could ask who would give them a meaningful answer. They both knew Vetinari was a capable doctor, but apparently neither of them could imagine Vetinari getting involved in a problematic birth when there were other competent people around to do it.

More silence. Wee Sam noticed the time on the Tower of Art, and pulled his watch back out. If they were going to avoid talking about the massive argument they had that morning, he may as well take the time to re-set his watch.

“There was the sound of dice.” His father said so quietly that it didn’t initially register.

“Hm?” Wee Sam pushed the pin in, and watched with satisfaction as his watch and the tower struck the time at the exact same minute.

“Before the Library got struck by lightning. There was the sound of dice. Were the people who wanted to kill Havelock associated with a specific god?”

“I… Don’t know. They didn’t say anything about one.” He shut the watch, and shoved it in his pocket. ‘Havelock’ meant his dad was worried. “But there was a thunderstorm, right? Was the sound of dice rolling at the exact moment as the thunder?’

“Yes.”

“Io!” They both said it at the same moment, and Wee Sam felt his heart fall to his stomach. The self-proclaimed King of the Gods had been trying to subjugate their family for a long time. The only reason he had eased up lately was because Wee Sam had trained with the witches in Lancre. And so, to a lesser extent, had his father. It made them harder targets. But Io was still The Thunder God because he had murdered all the others. And then there was the question of who he would be forced to answer to. And how. Neither of the Vimes men had an axe sharp enough for that.

“Damn, why didn’t I realize that?” His father asked the night at large.

“The gods are always playing games. And besides, you had no reason to think Io was responsible for… Well he’s probably not responsible for the Dragon Incident, at least. Or the Goblin Incident.”

“Yeah, but we’ve been operating under the assumption that he was involved in that Dam Slam.” He was rubbing his thumb thoughtfully over the inside of his left wrist, where the Mark of the Summoning Dark had been. When Wee Sam was 8 it had changed, to a symbol generally called the Guarding Dark by anyone who cared to reference it. His father never talked about either Mark, but Wee Sam didn’t blame him. The Marks were indicative of 7 year period which did a number on his view of magic, and his identity.

Speaking of.

“I haven’t told Susan yet, but the monks kicked me out.” He tapped his toe against the grass, bringing it down as softly as he could so it wouldn’t damage the grass. Leggy would be so mad if he damaged his precious ‘terf’.

“Do you want to be a Monk?” His father asked quietly.

“No, I want to be a Watchman.” He whispered. Today was his 30th birthday, though technically he was a month older than that. He felt so much older than that. “But you’re apparently so terrified of me getting myself hurt that you’ve been doing Every Damned Thing you can think of to get between me and that and so I went ahead and tried to join almost any guild in the city and quite a few refused me and I’ve been kicked out of Each. And. Every. One. which would take me and now the only thing I can think of is taking Susan up on her offer to put in a good word for me with the Sto Lat Watch unless you’re going to step in and mess that up too and I wish you would knock it the hells off because as much as I love mum and her dragons I cannot spend the rest of my life working at the damn dragon sanctuary so--”

“Corporal.” His father’s voice was conversational, and somebody who had spent less time listening for the Commander’s voice probably wouldn’t have heard it.

“I’m not finished! Will you--” Wee Sam stopped abruptly. “Is that why you made me a Corporal? You couldn’t have recognized me. I hadn’t been born yet!”

“I recognized potential. And I was right, though you didn’t have as much control as I originally thought. Was all that sparring really necessary?”

“You’ve been standing between me and what I’ve been made to do!”

“And how would 50 year old me have known that?”

“It was easier to fight… him… than you.” Wee Sam grumbled, then realized he was starting to dig up the sod with his toe. Feeling bad about the grass, he brought his toe down in the other direction, to flatten it back down.

“Easier? I kicked your ass. I’d probably have a harder time of it now.”

“I never wondered if I should hold back.” Wee Sam admitted.

“Ah.” The 80 year old nodded. “I know that feeling. I’ve often wondered what it would be like if Vetinari and I had a proper fight when we were young.”

“You could sell tickets and solve all the city’s financial problems.” Wee Sam shifted his gaze to his father. “Actually you probably still could--”

“No. Your mother would have a conniption.”

“Oh right. Yeah, she would. Shame.”

“Do I want to know who you think would win?”

“No.”

“Your faith in me is staggering.”

“Well I figure either it would be a draw or he’d kick your--”

“Yes I understood your answer to my question, thank you.” But he was smiling ever so slightly.

And then the city’s clocks started chiming 9 in the evening. His father pushed himself slowly to his feet, and Wee Sam offered his arm. Cheery had offered to get his father an axe to use as a cane, but Commander Vimes would not hear of it. He did touch Wee Sam’s arm briefly, but once he was standing straight he let go, and the pair of them headed towards the exit.

They didn’t bother to try talking until the clocks had stopped, about five minutes after Wee Sam’s watch struck the hour.

“Did those people who tried to kill young Vetinari have any friends who stayed in our time?”

“I believe so.” They were walking slowly, and Wee Sam waited a full block before he added. “You want me to turn all my information over to anyone in particular?”

“I’m not afraid of you getting hurt.” It didn’t seem like a related response, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t. “I mean, of course I am, but that’s not why I’ve been saying no.”

“Really?”

“I don't want people treating you like a target for their hate for me. If you could join the way Carrot or Angua or Cheery did, that would be fine. But it’s gotten so big since they joined up.”

“Ah.” He didn’t know what else to say.

“I don’t think it would be any better if you joined anywhere else within the Clacks network.”

“Which is pretty much the whole world at this point.”

“And there’s all this scrying now.”

“Which doesn’t need towers.”

His father glared at him, but didn’t tell him to knock it off. “So I suspect your joining a Watch anywhere would ultimately be just as risky.”

“Which is your reasoning for why I shouldn’t bother with Sto Lat.”

“No, my reasoning for why you shouldn’t bother with Sto Lat is that we pay better and have the best medical benefits on the Sto Plains.”

Wee Sam stopped abruptly. “What.”

“You survived the Watch I started out in. As far as I’m concerned, you can handle today’s watch.” The old man stopped and looked back at him. “You’re going to be the oldest cadet though. Because I’m not going to let you jump straight to Corporal. We’re not at war.”

“Right. Yeah. That’s fine.”

“We’re going to be late if you don’t get moving.”

“Right.” Wee Sam managed to keep himself from skipping, so the pent up energy became a jog to his father’s side. They walked in silence, Wee Sam’s mind racing as he wondered if there was some way for him to accidentally mess this up.

“You should give your mother two week’s notice though. It’s only fair.”

“You didn’t run this by her first?” Wee Sam turned to him, shocked.

“Oh we’ve been talking about this for years.” The unspoken word ‘decades’ hung in the air between them. “Her, Vetinari, Carrot, Angua, Cheery--”

“Cheery?”

“She and Igor think you should be in forensics. I mean, it’s your choice of course-- after you pass the tests.”

“Forensics would be great.” He agreed, and thought about how fun it could be to put his Medical and Alchemical and Assassin training to something useful for once. Which reminded him “You know, there is a smouldering cigar in the center of The Garden of Inner City Tranquility at the Monastery.”

“Yeah, it hit me after you left. I had called you ‘sunshine’ during our fight, and Vetinari basically asked how you were handling turning 30, and seeing him standing there with the lilac pinned to his shirt it hit me.” He paused for a moment. “He wore it in the original timeline too, you know. I wish I had asked, but we didn’t get along as well then.”

Wee Sam felt his mouth tug into a half-smile. For his father and the patrician, ‘getting along as well’ involved an increased number of arguments. Also, he remembered ‘Keel’ using that ironic term of endearment during their spar. “You realized I was Ned Coats.”

“So I… walked as fast as I could… to the Monastery and… knocked on the damned door… And threatened to make one hell of a scene if Sweeper didn’t let me in.”

“So of course he did.”

“Of course.”

“And he took you to the garden. And… you told him what you worked out?”

“Actually I just told him that if anything happened to you I was holding him personally responsible. I knew Ned Coats died. I just didn’t know if he died the way John Keel died. I hadn’t stayed long enough to find out.”

“And what did he say?”

“He asked if my holding him responsible was more or less lethal than Susan Sto Helit holding him responsible.”

Wee Sam laughed. “Sweeper hasn’t met mum.”

“Yeah, that’s true.” His father chuckled quietly. “Anyway, Susan will be at dinner so you can tell her all about how the monks kicked you out with an audience. Your mother will find it interesting, I’m sure.”

“Does mum know about you going back...”

“Oh yes. Vetinari can’t keep a secret from her.” And neither could her husband.

“Will there be anybody at the dinner who doesn’t know?”

“Hm, no. I don’t think so. You were the only one who wasn’t in a position to make conversation then, and while Susan wasn’t involved in my adventure as far as I can tell…”

“But with Susan who knows. In any case, I think I’ll wait until we can get some privacy.”

“Suit yourself, but be warned. Everyone knows I told you I was ok with you joining the Watch. They’ll make a big deal about it. You know how they are.”

Wee Sam looked up at the big, brightly-lit, house as they waited for his dad to fully get his breath back. “I’ll try to be strong.”

Commander Sam Vimes snorted. Wee Sam opened the door, held it while his father entered the house, and followed right behind him.

