#and its only made the bottom rung of my list

[cxffncase]

honestly with spotify wrapped coming out today I’m deeply concerned for my past self in freshman year of college cos I listened to the tron legacy soundtrack so much that daft punk is still one of my top listened artists on spotify. i havent listened to them in 2 years btw

[thegeminisage]

it is time for. NOT a tng update. but a ds9 update!!! wednesday* we watched "emissary" and actually i'm not clear on if we watched both parts or just one since my website is wonky but either way whatever we watched FUCKING RULED. i'm dispensing w the normal bullet points so i can ramble as much as i want

*it was last night actually but it took me all day to type this up so i'm scheduling it to go up later. it got looooong lol

the first most striking thing i noticed about ds9, or at least the first half of what we watched, is that it FEELS like a video game. someone tell me if this is insane. you're playing as sisko. you get flashbacks of his backstory, you get thrown into this starbase that's in shambles and it's Your Job to fix it up. you go around meeting all the secondary characters who will be in charge of this or that gameplay aspect or upgrade system or shop: kira, o'brien, quark, odo, jadzia, julian, etc. the FOLEY in this was insane. all the noise in the back CONSTANTLY suggested a lively and whole universe outside of our direct line of focus - it felt so alive in the way not even the enterprise in tos did. i could picture myself in the opening gameplay/cutscene like slowly walking my character through what will become a hub area that i gradually upgrade over time while kira or o'brien narrates the list of problems. you're starting at the bottom rung and expected to fail, but you can FEEL the potential even in just one brief walk through the promenade. IS THIS INSANE? it feels like an insane thing to say. someone PLEASE write in if you have ever had similar feelings. if they haven't made a ds9 game yet, they should.

i also notice that not only is the quality of the ds9 episodes worse than that of tng and tos - no one has remastered them into 1080p, apparently - but the lighting is very different, as well. it felt WEIRD to see picard and the enterprise D shot this way. but it also lends, perhaps unintentionally, perhaps not, a really gritty atmosphere to what is normally a very clean universe. i guess since we mostly see it from the inside of starships, it would feel like a sterile place to us, but you know how everyone always compliments star wars on how lived-in it feels? the buttons are wearing, sand is stuck in their fancy thingamajigs, etc? this was how ds9 felt to me.

okay. the characters. let's fucking get into it. what's so fun about ds9 in general is that in all other trek shows i have picked out my specialest little guy in 5 seconds flat. tos was spock EASILY. tng i knew it was data before i started. i already know seven's gonna be my favorite voyager character, but i have NO IDEA!!! who my precious little baby in ds9 will be. what a fun surprise for everyone involved. if anybody wants to place bets go ahead.

like, i thought tng had a pretty solid lineup (hence my eternal frustration with its wasted potential) but they're not anywhere as eclectic as ds9's core cast. iirc, sisko and o'brien are the ONLY humans who for once are outnumbered by trek's cool aliens. i'm saving sisko for last because that was the part of ds9 that touched me most profoundly, but for o'brien - it was a little sad to see him leave the enterprise, because picard was right, it WON'T feel the same without him, but i'm really excited to see why everybody says he suffers more than jesus and to find out if the eyepatch is a permanent thing or if it's just mirrorverse fuckery. either way, i win. like, o'brien is cool, and i always miss him when i don't see him in tng, and i'll continue to miss him in tng from here on out, but he could never shine in that show. it's too stiff and too reluctant to put its characters through any real development. it's a shame they can't ALL move to ds9, tbh.

the next person we met was kira, who was WONDERFUL. it took me a minute to warm up to her, not because there was anything wrong with her, but because i figured at first glance she was ds9's version of ro laren, the obligatory bajoran cast member to connect us with the bajoran/cardassian plot - which would of course be good because ro is awesome, but it's not necessarily anything new and i already love ro. BUT I WAS WRONG! kira's personality is very distinct from ro's; really the only thing they have in common is not liking cardassians which lmao Yeah. my favorite thing about kira is that she smiles when she's upset or angry. that's Such an acting choic, to have her grinning at the cardassians when she's almost certain they're about to blow her whole space station to smithereens. all love light and respect to ro laren my beloved, but i think i actually like kira BETTER.