[a-singleboat]

LA Girl

Word Count: 3.5k

Request: Since requests are open, can I ask for one where Shayne Topp has secretly been dating an Alt girl (piercings, coloured hair, tattoos ect) for months and she has anxiety and is nervous about meeting the squad as she feels like they’re gonna judge her for being so different to him so Shayne introduces her to Damien first alone and Damien automatically likes her and they click really well so she tells him she’s ready to go public and meet the rest of the squad and they all accept her?❤️ - Anon

A/N: I hope you guys like this! It took me a while to conceptualize it at first but then the rest came pretty naturally :D

Warning(s): Mentions of oral sex (male receiving), swearing, mentions of sex, self deprecating thoughts

You never really liked living in Los Angeles. Most days it was too bright and there were too many people, too many tourists. Yeah, you hated living here. That is, of course, until you met Shayne. 

At first, it appeared that you and Shayne were as different as night and day. Literally. He was the perfect LA Boy, with his blonde hair and his trim physique, always looking like the sun while you… you liked your dark colors and vibrant hairstyles, not to mention your multitudes of piercings and tattoos. In the mornings that you did spend together, Shayne liked to trace them with the tips of his fingers before the day started. 

These past few months with Shayne have been euphoric, for lack of better words. It seemed you were forever stuck in your honeymoon phase together but even you knew that it couldn’t last forever. The first fight you’d have, the first disagreement, stemmed from your own insecurities. 

As you’d mentioned before, Shayne looked like the perfect LA Boy, as did the rest of his friends. He didn’t stand out while walking the length of Hollywood Boulevard and he certainly didn’t catch any of the police officer’s eyes when he went to the bank. 

Which is why you weren’t so sure you wanted to meet them, his friends that is. You were sure that they would judge you for your alternative fashion choices, just like everyone else did. 

“They’re not like that,” Shayne tried to convince you for the umpteenth time that day. You had just finished washing the dishes, using your day off to catch up on chores you’d neglected during the week. Shayne was supposed to be completing his coursework for his degree but instead he’d decided to pester you with this topic once more. 

“My friends are super supportive and they just want to meet you,” he tried again. “And if they say anything then they’re not really my friends. They’ll love you, I promise.”

You picked up the laundry basket full of clean clothes from beside your front door, dumping the basket out on the couch. You cleared off a small section on the coffee table so that you could fold your laundry. 

“I’m just worried,” you confessed, folding a cropped shirt in half twice before dropping it into the laundry basket. “You say that they’re supportive and that they just want to meet me but you also just said, ‘if they say anything.’ Shayne, if I really didn’t have a reason to worry, you wouldn’t have thrown that in there.” 

“Okay, that was my bad,” he admitted, “but I’m serious. You have nothing to worry about, they’ll all love you.”

You gave him a weary look, folding a pair of black cargo pants over your arm. A few weeks ago, you’d met Shayne’s parents and while they were two of the most loving and welcoming people you had met, you could still see the discomfort and unease hidden behind their eyes. They expected someone different, with less tattoos and piercings most likely. They probably weren’t expecting their blonde baby boy to be with a neon-pink-haired twenty-something with daddy issues galore. 

“Okay, how about this,” Shayne took the pants from your hands, folding them and setting them onto the coffee table. “I’ll invite Damien over to mine for dinner tonight as a tester. If everything goes well with him, then maybe you’ll consider meeting everyone else?”

You took up your cargo pants once more, settling them in the laundry basket with the rest of your folded clothing. You had less than half the original pile left, the rest of the clothing being mainly bras and socks that still needed to be sorted. 

“Okay,” you gave in. What was the worst that could happen?

As it turns out, completely forgetting that Damien was due to arrive any moment at Shayne’s apartment was the worst thing that could happen. His best friend’s first impression of you would forever be this: you on your knees with Shayne’s dick halfway down your throat while you gave him a before-dinner blowjob. 

Embarrassment burned through your entire being as Damien realized what was happening before he closed the front door and called out, “I’m so sorry, I should have knocked!” 

You looked up at Shayne who couldn’t decide between being mortified and being smug. It took everything within your power not to punch him in the dick, considering it was literally right there in front of you. 

“Go… take care of yourself,” you awkwardly chuckled, patting his thigh lightly. “I’ll let your friend in and hopefully not die from embarrassment on the way.” 

Shayne scrambled up off the couch and into his bathroom while you opened the container of mints you kept under the coffee table for these types of instances. Not that you and Shayne expected people to walk in during any of that normally. You washed your hands at the sink while you chewed the mint, giving yourself a moment to breathe before even thinking about opening the door.

Once you’d calmed down enough, you opened the door for Damien, unable to meet his eye as you let him in. 

“Uh, sorry you had to see any of that…” You closed the door behind him, double checking the lock to make sure it was still working. “We don’t usually do it out here, um--”

“You don’t need to explain yourself,” Damien tried to save the night. “It’s not like I haven’t seen Shayne’s dick before--I mean--Not in the way you’d think--”

The two of you dissolved into laughter, still thinking of a way to dig your way out of the hole you’d awkwardly made. When Shayne was telling you about Damien, he did mention that he was possibly the most awkward of his friends which made him the perfect ‘test monkey’ for the night. 

“I should’ve knocked,” Damien settled, an apologetic look on his face. “Shayne gave me a key a while back and I usually just let myself in but that’s really no excuse. I’m sorry.”

Shayne had also mentioned Damien was the most polite out of them all. Not that the others weren’t polite, because they were. He had meant it in the way that Damien would apologize for existing if he could (which he has done before). 

“It’s okay, really. Though, we might have to tweak the story of how we met for future conversations.” You made your way into Shayne’s little kitchenette. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“Water is fine,” Damien said, moving to sit in one of the chairs at the high table. You grimaced at the couch, making a mental note to grab some disinfectant once Shayne came out of the bathroom. “And yeah, we’ll just leave that part out for future retellings.”

You pulled a glass from one of the cabinets, filling it with water from the Brita. You added a few ice cubes as well, smiling as they clinked against the sides of the glass. 

“So, how did you and Shayne meet?” Damien asked, thanking you for the glass. You took up the other seat, crossing your right leg over your left. 

“At the tattoo shop I work at, actually,” you played with the end of your belt, twisting the fabric over your hand until it covered your knuckles. For this meeting, you’d decided to tone down your wardrobe--less chains and more softer fabrics. Your pleated skirt had been exchanged for the black cargo pants you’d folded earlier. That paired with a simple side release buckle belt and a structured white top for contrast, this was probably the most “tame” you’ve dressed in a while. 

“He came in with another friend of his, Paul, and sat with him while I worked on a piece for his sleeve. After that, I gave him my number in case he ever wanted to get a tattoo himself and the rest is history.”

“I can’t believe Paul technically met you before I did,” Damien said in disbelief. You heard the toilet flush and the sink turn on which meant your boyfriend would be joining the two of you soon. 

The awkwardness between you and Damien had faded slightly but you could still feel the tension in the air. Shayne opened the bathroom door and you looked over your shoulder to watch as your no longer disheveled boyfriend entered the room. He’d changed his pants, which was fair, and he was holding the disinfectant in hand as if he’d read your mind. 

You hopped off the seat and took it from him, spraying down the entire couch while he greeted his friend. 

“Really sorry you had to see that,” Shayne said, laughing as they clapped their hands together. “We would have disinfected the couch either way, just so you know.” 

Damien laughed as you finished cleaning off the couch, setting the disinfectant on the coffee table. You couldn’t be bothered with putting it away in the bathroom right now. 

“Well, this is Y/n, my girlfriend,” Shayne pulled on your arm until you settled into his side. You gave a small wave. “And she made Italian for dinner so unless you now want nothing to do with me, we can start eating now.” 

“Sounds great.”

Once you actually got over the initial awkwardness, your night actually turned out enjoyable. Damien was extremely funny and nice, just like Shayne had said. He’d even asked about your job and your own tattoos, expressing his own thoughts about getting one or two done himself. 

“If you get it done at my shop, I can get you a discount,” you offered, taking a sip of your water. “Friends and family get twenty-percent off, though that doesn’t include the tip.” 

“Really?” Damien asked. He looked shocked that you’d even offer to tattoo him, let alone provide him with a discount. 

“Yeah,” you grinned. “Just let me know when and we can set up an appointment.” 

“That’d be amazing.”

The three of you were sitting on the couch now, you and Shayne sitting on the side closest to the window while Damien was on the other end. His body was angled toward the two of you as “The Office” played quietly in the background. 

“Does this mean I’ll be seeing you around more?” Damien asked. “Shayne always comes alone to out-of-work get-togethers and Courtney’s been pestering him to bring you around for some time now.”

“She has?” you looked up at Shayne, asking if that was true. 

He nodded. “Why do you think I’ve been so insistent on getting you to meet my friends? They all want to meet you.”

“It doesn’t help that you’re all he talks about,” Damien chuckled. “I swear, every other word from his mouth is something about you. Whether it’s wondering what you’re doing to wondering how you’re doing, it’s always about you.” 

You reached up and patted Shayne’s cheek lightly. “Aw, babe. You think about me? How embarrassing.”

  He swatted your hand away, chuckling as you giggled at the shared joke between you. 

You talked for a little longer, sharing stories between the three of you before Damien caught sight of the time. 

“I should get going,” he said, standing up. You got up as well, giving him a hug before letting him and Shayne say their goodbyes. Once Damien had left the apartment completely, you released a breath you didn’t know you were holding in, you shoulder relaxing. While Shayne was an extrovert, you found yourself physically and mentally drained from hanging out with just one person. 

The entire experience was new for you. Since you’d started dressing how you wanted to dress and expressing yourself accordingly, there have been people less than willing to be nice to you or show you any sort of kindness. It was mostly linked to the fact that people thought that if you wore black, put on lots of make-up, had piercings, and had tattoos you were a bad person and an even worse role model. Not only was that hurtful, it made you very self conscious about meeting new people. 

“That wasn’t so bad,” Shayne said, pulling you in for a hug. You sunk into his arms, wrapping your own arms around his torso. 

“It wasn’t terrible,” you replied, your words muffled by the fabric of his shirt. You turned your head sideways so that you could hear his steady heartbeat, allowing it to lull you into what felt like security. “Though, the beginning could have been better.” 

“We’re never speaking of the beginning again.”

“Agreed.”

Shayne started to sway with you in his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before letting go. “So how do you feel about going to brunch with the rest of my friends on Saturday?”

After meeting Damien, your anxiety had subsided. No longer did you think you would be judged for the type of clothes you chose to wear but this time the anxiety of meeting so many people at once surfaced. When you didn’t respond, he looked down at you worried. 

“Tell me what’s wrong.” 

“I just…” If you said what you were thinking out loud, you knew you were going to sound ridiculous. “It’s nothing.”

“No, really,” he frowned, “tell me what’s wrong. Bottling it all up inside won’t work this time.” 

You sighed. “I--Shayne, you’re perfect, you know that?” 

“I wouldn’t say perfect but…” You dug your fingers into his side, causing him to laugh. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“It’s just that you’re the perfect LA Boy and I look nothing like the perfect LA Girl that you so clearly deserve. I mean, Damien was nice but that’s literally just how he is. What if your other friends think I’m, like, a terrible influence on you with my millions of piercings and tattoos and attention-seeking hair and--”

He cut you off with his lips, arms pulling you in impossibly closer and effectively stopping you in your tracks. 

When he pulled away, you fixed him with a playful glare. “Shayne Robert Topp, you did not just pull a movie cliche on me while I was airing out all my concerns to you. Apologize right now.” 

“I’m sorry,” he said, pressing another kiss to the top of your head. “But, Y/n, you don’t need to be the ‘perfect LA Girl,’ you’re perfect the way you are. That doesn’t mean I’d like you any less if you decided that you did want to become whatever you think is the ‘perfect LA Girl’ because I’d like you no matter what. I just like you.”

“Even if I went bald?”

“Even if you went bald.” 

You’ve said it once and you’ll say it again: you fucking loved this man. 

“I love you,” you said, pouting your bottom lip. You felt the tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you looked up at him in adoration. 

“I love you, too.” 

By the time Saturday rolled around, you were ready to meet the rest of Shayne’s friends. Most of your anxieties had been successfully quelled, though they still lingered. You had gotten your hair done again the day before, meaning you were now sporting a bright neon green. You matched your makeup to your vibrant new dye and picked out a heat-appropriate outfit. 

“Are you ready to go?” Shayne called from your front room, interrupting your self-admiration session. You gave yourself one last look in the full-length mirror in your room before slipping on the pair of DnD dice filled platform shoes that added at least three inches to your height. 

“Ready.” You stopped to pose in the doorway, the bottom of your shirt riding up as you leaned against the wooded frame. “Baby, how do I look?” 

Shayne looked up from his phone, his jaw dropping the second he laid eyes on you. A blush settled nicely onto your cheeks, as you grew shy under his gaze. He dropped his phone on the couch and crossed the room in three long strides. He pulled you in by the waist, pressing a kiss to your lips. You melted into his touch, a giddy feeling spreading through your being as your arms looped around his neck, bringing him closer. 

“You look amazing,” he breathed, pulling away. You giggled as you realized that a bit of your black lipstick had transferred off onto his lip. You reached up and wiped his top lip with your thumb. 

“Thank you,” you giggled, rubbing your fingers together until the black rubbed off. “What time did your friends say?”

“We’ve got some time…” his fingers crept up your side, dipping under your shirt and tracing the band of your bra with his thumb. 

You smacked his hand. “Naughty boy.”

You didn’t end up leaving the apartment for another thirty minutes, though you couldn’t complain about it. Still, you ended up making it on time. From where you’d parked on the street, you could see Shayne’s friends spread across two connected tables, laughing on the patio. 

Damien was the first to spot the two of you, standing from his seat and calling out, inviting you into the sectioned off area. You took up residence in the seat closest to him, leaving Shayne to take the seat on your other side. 

“You guys, this is my girlfriend, Y/n,” Shayne introduced you to everyone at the table. There were nine other people sitting at the table. You recognized maybe six of them from the videos you’d watched, while the other three were most likely spouses (considering how close they were sitting next to who you assumed were their significant others). 

“Hi, Y/n!” the blonde sitting next to Damien greeted. You recognized her immediately as the inspiration for Shayne’s alter ego, Courtney Freaking Miller. 

You smiled politely as everyone went around introducing themselves to you, from Olivia and Sam to Sarah and Claudio, you didn’t feel out of place for one second. The hand that had been tightly intertwined with Shayne’s relaxed as you grew even more comfortable around his friends. 

“So Damien told us that you worked at a tattoo parlor,” Ian inquired, propping an arm up on the table and resting his chin in the palm of his hand. On his left sat Anthony, who also looked interested in your answer. “And Shayne did, too, I guess. Did Damien tell you that your boyfriend literally never stops talking about you?”

You giggled. “He did tell me that and I find it adorable that he can’t go a second without missing me.” 

“I wish Peter was like that,” the purple haired woman, Mari, complained playfully, nudging her husband’s side. Peter just laughed it off, casually putting his arm around her shoulders. 

“You do not,” he refuted. “You get flustered when I even mention you to my friends.”

She huffed, though there were no traces of anger to be found on her face. “It’s the sentiment that counts.”

Courtney put her menu down, reaching over to grab her glass of water. “I’ve always wanted to get a tattoo. Y/n, yours are so pretty.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks at the compliment. “Thank you! I actually did most of them myself.” 

Courtney’s eyes widened at that. She reached over Damien, who had leaned far back enough in his seat to allow her to do that. She motioned at your sleeve, specifically at the roses that decorated the back of your forearm. They were cliche and most likely overused but you just thought they were pretty. 

“Those? You did those yourself?”

“Yeah!” you said enthusiastically. You offered your arm out, allowing her to take a closer look. “My friend, Alyssa, designed it for me and as soon as I was trusted to wield an actual tattoo gun, it was the first piece I worked on.”

“That’s insanely cool,” she gushed, tracing a finger over one of the larger roses. “And you’re insanely talented.”

“Thank you!”

For some reason, Courtney was originally your biggest concern. Most of the insecurity had sprouted from the constant online presence of the ship Shourtney, which Shayne assured you was nothing but a meme. And you trusted your boyfriend, and though you didn’t know Courtney, you trusted her too. But sitting here, at the same brunch spot as her, sharing the same meal as she was, all your fears washed away. 

It was incredibly difficult not to like her. Not only was she extremely nice, but insanely pretty as well. Though you had to accredit most of your confidence to Shayne, who only had eyes for you despite everything else. You’d thought that you would find yourself vying for his attention in front of everyone but not once did he leave you to flounder. He was always there, ready to step into any conversation you were having. 

When you’d all finished your meals and began to wrap up the late morning, you couldn’t help but show your gratitude for your amazing boyfriend by pressing a huge kiss to his cheek, whispering that you loved him while everyone had grown content in their own little conversations with each other. 

Content, he grinned and his arm around your shoulders tightened just that much more as he used his free hand to tilt your face up towards him. He pressed a kiss to your lips, keeping it short and sweet, before pulling away and whispering, “I love you, too.” 

TAGLIST

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[language-of-love]

aesthetic... 

Mild M / 1800 words / early relationship fun / AO3

“I think I need to stage an intervention.”

“Huh?” Patrick says over his shoulder, finding David staring into his closet with his hands perched pointedly on his hips.

“There has to be an addiction or something driving this. It’s the only explanation.”

“Driving what?”

He knows, but watching David get wound up is one of the things that Patrick first found made him go absolutely crazy about this man, so he never hesitates to find reasons to get him going. Especially now, when he’s in a position to act upon the impulses David’s actions conjure up.

“The blue, Patrick. All. Of. This. Blue.”

Abandoning his laptop where he’d been searching Netflix for a Sandra Bullock film they haven’t already watched, Patrick leans back against the dresser and folds his arms tight across his chest. He knows it thins the material of his shirt along his biceps and that, apparently, is something that gets David going, so he never hesitates to find reasons to do that, too.

“I just like the color, David. It’s not that serious.”

“Fashion is always serious.”

David looks actually offended, which honestly, just makes Patrick want to laugh. But he holds it in, albeit barely.

“How is me wearing a lot of blue any different than you and your constant stream of black and white sweaters?”

It’s an honest question. One he already knows the answer to, because this isn’t the first time they’ve had this interaction.

“This,” David says as he gestures down his body, “is an…”

“Aesthetic,” Patrick finishes for him. “I know. But why can’t blue just be my aesthetic?”

There’s a slight narrowing of David’s eyes and Patrick wonders why he’s never thrown that retort back at him before as it appears to have hit an unexpected target. He can feel his chest rising just a little as he notches a win on his belt, but then, David’s crossing the few steps towards him and he wonders if maybe that was a bit premature. Those perfect lips he knows every dip and curve of are curling into a knowing smile just as David’s hands reach out and take purchase of Patrick’s arms. His thumbs are digging into the muscle Patrick’s placed on display and in that instant, Patrick knows he’s about to let David win this round.