odo: WHAT is that thing he can do oh my god...is this a changeling?? i got that result in a star trek quiz once. i really loved when he snuck aboard the enemy ship posing as a bag to hold gambling winnings. i was like oh they showed us the bag to show us it will get stolen soon BUT NO it was odo!!!!!!! such a fun surprise. the exposition on his backstory was a little slapdash but i enjoyed it all the same, i cannot wait to learn more

i was most nervous to meet quark because i hate hate HATE the ferengi in tng, but he was actually so entertaining! like, you're never gonna be able to entirely remove the antisemetic undertones from the ferengi as a whole, but he was smart, practical, and endearingly longsuffering. i love his wryness and deadpan humor. i have a feeling he is gonna be so much fun to torture lovingly.

meeting julian bashir felt like meeting a famous person. for the longest time all i knew about ds9 was that cardassian guy wanted to FUCK that gay little doctor, so it was a little hilarious that in his first scene he was asking a woman* out on a date. sir do you not know you're gay?? even funnier was the fact that out of everybody in the pilot he had the least lines. we barely know him, but we finally met him. relatedly, i can't to wait to meet more cardassians, especially The cardassian. so far, they're still all gay.

*jadzia!!! gnc/trans queen! the trill stuff is SO interesting and watching that worm slither in and out of people during those flashbacks was so wonderful but also made me wince. i love that she used to be an old man and the jokes about it are actually really funny without feeling transphobic or anything SO FAR. who knows if that changes. i feel like we haven't gotten much yet from her either but i cannot wait.

SISKO. damn. where do i even...first of all, he should be allowed to bite kick kill picard. i say this as someone who experienced a genuine THRILL of pleasure upon seeing picard's borged self again. i loved that whole thing, i'm obsessed with the borg. that it comes back in this small way in ds9, and has such a HUGE impact on the storyline, was so so so fucking good. i always say tng tells and not shows, but even after just knowing sisko for a few moments i felt keenly how much it devastated to find his wife like that and THAT WAS JUST FROM THE FIRST SCENE. and it only gets better! he's a great dad. he's FUNNY. he is not above manual labor. he wants to tear picard limb from limb. and he exists HERE.

the wormhole alien sequence was. so good. it was SO GOOD. explaining linear time to aliens. the aliens using his memories to talk to him. HE EXISTS HERE. back and back and BACK to finding his wife in the rubble because HE EXISTS HERE. he CHOOSES to exist here. he existed there when he applied for a transfer to earth. he existed there when he confronted picard. he never left the ship because HE NEVER LEFT THE SHIP. they dragged him out but they COULDN'T DRAG HIM OUT. he exists here because he won't leave her to exist here alone because damn it we can't just leave her here. that was the most insane series of events i ever watched. like, because at first you DO think it's the aliens taking him back there BUT IT'S HIM. HE IS DOING IT TO HIMSELF. when the penny dropped i got literal chill bumps and when the aliens said "it's not linear" and he, openly weeping, replied "it's NOT linear," i genuinely, truly, shed a tear along with him. TNG COULD NEVER. none of those miserable fucks EVER cry!!! sisko did it in the god damn pilot!!!!!!!

and like, the fact that he can choose to stay at the space station at the end, to shake picard's hand, to exist SOMEWHERE ELSE. AAAAAUGHGHGHG

i really loved the final confrontation, too. kira is so so so so good, again, i LOVE that she smiles when she's angry, when she's sad, and it's not a fake smile, it's genuine and honest emotion, and she's genuinely and honestly going to start eating the cardassians for sport if they don't leave her alone. it was very scrappy, them pretending to be bigger and badder than they actually were because they had no other choice. you get the feeling everybody on the station and indeed the station itself is barely holding together, and what little togetherness is present comes from sheer spite.

anyway, absolutely 10/10. i was so worried ds9 wouldn't be good but it not only met my most furtive hopes it surpassed them with flying colors. it's gonna be REAL hard to go back to tng after this.