“An aesthetic is something you craft and nurture, perfect over time through nuanced choices and careful exclusions. Is that something that sounds familiar when it comes to…”

David pauses and lifts his hands from Patrick’s biceps, leaving Patrick embarrassingly breathless with an ache to have his touch return.

“This?” David continues, his long fingers gripping the open collar of Patrick’s button down and giving the material a gentle tug. Patrick has a fleeting concern over the cheap construction and the strength of the buttons, but that thought falls to the wayside when David steps even closer, his long, lean body pushing Patrick deeper into the dresser.

“No,” Patrick somehow manages to answer through the lump of desire clawing its way up his throat.

“Didn’t think so,” David whispers as he tugs Patrick forward by his lapel to meet his mouth for a kiss. It’s been about a month since the first time Patrick tasted this man on his lips and even now, after he’s lost count of how many kisses they’ve shared, he feels that same rush of excitement that was there that night in his car.

As David slips his tongue into his mouth, Patrick unfurls his arms so he can grab at his waist to drag him closer, an impossible thing that just knocks the dresser back into the wall and sends some of Ray’s knick-knacks flying onto the carpet. He can feel David’s fingers between them fumbling with his shirt buttons and a flash of heat surges up the back of his neck, the sudden flush making him feel lightheaded and in need of a breath or two. Prying his mouth free, he sucks in some air and opens his eyes, welcoming another surge of heat when he’s met with David breathing just as hard as his lips curl up into a smile Patrick can only categorize as fond. He smiles at David the same way multiple times a day, so he knows it well.

“You know,” David begins to say, leaning back enough to give himself better access to pop the first of Patrick’s shirt buttons free. “Just because it isn’t an aesthetic, doesn’t mean you don’t make these blue shirts work.”

Another button comes free and Patrick inhales sharply as David’s fingertips feather lightly down the skin he’s exposed as he begins to work on the next one. His belly is now in an anticipation spin cycle and he has to reach back and grab the dresser to steady himself a little.

“If you’re not offended by it, why are you currently taking it off?”

David’s fingers stop moving for a brief moment and Patrick immediately regrets the words he’s just said. But then, David’s chuckling under his breath and tugging the bottom of Patrick’s shirt up and out of where it’s still tucked into his jeans. He doesn’t say anything right away, just keeps unbuttoning until the shirt falls open and Patrick’s chest is completely bare.

Patrick might feel a little bit on display, but he can’t stop the flush that follows David’s gaze from his belly button all the way up to his neck. When he meets David’s eyes, they’re darker than he’s ever seen them.

“Because I like how you look in pink,” David says on a long breath that adds unnecessary heat to Patrick’s already flaming cheeks.

He doesn’t need clarification on what David means, knowing from how sweat is building beneath his arms and beneath the waistband of his jeans that he must be flushed all over. And thankfully, David doesn’t make him dwell in the embarrassment of that fact a second longer because David’s mouth is back where it belongs, tugging at Patrick’s lips and coaxing a groan from his throat as the cool metal of his rings press into the hot skin of Patrick’s back inside his shirt. As David’s fingers dig deeper into his skin, Patrick just clings to the back of his neck, letting that sense of desperation that David’s touch always seems to conjure take over once again.

Before he knows it, Patrick’s sitting on the dresser with David grumbling about how stiff his jeans are as he struggles to drag them down his thighs.

“Are you just going to disparage my entire wardrobe tonight?”

“Yes. Or you could help me? Unless you want me to stop and wait for Ray to get home and...”

“No!” Patrick practically shouts. “I’ve got it. Go put the thing…”

As Patrick frees his legs from the denim and his briefs, David shoves the chest in the corner against the door, the only solution they’ve found to delaying Ray’s inevitable intrusion the moment he arrives back home. David still has a bruise on his hip from the time last week he had to roll completely naked off the side of the bed and out of sight while Patrick threw a pillow over himself as Ray poked his head in to say goodnight.

When David returns to Patrick, he’s pulled his own sweater and undershirt off and Patrick’s traitorous blush is back full force. But David spares him this time and just steps in close again, cupping his cheeks as he nips playfully at his bottom lip. Their next kiss is deep and sensual, arms wrapping to bring their chests flush and relish in that heady feeling of skin against skin.

Over the next ten minutes, Patrick’s skin burns over and over beneath David’s lips and fingers, electricity sparking from David’s tongue down the inside of Patrick’s thighs where they are anchored over David’s shoulders. Crying out David’s name with a fistful of his hair trapped between his fingers as he comes, Patrick’s still struggling to catch his breath as David gently lowers his legs and presses kisses into the now sweaty hair beneath his belly button.

“You look like a fully cooked lobster.”

“Don’t care,” Patrick pants.

And he doesn’t. Not right now. Not while David’s looking so smug as he stands up and teases his fingers along the button of his own jeans. He’ll never admit to it, but even with his more olive complexion, he’s flushed, too - along his neck, on the apples of his cheeks, and even a little beneath the swirls of dark hair curling around his nipples. Patrick’s legs are a bit wobbly as he slides off the dresser, but he somehow manages to put one foot in front of the other and guide David backwards towards his bed with one hand on his hip and the other swatting David’s hand away from the now open front of his jeans.

“Unlike some people, I don’t need help getting you out of your pants.”

Patrick’s too naked and David’s too dressed and all of his focus is now on rectifying this imbalance. He’s got the jeans unzipped only halfway when David’s hands come up to steady himself on Patrick’s shoulders.

“Oh really?” David teases. “I seem to remember someone needing a tutorial to find your way around my Rick Owens just last week.”

“Fine, but I can handle jeans,” Patrick relents as he gives David a playful shove onto the mattress. It does take a bit of shimmying on David’s part and more than a few laughs shared between them, but Patrick does, eventually, get David out of his jeans and those long, perfect legs draped over his own shoulders where they belong.

They’re still naked, but thankfully covered by Patrick’s comforter when the door to Patrick’s bedroom smashes into the chest on the floor a half an hour later.

“Patrick, there’s something in the way of the door!”

“Ray, we’re not decent,” Patrick groans.

“Oh, sorry boys! Just wanted to say goodnight. Goodnight David. Goodnight Patrick.”

“Night Ray,” Patrick and David say in unison.

Patrick turns to David with an apologetic smile, but Ray’s back entirely too soon.

“Oh Patrick, I picked up your dry-cleaning. I’ll just hang your shirts up in my closet. That new dark navy one will really bring out your eyes.”

“Thank you, Ray. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yes, yes. Night boys.”

He can just feel David itching to say something and turns to him with his finger raised.

“Don’t say a word.”

“What? I wasn’t going to say anything,” David says with feigned disbelief.

“Uh huh…” Patrick grumbles, sliding closer and dragging David in so he can hide his surely beet red face beneath his chin.

It’s quiet for a minute, maybe two and Patrick takes a deep breath, knowing it’s just a matter of time. But David doesn’t say anything and Patrick wonders if he’s really going to let that go.

“It’ll really bring out your eyes?”

Maybe not.

[standard-muse]

What happened to Rey?

Rey was honestly one of my favorite characters coming out of TFA, but I couldn’t figure out why I was walking out of TROS feeling like there was something off about her. I decided to dive into a character study to see what the issues were. That’s when I realized the unbelievable character regression we witnessed in TROS. I know I’m not the first one to notice this or comment on it, but here are some of the key elements I noticed.

Rey’s Wardrobe:  Rey’s wardrobe in the first two movies does an interesting thing. She starts off in an off-white outfit, very similar to the looks we see on Anakin in TPM and Luke in ANH. This signals the beginning of all three of their stories. Each character begins as a child and is inexperienced and naïve in their training and maturity. Then, we move to the second movie. Rey progresses to cool grays, Anakin movies to a series of deep blues, browns and black; and Luke also moves to a gray color scheme. This signals the growth, the changes, the rise in maturity and knowledge, and signals the step that they are no longer in that place of innocence and adolescence. This matches what we see on screen in ESB as Luke dives deep into his training, Anakin goes on his first solo mission in AOTC, and Rey trains with Luke in TLJ – it fits perfectly.

Then, we get to the third movie. And here’s where the problems begin with the choices they made with her character. In ROTS Anakin is wearing all black, he has a gloved hand -- his wardrobe not only signals his completion into maturity but also foreshadows his eventual turn to Vader. Luke is also wearing all black, at one point he has a cloak, and his wardrobe shows the struggle and trials he’s been through. Luke is no longer the same man he was in ANH. Famously, Luke’s all black wardrobe raises the question of “will he turn to the dark side like his father?” And after he refuses, we see the white lining to understand that he was always good on the inside. If we were to follow this trend (since Star Wars is supposed to rhyme), Rey should have been wearing dark colors. A darker color would have also been a nice callback to the teasing question we had with Luke, but instead the question would have been “Will we see Rey join Kylo on the Sith throne?” Instead, what we got was a blindingly white outfit that was identical to her TFA outfit. Not only does this symbolically point to a regression in her character and the work and training she’s gone through, the stark white paints her as an innocent – a pure creature that is untouched and has a naivety about her and her experiences. More than that, it’s almost identical to the outfit she wears in the flashback when her parents leave, telling us that after the acceptance we witness in TLJ that her parents are gone and her place is ahead of her instead of behind, she’s suddenly regressed back to waiting for her parents to return to her. This outfit did not suite the Rey that we left in TLJ who showed development and experience. 

Rey’s Hair: It’s been a common theory that the reason Rey has her 3-bun hair style is because it’s the same hair she had when her parents left; and the reason she kept it was so they could recognize her if they returned. This ties into the same point made that she is wearing the same outfit she had as a little girl so they could recognize her too. The irrational hope that even as she knows (as Kylo unlocks this memory within her) that her parents are gone, she still won’t let it go. The problem with this hair choice for TROS is that Rey had already moved passed this way of thinking. In TLJ we see his beautiful moment of her accepting Kylo’s words to “Kill the past so you can be who you were meant to be”, seconds later after this scene she dives into water (i.e. a rebirth or baptism) and comes out with her hair down. This was beautifully done and was a great way to show the big step Rey had just taken in her character journey. Not only that, but immediately after she lets her hair down, she reaches out to Kylo again and they admit to each other that they’ll never let the other person be alone (i.e. a new family). Unfortunately, the writers of TROS decided not to follow up on this, and instead her character goes back to the same little girl hairstyle she’s had since she was a young child. This felt like Rey tacking a Padawan braid in her hair after she had already ceremoniously cut it off. There was no excuse or reason to justify it either other than that she reverted to a child like state.

She was living with Leia, the Princess from Alderaan, the place with a culture famous for their braids. Would it not have made infinitely more sense for Rey to be sporting an Alderaan-like braided hairstyle? Not only would that have helped TROS’s “New-Found Family” theme they were poorly trying to convey, but it also would have emphasized the relationship and connection between Rey and Leia. It would have been an easy way to show the audience that Rey and Leia had bonded, without them having to film it (which they couldn’t have anyways).

Rey’s Staff and Saber: Now, Rey’s staff has been with her since the first moments of TFA. She relentlessly carries it around with her all across Jakku and it’s her main form of protection. This makes total sense in the TFA timeline. However, about halfway through TLJ we see her shift her attitude towards the staff. There is a moment on Ahch-To where she’s practicing with it, she stops, and instead shifts to using the legacy saber for her training. Not only that, but during her fight with Luke she uses the staff for a moment, only to quickly drop it in favor of the same saber. After which point, she never uses it again in TLJ. By the beginning of TROS, after we’ve clearly seen the legacy saber working and her using it, it makes no sense for her to continue carrying around the staff. The staff was a symbol of her time on Jakku, it was her main weapon of choice before she became a Jedi and before she joined the Resistance. After she goes on her journey for a little bit, in TLJ she moves past that, she sets it aside in favor of the saber since that is where her future is. However – in TROS she inexplicably goes back to carrying it around like a safety blanket. It's another tether to her childhood that the writers insisted on keeping around even though it had no purpose. She uses it one time with Zorii Bliss, but even then in a second she swaps it out for the saber. There was no purpose for her to have this staff with her and more often then not, it hinders her ability to use her saber, the true Jedi weapon. In one scene—ridiculously—she carrying around the staff, the saber, the sith dagger, Han’s blaster, and Chewie’s crossbow and bandolier. She looked like the character from Jumanji with the giant backpack that is just known as the weapons valet.

As for the saber and how it relates to her character regression… In TFA we hear Maz Kanata say “This lightsaber belonged to Luke, and his father before him, and now it calls to you.” She then proceeds to use the lightsaber to defeat Kylo Ren and the Praetorian Guards all on her own. She’s trained with it, it flies into her hand when she calls to it, and she retrieved it after Luke threw it away on Ahch-To. This was Rey’s saber. However, in TROS we get this perplexing line of her returning the saber to Leia (who never owned it?) and saying she’ll earn it again one day. This was wrong on so many levels. Not only did Rey already earn this lightsaber, and it called out to her in Maz’s castle and on Starkiller; but the fact that she doesn’t even assume she’s worthy of holding a lightsaber means her Jedi’s journey is in it’s infant stage in the final film of the trilogy. Compare this to our other main protagonists Anakin and Luke, they’re both masters (sorry, Anakin) at their craft and proficient and confident with a saber. Anakin defeats Dooku when Obi-Wan can’t and Luke has built his own saber and takes on an entire barge of criminals. They’re both exactly where they should be in their Jedi/Hero’s journey at this point in the story. But, in TROS, Rey takes an epic step backwards from all the groundwork done in TFA and in TLJ and is put in the place of a Padawan. Where she should have been prepared to fill in the shoes of master, she’s not even fit to carry a lightsaber without permission from a parental figure. What’s worse, it is brought to our attention that Rey is trying to earn this saber, and in the end, she ends up just burying it in the sand and making a new one anyways. In a weird way this feels like she gave up on that idea entirely, or failed at it, and instead decided to make a new one because in the end she didn’t feel worthy to use it.

Rey’s Maturity/Emotional Mindset: For lack of better word, Rey’s maturity in this movie takes a huge step back as well. Again, if we look at our other protagonists Anakin and Luke, they both start off as young, naïve, and somewhat whiny. Rey, blessedly, never whined but we do see a great amount of youthfulness and child-like behaviors from her in TFA. She slides around on sand dunes, she runs away in Maz’s castle when she gets scared, she plays around with a x-wing helmet. This is the perfect place for her character to begin and balances great with the parallel of Luke and Anakin who both are in similar states. Then, in TLJ, like Luke and Anakin, Rey matures. She’s no longer playing around, she faces Luke head on and fights for what she knows is right, she doesn’t shy away when she’s scared, she enters into a relationship much like Anakin did – signaling her maturity and stepping into adulthood. Rey in TLJ grows up so much in the best possible way. After her hair comes down, and after she shares the hut moment with Kylo, she steps up fully and makes the choice to go and save him, moving away from her master to go on the journey on her own. She faces Snoke with her chin held high and doesn’t cower or get persuaded by him. She never lashes out irrationally and is poised and dignified the entire time. We see this again at the end with Kylo and her during the last force-bond scene of TLJ. This is after they’ve already parted ways and after she realizes he’s taken on the mantle of Supreme Leader. What we see is Rey standing there, poised and dignified, mature and calm as she looks him dead in the eye and closes the door on him. I’ve seen 50-year-old adults less mature than Rey is in that moment – and it is a wonderful moment of her character growth.

This was mentioned by @Forcebond-Shenanigans and I wanted to touch on it a little bit more. Rey in TROS acts completely irrational to Kylo up until…well Exegol basically. In one particular scene, Kylo is calmly standing there (in the weirdest framed shot ever, but that’s besides the point) talking to her normally on his ship, warning her that Palpatine is trying to kill her, and Rey immediately pulls out her lightsaber, bares her teeth, and threatens him. In fact, any time he is present around her, she attacks even though he never tries to attack back. Kylo, in every scene, is just trying to have a normal adult conversation and Rey—for some reason—keeps trying to fight him. It’s undoubtedly immature and goes against everything we’d seen between the two of them in TLJ.

This. Does. Not. Make. Sense.

In TLJ she’s already established a close, intimate connection with Kylo. She’s told him her deepest thoughts and feelings and he’s listened calmly. She already knows she can sit down and have a normal, easy, rational conversation with him even after what happens in Snoke’s throne room. It might have made sense for her to lash out at him if he too had his lightsaber out, or was threatening her, or doing something else sinister. But even when he’s trying to help her by letting her know Palpatine is after her, she still lashes out at him. This, in no way, fits the Rey we saw at the end of TLJ who was able to calmly close a door on Kylo without so much as creasing her forehead at him. Her attitude towards him for 95% of this movie feels like we’re stuck in the middle of the Starkiller Battle.

Rey’s Hero Journey/The Tatooine Ending: For Anakin and Luke, we see their hero’s journey come full circle within their trilogies. Anakin starts off as a child, learns the Jedi ways, becomes proficient at it, and by the end of ROTS is ready to lead the next generation (He just…takes a detour to the dark side instead). Luke as well, begins as child-like figure, learns the Jedi ways, moves beyond the point of needing a master, and by the end is ready to pass the baton to the next generation of Jedi. Rey begins as a child, learns the ways of the Jedi, becomes very skilled at it…then goes back to needed a teacher, is unworthy of her lightsaber, needs the help of other Jedi to fight off Palpatine, and ends the movie going back to the home of her masters who were also a sort of parental pair to her (which is weird, but for other reasons).

Now, Rey was put in this place of taking on the mantel of the Last Jedi. She inherits that from Luke after Luke passes. Presumably, that set her up to lead the next generation of Jedi as that was what Snoke was trying to prevent Luke from doing. She is supposed to pass on that knowledge so that the Jedi can survive. However, by the end of her story she’s simply…not ready. Comparatively, if we look at either Anakin or Luke, they were ready to pass the baton to the next generation. Luke had proven himself to the point where even Yoda says, “No more training do you require.” And Obi-Wan says to Anakin, “I’ve taught you everything I know, and you’ve become a far greater Jedi than I ever hope to be.” Both our protagonists in the OT and PT are clearly shown to be at the end of their training and ready to lead the next generation. Rey, on the other hand, begins TROS still acting like a padawan who’s trying to earn her lightsaber. This was such a bad writing choice as we now finish this story with Rey not in the place of being able to adequately pass that knowledge along to others, and even worse, not even ready to be considered a master at her own craft herself. This would be like Anakin ending the trilogy in a Pre-AOTC state of being. It’s unresolved, it’s unfinished. They backtracked her journey so much she’s not even close.