[leam1983]

Time Theft

It's probably a bit of an unusual posture and something that's reflective of my very much Leftist background, but the professional throuple I'm a part of is now fairly well-known for its lax posture regarding the concept of time theft, at the office.

I'll explain: when you work something that's as soul-rending as a CSI desk or a set of promotional lists to whittle down, you'll be paid to effectively get dismissed, yelled at, mocked or insulted repeatedly. That grinds down on anyone, over time. That, in turn, makes focus a bit of a difficult thing to keep up over eight or more hours in a given shift.

Considering, we've decided not to monitor our Call Centre agents' use of our Internet connection and to, perhaps naively, operate out of good faith that people are going to do their time with us - within reason. I'm totally fine with someone taking a few minutes to browse the news or to use our connection to reliably access a personal financial portal, like their bank, in the understanding that most "budget" data plans tend to be a little flaky, in terms of bitrate. Some things, like paying the occasional phone bill, are just more comfortable to take care of on a decent connection.

Needless to say, it's surprising some of the transfers from the Old Place, that had the usual draconian rules in place regarding time theft. In comparison, you might as well say we've elected to claim that there's no such thing as "stealing" time from us.

If you work with me, I'll pay you in return. You're the one who's elected to give of their time in exchange for money, so no-one's time is actually being stolen. If your business depends on productivity targets to such an extent that you're willing to punish people at the bottom of your organization's rungs for being human, something's very clearly wrong. Not that we won't act in case of egregious excesses, though - it's just that our definition of "excess" involves the idea of having a massively skewed ratio of time spent on the clock versus the number of contacts made - and I do mean massively. I'm totally fine if one of our slowpoke hires only makes ten calls an hour if these ten calls are professional.

The execs at the Old Place are claiming we're hanging on thanks to our luxury dealership contacts, but I'll take this over the usual desperate rigamarole where a bloated and heaving mid-range automotive sector acts like a fattened potentate because it deigns to offer meagre bonuses to the average customer.

[queenoftheworldisdead]

Help wanted

Summery: Boarding house with the occasional unwanted tenant.

Note: I don’t think Arvin is dark in this, but it might be for other people.

Warning: non-con/dub con, dark theme, choking, slight spanking, cream pie

Grey Arvin Russell x Reader; Dark Lee Bodecker x Reader

🛎

The bell rung on the door of your boarding house. Drying your hands with a dish rag you got yourself ready to meet whoever it was coming through the door. When you crossed through the archway you were shocked still.

He had a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his clothes looked all greased up, the hat that hid a thick tuft of hair peaked out looked like it had seen better days.

His type weren't known for being on this side of town so you figured he was either new to town or looking for someone.

You welcomed him with a soft smile and gave your name.

"How can I help you today sir?"

"Hello Ma'am." He said politely, tipping his hat slightly at you. His thick country twang confirming the former. "I saw the help wanted sign out side. Y'all still hiring?"

"Um..Y-yeah... I need a handy man, job includes free room, and board, but I won't just hire anybody though. There is a washer in the basement, if you fix one of them the jobs yours."

🛎

Waddling to the basement with your Daddy's old toolbox, the heavy rusty thing knocked at your knees each step. He jogged over to you, taking the kit from your grasp and you thank him for it.

"The left one broke down a month ago and the other I'm guessing couldn't handle the over use. Dryers work just fine though."

Before he could reply you heard the door bell ring again. You excused yourself and left him to work.

"I'm coming, just a minute!" You shout down the hall as you hurried.

🛎

"Sorry it took so long."

"Saul right Ma'am" he said rising from the floor. You watched from the door as he twisted a dial. The hum of the machine filled the growing awkward silence.

"Well aren't you something! I guess that means your hired."