To further this blunder, we get this extremely bizarre scene on Tatooine. It’s weird from the second we see the ship land and it gets weirder every second we’re there. Rey, who should be a mature leader, stepping into the shoes of Luke and Leia, ready to lead the next generation of Jedi as a master is…sliding around in the sand like she did on Jakku. One might call this a cute callback to TFA, but in a lot of ways all this did was further drive home the blatant character regression we see in Rey. She is now ending her story in the exact same way she started it in Jakku. Comparatively, If we look at Luke in ANH we see him in white, dreamily standing and looking at the twin suns. At the end of ROTJ, we see him dignified and powerful as he watches the force-ghosts. Luke by the end also has a new outfit on that’s drastically different than the one he started with, he’s surrounded by his friends and family, and you can see the change in him. Anakin in TPM compared to ROTS is even more extreme, the little boy is now a full-grown man, a man who got married, who had kids, and is now second in command to the Galactic Empire as he’s clothed in metal. Rey, in TFA starts off alone on a dessert planet, clothed in white, dreamily looking up at the sky. And ends her journey in TROS alone on a dessert planet, clothed in white, dreamily looking up at the sky.

And as if that wasn’t strange enough, the scene gets even more bizarre. At the end of her story, Rey should be confident in who she is, she should be taking on the mantel of master she should be leading others, and she should be at the point in her life where she’s not looking for her parents so she can be a kid again, but instead is thinking about starting her own family (not saying right away, but that’s where her direction should be). This is the natural place for somebody who’s now fully an adult and has gone through all the growth she did. By the end of her story she should have fully replaced her master’s roles and would be taking in her own padawan. Instead of looking for a parental figure, she should be in the place of being a parental figure.

And yet, instead of that, what we’re left with is a moment where somebody asks Rey who she is and she inexplicably turns to her metaphorical parents, as if asking for permission, and then tells this lady she’s a Skywalker. And as much as I’d like to think she took this name because it was Ben’s name and she was claiming herself to be his wife, unfortunately I think the reason she took it was because she was still, still stuck on trying to replace this parent figure in her life.The issue here isn’t with her choosing a new family, which presumably was the point of her story in TROS even though it was botched and spliced together, the issue was that the writers decided to end her story with Luke and Leia, in the weirdest way, almost taking her in as their kid. It might have worked if there was the whole family of Skywalkers there and she was embracing everybody equally, but the fact we only see Luke and Leia (who she calls her masters and who act as the parental figures to her in this movie), and the fact she doesn’t choose Solo or some other new name, one could argue the point that this wasn’t a new name by marriage or a new name by embracing a new identity, but decidedly was Rey stepping into the roll of Luke and Leia’s adopted daughter. The complete opposite of where you’d expect her character growth to end up (e.g. moving forward and starting her own family and being the leader of that family), Rey finishes her story by stepping into the role that is almost always reserved to the role of a child. And it makes no sense for our main protagonist to end up here.

.

Not only did Rey’s character stay stagnant throughout this movie, in a lot of ways it made a complete 180 to the point where if felt like we were watching TFA Rey.

Overall, this left me feeling unbelievably frustrated at TROS and the disservice it did to all of it’s characters – but Rey in particular. She is such a great character and we could have seen so much more from her than this. She deserved so much more than this. She earned it. Rey was a strong character and a wonderful inspiration to many people and this movie completely sacrificed her story for the sake of fan service. I have never cried more during a movie than I did during this one and all of that can be traced to how bad I felt for all these characters and what the writers did to them. I hope one day we can see them again but in the hands of somebody who takes care of them.

[zet-sway]

Irikah Week - The Smell of Cut Grass

Hi hello I am here on the very last day of Irikah week to present my humble and small contribution. Sorry to take so long. Life is doing things. I think I did okay with this. Please enjoy some shameless fluff.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“You're going to wear that?" Irikah shook her head and sighed.

Thane looked down at himself, suddenly self conscious. He'd worn his most professional gear, armored leather, sleek and black and… Irikah stood in her doorway, wrapped in a colorful sundress that just barely brushed her knees. She looked radiant. He looked like a shadow.

"Come inside," she motioned with a quick whisk of her hand. "Your entire wardrobe is black, isn't it?"

Thane opened his mouth to respond but she sauntered off down the hall, up a short flight of stairs, leaving him alone with his thoughts in her living room. A wicker picnic basket and a blanket sat by the door beside a bottle of wine - a budget variety, but a good one. Practical, as Irikah always was.

She emerged suddenly with an earthy tan shirt, short sleeved, with a moderate square cut neckline. He must have looked as inadequate as he felt because her expression softened, and she held the garment out to him.

"You look very elegant, Sere Krios," she said with sincerity, leaning a bit to meet his downcast eyes. "But you don't have to live your life dressed to 'kill.'"

The shirt, as it turned out, was a perfect fit, and she smiled as he exited her restroom.

"Keep it, Thane. It was always too big for me anyway."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

As promised, there was no rain that day. And when they arrived at her chosen locale, he understood why she had asked him to change. It felt nearly sinful to tarnish the sunlit hillside with his own shadow. There was not a cloud in the sky. The perch overlooked a cargo holding dock by the bridgeside, but when they settled on the blanket to enjoy their lunch, their line of sight was broken and it became just the two of them, the sky above, and the grass below. He hadn't stepped outdoors on such a beautiful day in years.

He thought he should feel vulnerable in such a place, but the blessed land seemed wholly unconcerned with his intrusion. Wildflowers dotted the grass and he plucked one by its stem, inhaling the light floral scent that so reminded him of her.

"Compact assassin Thane Krios sniffing a buttercup," she teased. "What would your handlers think?"

"The Hanar appreciate beauty, do they not?" He turned the stem in his hands, watching the light bounce off the vibrant yellow petals, and then lifted his eyes to her. "They would hold me in high esteem to find that I do, as well." He extended his arm with the bloom in his open palm, offering it to her. Irikah's throat darkened in a blush as she accepted it.

"You have a way of disarming people," she mused quietly, leaning with one palm on the blanket as she etched his little gift into her memory.

"And yet you are the only one who has ever disarmed me."

She looked up, then. Thane's dark eyes, always so guarded, were lit from within by Kahje's reticent sun, as open and vulnerable as she'd ever seen. And for once she felt she could see him clearly. Deep inside him, behind all of his vigilance and careful poise, was a man absolutely yearning to be loved.

As if he read her mind, he placed his hand over hers. The touch of his hand was electrifying in its intimacy. Whatever he was sculpted to be seemed insignificant in that moment, with a smile on his lips and his brows drawn in focus.

They'd only known each other for a few short months, but he wandered the halls of her memory as though he belonged there. Disarmed as she was by his gleaning eyes and the warmth of affection, she couldn't find the resolve to lie to herself any longer.

She leaned in close and kissed him.

The world around them melted rapidly from there. Their bodies pulled together under that blessed sun, lips locked, hands fisting in clothing. Irikah leaned into him with determination and he yielded, letting her push him back onto the blanket. The touch of her tongue to his ignited desires he hadn't dared to hope would become reality. She tasted like wine and sunlight.

Time disintegrated as they drank of each other. When she finally pulled back, Thane couldn't help but caress her face, radiant azure like the sky and framed by sunshine. It was now or never.

"There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he murmured.

She hummed a response, the sound resonating from her throat with affection. Her fingers traced the neckline of the shirt that had been hers just an hour before as she waited for him to find his words.

Thane smiled. "I'm in love with you," he said simply.

Irikah's erupting laughter was the sweetest sound he'd ever heard. "And here I thought you'd never admit it."

She clasped his hand at her cheek and pulled him toward her, encouraging him to sit up so she could curl her arms around him before pouring them both another drink. Their lips met again as they drew closer under the rare sun, as though blessed by Arashu herself.

“I think I’m in love with you too, Thane Krios,” Irikah whispered against his mouth.

Like it was written in the stars, their lives would remain forever intertwined from that moment forward.

[thelonelyrainbowguy]

Word Find game!

@antique-symbolism​ tagged me and I’m so excited. We literally sit around doing this with various manuscripts all the time.

For The Sad Big City Wizards:

strange

It was after midnight, so the lights were dimmed, but not completely out. The feeling of stepping into an empty, dark Arrival Hall was strange, liminal and otherworldly, and made Iain nervous, even though he knew he had no reason to be. What safer place was there than his school?

(dun dun dunnn)

shock

“You don’t get it.” Iain zipped up his bag and sat on the edge of his bed, running a hand through his shock of fiery hair. “I’m not… good. I’m not good at things. I’m not smart, I’m not talented, I’m not…” He sighed. “I can’t do another year. I want to do something good,” he said. “Something memorable. Important. Something to prove I’m not just some dumbass who can’t do math.”

(oh iain honey i just want to hug you)

style

The ceilings soared over the floors of rich, dark wood, and the far wall was made up entirely of windows that provided a breathtaking view of Central Park and the city lights beyond. They could even see the school from here. A sleek, industrial-style staircase led to a second floor that only took up about a third of the space, and there was another going up from there to a third level, leaving most of the ground floor open to the three-story ceiling.

sore

“You’re worried,” said The Other, after their friends had disappeared into the white light, leaving them alone with her. They just stared at her, hand growing sore from how tightly they gripped their wand. “I understand,” she said. “But what I projected onto those posters in your school so many times? It was all true. You’ve been fed lies your entire life. When we get back to my place, and get your friend the help he needs, I’ll explain everything.”

Stay With Me:

strange

She looks entirely normal, save for the many layers of necklaces made of chips of different crystals, and the strange, cobbled-together sweater that looks like it’s made of at least a dozen other sweaters.