He lifted his hat to smooth back stray strands of hair, his shy smile hid as he looked down to the floor.

🛎

"Your room's on the third floor. Has a bed and a little sitting place. It's really small just enough room to lay your head really." The sound of foot-steps coming down the stairs halted you. Your eyes watch their back disappear into the night, until he cleared his throat bringing your attention back.

"That'll do just fine Ma'am." Something about his southern accent made your heart flutter. He picked up his duffel, throwing the strap over his shoulder as you dug out your ledger.

"Just down there is the supper table. I cook breakfast and dinner. You can eat in your room if you like, a lot of them do."  You explained as you watch him sign the book. Arvin Russell it read.

He adjusted his strap as you talked, his deep brown eyes made it hard for you to keep his gaze, making you fidget nervously in place. "Most folks are gone during the day so I don't make lunch, but if you like no problem just give me a holler. Bath rooms are at the end of each hall."

Digging in your desk you find the master keys and a list of things that needed to be fixed. His fingers grazed yours lightly in the transfer, Arvin's touch sent a ripple of heat up to your face. He flipped through the wrinkled papers, scanning over the chores with a wrinkled brow.

"S-sorry to put so much on you, but when my daddy got sick things got out of hand and I never been one for fixing things."

"No problem Ma'am."

🛎

During the day you kept busy. Scrubbing windows and mopping the halls of each floor. Arvin crossed paths with you on occasion. Gently brushing past you with his tools as he headed to his next assignment.

The door to Odis', one of the tents, room was left wide open when you walked by. Curious you glanced in, catching sight of Arvin lifting his shirt. Your legs stop moving as you watched him wipe away beads of sweat from his brow with the hem. You couldn't stop yourself from ogling his well toned exposed stomach.

The clanking of the dust pan hitting the floor caught his attention. Your face burn with embarrassment when he found you standing outside the room. Panicked you quickly picked up the pan and rushed off to the ground floor.

🛎

You heard Arvin call your name. "Yeah?" You replied weakly still embarrassed.

*Relax he isn't thinking about you. Probably just thinks your a clumsy dits.

He came halfway down the stairs, looking down at you from the banister. "You got a minute? I need a little help" he asked politely.

"Oh sure... Uh sure" you reply looking up at him. Arvin abandoned his cap, his dark hair sticking to his forehead, curling from sweat. More sweat pooled on his shirt, the dampness helped stick the fabric to his lean figure.

Following him up the stairs he led you to a room on the third floor. In the corner of the room there was a large metal pipe leaning against the wall.

You watched as Arvin lifted the heavy pipe, angling it vertically in position.

"Can you hold this?" he called over his shoulder.

Walking over you grabbed it and Arvin moved to get behind you. He took your hands and placed them along the pipe as you steadied yourself to hold it still while it slightly wobbled.

"OK hold still just like that." He bent over beside you, digging into the tool box that rested on the floor. When he rose, Arvin stayed close behind you. You could feel the heat coming off him, he smelled like sweat and after shave. Your hands felt sweaty as you felt rattled a bit by his closeness.

The pipe shifted a bit, you tried nudging it slightly, but couldn't get it back in place.

"Stay steady" his breath tickled your ear, you gasped making him chuckle lightly. "Just like that" he moved the pipe back into place, pushing into your butt when he stepped closer. "Just hold right... here." He placed a hand on your hip and you tensed. His fingers lightly squeezed your softness. You had to fight hard to bring your mind out of the gutter, he just needed your help, nothing more, the spot between your thighs thought otherwise.

With his arms raised above you, Arvin tightened the nuts to secure the metal tube. You swallowed thickly when you heard him grunt as he forced the wrench to move. Looking over to your right you spied his exposed arms. His muscle flexing as he moved.

"Almost done" he said to you, pushing you almost flush to the steel, bumping you gently with each twist of the wrench. You only nod, unable to conjure words to speak properly. Through the cheap fabric of your dress you felt something hard poke at you through his jeans.

*Stomp it now get your mind out of the gutter.