(this is perhaps my favorite character)

shock

“So, I’m, uh, not a girl. I’m a boy.” He looked away, and his cheeks flushed red. The girl nodded. “I figured.” Her friend rolled onto his side to face her. “That’s it?” “I’ve known you since we were four. Did you expect me to be shocked?” “Well,” he admitted, “yeah, kind of.” “I mean, I can act shocked if you really want me to.” The boy laughed and rolled toward her so his body half-crushed hers. “No, I think I like this better.”

style

My yoga pants are too big now, so I roll the waistband down. I don’t bother with a bra; I put on the dark blue T-shirt she set out for me, then pull a faded black denim jacket that I never wear from the depths of my closet. I don’t know why, but since I’ve gotten back, the amount of bright colors in my wardrobe has been unbearable. Maybe the concussion knocked the style wire in my brain loose.

sore

“Hello?” says the voice again. It seems to come from all around me; I can’t pin it down. I don’t know where to look. I turn around. A faint, flickering image stands on the other side of my bed. “Hello? Fin? Can you see me?” asks the apparition, the ghost, and I realize who it is. The vase falls from my suddenly limp fingers and bounces off the top of my foot. I yelp and jump back, bending to rub the sore spot. When I look back up, Leah is gone, and the only sound I hear is the frantic beating of my heart.

(woooooo ghost)

This was fun! If anyone else wants to do it, your words are road, repent, rusty and revolve. Just say I tagged you, because as usual the moment I try to think of other writeblrs, my mind goes entirely blank.

[brokemypen]

Butterflies

Twilight AU Series Part 1

I still look back on the memory of the first time I met the Cullens. When I first arrived at the Cullen’s house, Alice hugged me before I could even speak. She had seen me decide to come towards the house and saw how we would be great friends. I didn’t even have to tell her who I was and already she decided that she loved me. I wanted to say that it felt confusing, but I very much felt that it was right. I knew her name and knew that she was good before she spoke as well. It was like a silent agreement. And then she told me not to be afraid as she took my hand and brought me inside to meet the rest of them. Esme and Carlisle, of course, instantly welcomed me. I felt such a motherly and fatherly feeling from them and they were shocked to find that I already knew their names. I then met Emmett who funny enough said that he was excited for a new person to arm wrestle with because I guess in my newborn state, that made me the strongest one. Rosalie was nice and complimented my dark hair. Edward and Bella were so kind to me. Edward read Alice’s thoughts and saw the vision she had of me. He was, however, stumped. He explained that he couldn’t read my thoughts and that puzzled him. But after some back and forth between him and Carlisle they figured it had something to do with my gift. I didn’t understand what they meant, but they told me of the immortal gifts that some of our kind possess.  Bella told me that Edward couldn’t read her thoughts because she was a shield, but for him she was the only one he experienced that with. Carlisle wondered if I could also be a shield since I already seemed to possess several gifts.  Then there was Jasper, who for had just came back from a hunting trip alone. He kept to the back of the room by the open glass door like he was about to run out of it at any moment. I could feel his eyes burning into me, but also something else. I felt fear and complete anger from him. When I did catch his stare with my own eyes, the color was unlike the rest of his family. They were completely black. I felt like I had offended him in someway as soon as he walked in. “Jasper this is (n).” Carlisle spoke. “I think you’ll find her very interesting. She seems to know all of us already.” His eyes zeroed in on me like I he didn’t trust me. “How old are you?” His voice was low and the entire family looked at him confused at where his attitude was coming from. I had no idea how to answer and I was even more confused when he added, “you look like-”. Edward cut him off. “Jasper she only woke up about two days ago. She’s not what you think she is.” Then he walked towards him. What did that mean? Who did he think I was? Edward asked him if he wanted to leave and without answering they both slipped out of the back door.  I felt hurt and confused. What had I done to offend him in this way?  Carlisle and Esme both apologized to me and explained that Jasper was the type of person that mostly kept to himself. Alice also assured me that it was going to be okay.

After the incident Carlisle asked about my thirst, but I explained to him that I already knew to feed on animals, which to him made him very happy. I told him of how after waking up all I could think to do was run and when I came across a herd of deer, instinctually I went after them and knew that it was right. That first meal was almost indescribable. Before hand I felt what I can only explain as pain. It was like complete dryness. If a human was dying in a desert from dehydration, I imagined what I was experiencing was a thousand fold. I still knew deep down that I had a place to be, and that’s what kept me grounded, but I needed this feeling to go away. I heard the deer from a mile away and felt the fire in my throat burn with such an intensity that I drained the animal a second later. Then following through with the other three seconds afterwards. It soothed the feeling, not quite taking it away, but knowing it was enough for the time being I kept going in the direction my body told me to go. This pleased everyone and I knew made them all felt at ease that thanks to my gift they had less to worry about when it came to my feeding habits. I hadn’t come across a human yet, but Carlisle said that with the power of feeling right and wrong I would hopefully “stay on the wagon” as he put it. Everyone also agreed that come morning I would need to feed again just to make sure I stayed full.

That night after discussing the arrangement, Alice settled me into a spare bedroom next to hers. We had spent most of that night talking since she was the one that I related to the most. Though I could not see visions, knowing the people I met without them speaking, seeing whether they were good or bad. And ultimately having that same experience in my choices. It was almost psychic. I knew exactly where I needed to be and she wanted to understand how it worked seeing as how gifts can grow overtime.  I couldn’t remember how the conversation changed but suddenly we started talking about Jasper. I couldn’t understand why he looked at me with such a rage in his eyes. I know I probably frightened him showing up so unexpectedly but I couldn’t get what he said out of my mind. “I don’t think he likes me at all.” I explained, as Alice dug through her wardrobe to find me clothes. She paused on a black, long sleeved dress and handed it to me. “That’s not it at all. He’s not sure if he can trust you yet of course, but he’s also scared.”  “Scared? I’m one person.” I thought back to seeing Emmett for the first time and being amazed at how huge he was compared to the rest of them and how easily he and probably the rest of the family could take me out if they wanted to. “It’s not a physical thing. Sure, you are probably the strongest one in the house right now, but that part doesn’t scare him.”  “What do you mean?” She stopped flipping through her clothes and lightly grabbed my arm, looking right at me when she spoke. “When Jasper saw you for the first time you reminded him of someone who caused a lot of pain and heartache. He saw your dark hair and your red eyes and saw his creator Maria. He guarded himself immediately out of fear, which is what you probably felt, but I need you to understand there’s something else.” She paused before continuing, like it was something she probably shouldn’t say.  “I’ve helped him a lot through his struggles, but he still has some things to get through. It wasn’t until today that you sort of awoke something in him. Something he hasn’t felt in a very long time, but when it was decided that you would be staying he sort of decided that he needed to get away for a while to think things through. I also saw something else after he left.” She paused. I could tell she wasn’t sure if she should continue. “Tell me.” I had to know. What could be worse than being hated by someone who hardly knew you? She continued. ‘On this path I see something changing in him. Almost like experiencing real happiness for the first time. This is all very new to you so I don’t want to overwhelm you but I need you to not decide anything just yet. I think you should be patient and let things sort themselves out.” I still didn’t quite understand, but I decided it didn’t matter right now. The one thing that stuck out was when she said he might experience happiness for the first time. Did she mean because of me? It made no sense when I thought back to those black eyes starring me down from the back of the room. As far as I could tell the man hated my guts.

I did admit to myself that I did find him very beautiful, but everything felt so confusing after Alice explained all this. What do I even do about it? I felt so angry because out of everyone, suddenly I wanted him to like me.  I wanted to know everything about Maria and Alice was kind enough to explain it all to me. She did tell me not to decide anything, but I promised myself that I would do everything in my power to make him see different. I didn’t know how yet, but something deep within me told me to follow this path. Up until that point I felt something more powerful than the thirst that radiated inside of me. somewhere deep inside my frozen body I felt butterflies

[hermannsthumb]

Idk if you doing requests or not rn buut, feriowind has been posting a bunch of vampire!Hermann and I needs some modern vampire Hermann and professor Newt...

uwu ily

SO I feel like I should open by saying a WIP fic with this concept by @coloredpencilroses exists and I Love it, so read High Stakes for something much better than this lol (and leave a nice comment). HAPPY OCTOBER!!!! warning for very mildly implied sexy stuff. EDIT: and of COURSE I forgot to tag @theloccent for my extremely belated fill for the “Vampire” square on my bingo card :/

-----------------------

Newt has always been an extremely persistent type. He considers it, naturally, one his greatest strengths—no theory goes untested, no question goes unanswered, no experiment goes…well, unexperimented. You don’t get more PhDs than you can count on one hand if you’re not persistent. You don’t get a date with the hot new engineering professor down the hall if you’re not persistent, either, but Newt is finding this venture is taking a little more effort than usual. That’s fine, though. He likes challenges.

Dr. Gottlieb was hired by the university at the start of the semester, after the head of the engineering department—who’s nearing her seventies—finally decided she’d had enough and announced her retirement somewhat last minute. He is, frankly, unlike anyone Newt’s ever seen before, a weird combination of cheekbones, wide lips, and a turn-of-the-century old-fashioned air that carries over into everything from his wardrobe to the stiff way he carries himself. He wouldn’t look out of place in a black and white photograph, Newt thinks. Or maybe even the illustrations of a Dickens novel. That’s not why Newt’s into him, though—well, not the only reason why.