You don't know what had gotten into you lately. First staring at him like a creeper now thinking about his manhood. Maybe its about time you started going back to church you thought to yourself. Cause right now it felt like the devil was leading you to temptation.

When Arvin stepped back you had to choke down a whimper from the loss of his feel. Pressing your lips together you prayed he aint hear you.

Tapping a hand on your shoulder you turn to look at him. "All done." He smiled at you, your hands release the pipe and you backed away.

"Thanks Ma'am."

"You're welcome Arvin" You smiled shyly then rushed off back to your desk.

🛎

No matter how hard your days were the nights were by far the worst. Lying in bed you felt the mattress dip. The fear of the impending figure behind you prickled your skin.

Your eyes squeezed tightly shut as you tried to force yourself to sleep. Holding your breath in a dumb attempt to force yourself to pass out. The blanket covering you pulled away and you felt water fall from your closed eyes.

🛎

Propping your head on your hands you leaned on your desk. Your eyes drooped as you zoned out, looking into space.

"You alright Ma'am?" Arvin startled you as he walked down the stairs.

"I couldn't sleep." You stand up and stretch, yawning a bit. He walked closer to your desk, dressed in his work pants shirt.

"Try some warm milk. Used to help me." He passed by your desk, walking down the hall with tool kit in had to the washers. The old machines acting up again since last time he fixed them.

"Oh Arvin" you shouted at him before he passed through the door. "Um.. can I add something to your list. No worries if you can't get it done today, but I would much appreciate it if you could."

Placing the box down by the laundry door he walked back over, digging the sheet from his back pocket. You grabbed a pen hopeful it was a task he wouldn't mind sorting right away.

"If you can't fix the lock today no problem. I will just go sleep in the attic." You spoke casually as he slipped you the paper to write on. He read over your assignment and you watched as his lips made a hard line.

"I locked myself out of my room, didn't want to wake you to get the spare, sorry. Now I done made more work for you" you laughed, but their was no humor in it. His features softened and you hoped he wouldn't press the issue.

Pushing the paper back to him, you bid him a due and turn to face away to pretend to make a call. When you heard him walk away you let out a breath.

🛎

Arvin was a saint among men. You don't know where he found the money, but he added a chain lock to your door. You smiled at the shiny gold. Sliding on the chain and the bottom lock you prepared for bed.

Laying in bed the thought of the extra lock helped sooth your nerve as you slipped into sleep.

You felt an uncomfortable lump at your back rousing you awake. Your eyes shot open and a hand covered your mouth before you could scream out.

"You think your smart, putting that chain on that door" the beer on his breath hit your nose. Your tears soaked his hand as he held you.

You shake your head 'no' repeatedly in reply. He was still dressed in his work clothes as he laid next to you. The sound of his belt jingling made the tears fall harder.

"I told your daddy I would look out for you. How am I gonna do that if you lock the door?"

Lee, a local cop, only came around when his wife was either on the mends or she just flat out kicked him out. Your father had offered the man a free bed whenever he needed. His way of thanking him for keeping the neighborhood safe.

Lee pushed up your night gown and tsked when he felt your panties. The hand on your mouth slipped down your neck and you blubbered out your apologizes. He hated panties, too much work he called it. "What I told you about these?" he grumbled, forcing the fabric down.

"I-i'm sorry I thought my monthlies were coming on." You sniffed. You tried hard not to cry, you just hopped he would squeeze hard enough to make you pass out.

You heard him spit in his hand, he bumped into your back as he lubed himself up. You yelped when he smacked your ass hard, the sudden sting of pain loosening your locked legs.

"Yea you said that last week. I aint forget girl." He shoved himself inside after he found your opening. "Fucking bitch. I run the house gawd damn it!" Lee was mad at his wife agin. What ever his spite with her, you were paying for it. "Not gonna tell me what to do. Fucking bitch." He growled, panting heavily as he pumped.

You jolted with each thrust, no matter how many times Lee did it, it never got easier.