In the entire month and a half Gottlieb’s been here, he hasn’t spoken a single word to anyone his contract doesn’t require him to; when he is forced into conversation, he scowls and snaps and mumbles his way through before making a polite excuse as to why he needs to leave the room right now, immediately. No one knows anything about him other than the bare minimum—that his name is Dr. Gottlieb, he lectures in engineering, and he exists. Shit, Newt doesn’t even know his first name. The little plaque outside his office just says Gottlieb.

The mystery just makes Gottlieb all the more alluring to Newt.

Anyway, his continued failures in winning Gottlieb over aren’t a result of a lack of trying. On Gottlieb’s first day, Newt stopped by his office to introduce himself. He didn’t bother knocking. Maybe that was his first mistake. “I’m Newt,” he said. “My office is a few doors down from you. You’re the new department head?”

Gottlieb looked stricken, but he nodded. “Yes,” he said. He didn’t say anything else.

“Cool,” Newt said. “Anyway, I’m technically in the bio department, but I teach a few interdisciplinary courses with engineering, so I requested they stick me over here to get a bigger office.” He cracked a grin. “I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

“Hm,” Gottlieb said.

Newt tried again the next day.

“Your office is so dark,” he said, conversationally, because it was—lights all off, books stacked up everywhere, maroon drapes drawn tightly in front of the single small window. Dark and stuffy. “Feel free to stop by my office whenever you want a break from it. I have a corner one, so I have two windows.”

“I requested this office,” Gottlieb said, not looking up the article he was marking up.

Newt became desperate by his third attempt and did something that’s left him burning with shame even now, weeks later, and that would probably warrant the immediate transfers of sleep-deprived engineering majors out of all his courses if word ever got out it was him: he deliberately broke the department coffee machine. “Man, I can’t believe that thing is busted again,” he declared to Gottlieb. “Good thing I have a Keurig in my office.” Newt had gone out and purchased a Keurig immediately before destroying the coffee pot. “Seriously, come by whenever you need caffeine.”

Gottlieb blinked at him, long and slow, and Newt had the strangest sense that he knew exactly what happened to the coffee pot. “I never drink… coffee,” Gottlieb finally said.

For all Newt’s troubles, the list of things he knows about Gottlieb has expanded by two pitiful points: that his accent is English and posh, and his voice is low and sexy. Helpful.

It’s a chilly day in late October when Newt finally decides to enlist the aid of his interdisciplinary undergrads. Some of them—he learned after poking around their registration records—have a seminar with Gottlieb, and they seem his best bet at learning anything. A spouse—a first name—Newt would take Gottlieb’s favorite color, even. “So,” he starts class, unwinding his scarf off his neck, “that Dr. Gottlieb sure is weird, huh?”

In Newt’s firsthand experience, undergrads love to gossip about their professors, and his certainly don’t disappoint. Gottlieb’s classes are all held in the basement of the engineering building. All run well into the evening, after the sun’s set—most not finished until nine—and Gottlieb hustles out of the lecture hall the moment he can. He walks with a cane and a slight limp. He always dresses like that. He’s never mentioned any sort of family, and wears no wedding ring. He’s scary good at math. No one knows his first name.

“You’ve been an invaluable help,” Newt tells them all seriously.

He mulls the new information over in his office later as he grades some tests. So Gottlieb is a bit of shy, reclusive, genius. No surprise there. Well, his apparent hatred of sunlight is kind of weird (if unsurprising, given how pale he is) but maybe he just has sensitive eyes or something. Who is Newt to judge? At least he knows how to improve his next plan of attack—he just has to ask the guy to come over and sit in a dark room in silence with him. That’s probably Gottlieb’s dream date, actually.

There’s a knock on Newt’s office door. Newt looks up and drops his pen: it’s Gottlieb.

“Uh. Hey, dude!” he squeaks, unsure of how to proceed in this entirely unfamiliar territory. Gottlieb, willingly interacting with him? Willingly leaving his office? “Is there…can I help you with something? Did you want that coffee after all?”

“Most definitely not,” Gottlieb says coolly. He’s standing far enough back from the door that not a single sliver of lamp light from Newt’s office hits him, instead shrouded by the shadows of the dark engineering department. Newt didn’t realize how late it had gotten. “My students informed me that you were interrogating them about me.”

It’s not a question. Newt is struck by a wave of nervousness that he doesn’t quite understand—maybe it’s the sour expression Gottlieb is giving him, something in those dark brown eyes that are piercing through Newt. He feels, foolishly and briefly, like cowering under his desk. He swallows. “Yes,” he says, and adds, stammering, “I mean—I wasn’t interrogating them. I was just asking a few questions.”

“Why?” Gottlieb says.

“Uh,” Newt says. “I guess I was…curious, about you?”

He works up the guts to look Gottlieb in the eyes; he sees Gottlieb’s eyebrows jump the tiniest fraction of an inch. “You’re attracted to me,” Gottlieb says, another non-question, though Newt hears a flicker of surprise.

“Yeah,” Newt admits.

“I see,” Gottlieb says. Then, to Newt’s surprise, he suddenly smiles. “I’d like if you invited me over for dinner, Dr. Geiszler.”

“Dinner,” Newt says. He feels strangely dizzy; but, shaking himself, he quickly gets over it. “I mean, dinner! Yes! Shit! When?”

“Tonight, I should think,” Hermann says.

Tonight is Friday, which means they don’t have work tomorrow. By the time they make it off campus it’ll be almost ten—way later than people eat dinner—and besides, Newt already had a sandwich at around seven. Is dinner a euphemism? Is Gottlieb propositioning him? God, why didn’t he wash his sheets with the laundry this week? “Tonight,” Newt says. He stands up abruptly and grabs his leather jacket with trembling fingers. Why is he trembling? Nerves, he guesses. He’s about to hook up with total hottie Dr. Gottlieb, he’s allowed to be nervous. “Fuck yes. Let’s go now.”

Gottlieb is not impressed with the messy state of Newt’s apartment, and even less impressed with the state of Newt’s refrigerator and freezer. “Dinosaur chicken nuggets and canned Lime-A-Ritas,” he says with a sniff. “Hm. You ought to be getting more vitamins, Dr. Geiszler. I’m certain you’re deficient in something.”

“You sound like my dad,” Newt snorts. He throws his car keys on the counter and shrugs off his jacket. “There’s some leftover Chinese on the second shelf if you want it—just some lo mein. Or I could put a frozen pizza in the oven. Or I guess we could order something too?”

Gottlieb shuts the fridge door delicately. “How kind of you to offer,” he says. He doesn’t sound like he means it. Newt is suddenly struck by how bizarre a sight he is in the midst of Newt’s chaotic kitchen: buttoned up to the throat with his stupid shirt and blazer, prodding at the fraying lime lizard-shaped rug by the sink with the end of his ornately-handled cane. Out of time and out of place. 

“It’s Newt,” Newt says. “Please don’t call me Dr. Geiszler, it makes me feel ancient.”

“Hm,” Gottlieb says.

“And what,” Newt says, deciding to test his luck a little, “uh—what should I call you?”

Gottlieb considers him. “Hermann,” he says.

The name rings a bell in the back of Newt’s head. He swears he’s heard it somewhere before—an article, maybe. A book. Has he stumbled across Dr. Gottlieb’s research before without even realizing it? He’s on the verge of asking what publications Gottlieb’s been featured in when Gottlieb suddenly snags hold of his hand; then, raising it to his mouth, he kisses it. His lips are as cold as his skin. “Would you like to show me to your quarters, Newton?” he murmurs.

Newt shivers; he nods.

“Hermann Gottlieb,” Newt says aloud later, while Hermann redresses himself. “Now I know where I’ve heard that name before.”

“Yes?” Hermann says. He’s lacing up one of his Oxfords.

“I worked with his research in one of my dissertations,” Newt says. “Another Dr. Hermann Gottlieb, I mean. He was a brilliant mathematician from—God, 1830-something. German. His work was groundbreaking for the time, or shit, for our time, too.” He remembers seeing a portrait of that Hermann Gottlieb in one of his sources; the whole of the similarities between him and Newt’s Hermann Gottlieb (the dark eyes, the mouth, the cheekbones) are a little too much to be entirely coincidental. “You must be related to him, right? Like, he’s your great-great-great—”

“Yes,” Hermann cuts him off quickly. He turns to Newt and smiles. “A distant ancestor, certainly. I believe you are the first in some time to have made that connection.”

“Always thought he was cool,” Newt yawns. “Man, I’m tired.” The romp with Hermann had been fun, if not unexpectedly exhausting, and a little…out of the ordinary. The dude apparently has some sort of weird biting kink that left Newt’s neck stinging a little bit, but it’s cool, Newt doesn’t mind. It was like boning a vampire or something. Kinda hot. “Do you need me to show you to the door, or can I just stay here? I’m serious about spending the night though. I really don’t mind.”

Hermann fiddles with the laces of his other shoe, then, slowly, draws the whole thing back off. “If it’s not an imposition,” he says, and smiles again, shyly. “Though, I warn you—I’m a bit of a late sleeper.”

“Good, so I am,” Newt says. “Could you toss me the sweatshirt hanging on that chair? You can grab one for yourself too, if you’re cold, I’ve got another hanging in the closet. No, not--yeah, that door.”

They dip under the covers and get cozy, Newt taking on the task of big spoon, because Hermann is a cold sonofabitch and could use a little insulation. The last thought on his mind before he drifts off to a comfortable sleep is how strange it is he can’t feel Hermann’s heartbeat—though, he realizes, it’s probably just muffled by their clothing.