"Please." You panted desperately. "Please don't come in me" you choked out, his hand tightening his grip around your throat. You had been lucky so far, but you knew it was only a matter of time before your luck ran out.

Lee didn't like back talk, this was his show and you were just here for the ride. Pushing you completely flat you grip the fabric of the sheets. Lifting your ass as he rose to his knees he fucked into you harder. You cried out unable to adjust to his lengthen. He chuckled darkly at your pain, slamming into you repeatedly with a punishing rhythm.

He cursed your name. Reminded you of your place as he came deep in you. His seed filling your cunt as you pressed your head into the mattress and cried.

He slipped out of the bed. His pants once again jingling as he fixed himself up and headed out the door.

🛎

It was that time of the month again.

Whenever he shouted he spit. It was disgusting. You had given him chance after chance, but he used them all. "I'm sorry Tommy if you don't have the rent by Thursday you are going to have to leave."

"Fuck you bitch you let that boy stay here rent free!"  He shouted. Trying to make sure tent knew.

"He works here. He earns he keep."

"Then let me earn mine? or give me another week." He barked. His tone more of a demand than a request.

Sighing you hung your head low. Rubbing your temple with one hand you hugged your stomach with the other. First of the month was the worst. Tents ducked and dodged. Begged and pleaded or straight up demand just to not pay rent.

"Next Friday Tommy... That's the last time you hear me." You try to sound strong, but you knew he didn't give a shit as long as he won. "If you aint got it then, then I'm changing the locks and putting your stuff on the street."

He slammed his door in your face and you turned on your heels headed to the next delinquent.

"You alright Ma'am?" Straight ahead, Arvin poked out from the bathroom. You had to fight yourself from looking down at his lower half. In your peripheral you could see he was just in a towel that hung around his waist.

His wet hair seemed to curl under the towel on his head. Strands sticking to his forehead, his face still damp from the shower.

"Umm yeah. Uh just rents due and folks get a little uppity around this time of the month." You dry chuckle turning your eyes up at the ceiling. Fighting yourself from venturing further.

You couldn't tell if it was the steam that came from the bathroom or you. Whenever he was close, your body would react. The heat would turn up making you sweat.

"Well alright then. You have a good night Ma'am."

🛎

*Bang Bang Bang

"Tommy!" You bang again. "Tommy! I will give you to the count of three. If you don't open this door and pay up. I am coming in and kicking you out!" You huffed tapping a foot.

"Ma'am?"

"Morning Arvin. Sorry did I wake you?"

"No was working down the hall."

"Tommy, skipped out on rent I think." Taking a deep breath you lifted your master key ring and unlocked the door. When you peered inside the room was a mess, no sign of Tommy.

Arvin followed you in side, with a hand on your hip you groaned. The amount of clean up you would have to do to ready it for a new tenant would take all day.

"Arvin can you change the lock on the door. I hate doing this, but I gotta kick him out"

"Sure thing ma'am"

As you turn to leave you over at Arvin who was still assessing the damage to the room. "Oh and can you possibly stay close. If he comes around I might need your help."

Arvin only nodded in response as you took your leave.

🛎

Tommy didn't come back that day or the next. Putting up a sign you thought that you could clean up the room a bit, before the weekend. With the storm you figured not to many people would be coming around anyway.

Taking up a few boxes you get to tossing. One box you would keep in the addict. Somethings were just to hard to throw away sometimes, but a good chunk would go.

Thunder bashed down filling the room with a blinding white light. You yelped loudly bringing the sound of feet rushing down your way.

"You alright Ma'am?" Arvin looked in the room worried.

"Sorry Arvin, it’s just the storm. Lightening makes me a bit skittish sorry." You apologize as you get back to clearing the room.

"Well I am finished with my list for today, would you mind if I trouble you for some company?"

"U-um sure" you tried to fight off the smile.

His lips curled as he walked in the room. The instant he crossed the door frame you heard shouting coming from down stairs. When the voice made itself more clear you frowned.

"Oh uh sorry.. I need to tend to that" you say softly. With your head low you walked past him.

🛎

Lee was wet and agitated. "Fucking bitch had the nerve to accuse me of drinking again." He spat while you sat waiting on the bed. "I aint touch a drop today" he said smugly.

You looked at your feet as he undressed in front of you. The sound of a siren blared loudly from out side, Lee turned and squinted at the sound. "Shit!" He stopped undressing and ran out.

Getting up from the bed you grabbed your robe and peered out the hall. The front door was open and Lee wasn't there. The rain still coming down hard, blew in through the open door so you walked bare foot to close it and see if he had really gone. His car was gone that was for sure and as you looked into the rain it seemed he had disappeared too. You exhaled in relief, backed away and closed the entrance.

"Ma'am?" Arvin called to you out of breath.

"Shit!" You gasped, turning to face him. Your heart bashed in your chest as you stared at him crazily. He was soaked to the bone. "Your gonna catch a cold walking around like that" you scolded tightening your robe.

"Do you have any clean towels?" You asked, but you turn back to look at the door. Hoping that Lee wouldn't suddenly comeback.

"I think so.. I know I need to do laundry, not too good at it so I've been holding it off."

"Well, I don't normally do this, but if you like I can mix yours with mine. I don't have enough clothes to justify using all that water anyway."you shrugged.

"I don't want to put you out" he stepped closer to you. "The way his clothes clung to him you had to try hard not to stare.

"N-no trouble. Um wait here I'll give you a towel just in case." You leave him and head back into your room. Digging in your cabinet for the towels. When you turned around again Arvin stood in your living room, looking around your meager abode. "I know it aint much, but at least I got my own bathroom" you chuckled.

When he stepped closer and you had to hold yourself together. Arvin dragged his teeth over his bottom lip while his eyes fell to the opening in your rope.

"S-sorry" your face felt on fire, embarrassed you looked down to your feet. You held out the towel and closed the robe with the other. Arvin’s hand lifted your chin and your eyes went wild.

His lips felt so soft. You just wanted to kiss them all day. Arvin's arms wrapped around your waist and you wanted to melt into him.

Arvin turned you around and backed you up until you both fell backwards onto the bed. Arvin rested comfortably between your thighs while his manhood pressed on your mound. You didn’t know if it were his jeans or your nature making you go wet, but either way you welcomed it.

You gasped when he sucked on your neck, kissing the spot after pulling off. Arvin ground his hips into you making the warmth between your legs soak with desperation.

Holding himself above you, you forced yourself to finally look back at him without shying away. He smirked down at you as he peeled off his top, the wet garment hit the floor hard. His muscles moved and tightened as he freed his shaft. Biting your bottom lips you hummed when he rubbed the tip hard against your slit then lining himself up. Arvin pressed his weight down as he pushed inside slowly. You moaned his name at his fullness. The bed frame squeaked as he rocked.

Kissing you again swallowing your moans, you wrap your legs around his back urging him deeper. Ever the gentleman he obliged.

🛎

*Bang Bang Bang

The furious jiggling and banging was most definitely Lee. You were surprised he hadn't popped the lock as usual, but it was only a matter of time before he got through.

Arvin must not have noticed so you slapped his chest. Pushing him off, but he wouldn't stop. Instead kissing you again as you tried to speak.

"Arvin please, that's Lee... he's.. cop" you spoke on his lips, but your words meant nothing.

Arvin's eye were darkened with lust. You tried to spin away, but he hooked your legs keeping you there, fucking you with his slow pace. He was splitting your mind in two. You wanted to cum so desperately, but your reason told you that Lee wouldn't take kindly to this.

Arvin continued to rock into you as Lee screamed at the door.  Your back arched when Arvin took your nipple in his mouth.

"That's it. That's my girl. Come for me." He mumbled over your nipple. Licking the areola and sucking it again, you came around him, squeezing his cock making him hum with approval.

The banging on your bedroom wall brought your high down fast. "I will shoot through this gawd damn wall if you don't let me in!" Lee threatened. You looked at Arvin with panic in your eye. Arvin kissed you gently again as Lee screamed on. You were terrified, you hoped you could explain Arvin's presence away as a maintenance emergency, but before you could properly forma a though he pulled up his pants as you fixed yourself. Arvin didn't stop or look back as you called out to him. Paying you no mind as he opened the door and walked out.

The sound in the hall was so loud you thought lightening had broke through the roof. You rushed out of your room and found Lee out cold, with a pool growing around his perimeter. You looked at Arvin, the young man unconcerned as he began dragging the cop into your room by his feet.

"Get a bucket and a mop" he commanded, the pistol tucked deep in his pants. Without a word you followed his orders.

🛎

[kaistarus]

Fake Confessions Spawn Real Feelings

Pairings: Nishinoya X Reader

Words: 2.2K

Summary: Noya asks you to help him make Kiyoko jealous, but like most of his ideas it doesn’t go the way he expects it to.

Notes: Chaotic Noya is my favorite Noya, so half this fic is cute and half this fic is him being a crackhead. Both versions I'm unhealthily in love with.

**there’s now a sequel with the first date**

Masterlist

“Noya what the hell are you doing?”

Nishinoya appeared by your desk the moment the final bell had rung bouncing with the energy of a caffeinated toddler. You were suspicious of the impatient look in his eyes that could only mean trouble, which was later confirmed by him pulling you out of your desk the moment your class materials were packed. Now, without explaining his actions, he weaved his way through the halls while dragging you reluctantly along.

“The most genius thing ever.” He said once you arrived outside the school’s gymnasium. Nishinoya dropped your hand and began looking around the empty courtyard.

“What are you looking for?”

“Kiyoko,” he opened his bag and dug around before producing an envelope. You raised an amused brow at the poorly drawn hearts adorning the parchment.

“Are you giving that to her?”

Nishinoya raised an eyebrow like you’d just asked the most ridiculous question he’d ever heard. “What? No, this is empty.” He shoved it into your hands.

You blinked, raising the envelope into the light to confirm that it was indeed see through. “So, you just decorated an empty envelope? What’s the point of that?”

“Well, when Kiyoko sees another girl confessing her feelings for me. She’ll think I’m irresistible!”

He puffed out his chest after swinging his bag back onto his back.

“Another girl?” You snorted as you flipped the envelope over to admire the poorly drawn kissy faces on its back. “Who’s stupid enough to do that?”

“You are!” He said as if it should have been the most obvious thing in the world. You stared blankly. “You’re going to give me that fake love letter.”

“What do you mean I’m going to-”

 “Then she’ll be like, ‘oh Noya, I didn’t realize you were so sexy and talented, please don’t leave me’,” he said while clasping his hands together and raising his voice several octaves.

“I don’t think she’s going to-”

“And I’ll be like, ‘Kiyoko baby I would never leave you. I’d wait a million lifetimes sweet mama’.” He grabbed his cheeks and wiggled his butt around, clearly lost in a fantasy. “Then we’ll fall in love and get married at a destination wedding and have ten thousand children and Tanaka will weep of jealousy at my astounding awesomeness.”

“Ten thousand babies?” Your jaw dropped in horror before you quickly shook it off. You pushed the envelope against his chest. “Look, I’m not doing this.”

“C’mon, this is literally life or death.” He tried, shoving the letter back into your hands.

“What if someone sees? I’m supposed to live with the reputation of confessing to you and everyone thinking you turned me down?”

“First of all, ouch. Second of all, everyone’s gone home by now.” Nishinoya shrugged. “What could possibly go wrong?”

The phrase alone made a long list scroll through your mind. “I wouldn’t even know how to confess.”

“I’m literally cool as fuck,” Noya smirked. “It should be easy. Just be honest.”

You gave him a once-over. “Do you want to impress Kiyoko or have me be honest? Pick one.”

Nishinoya glared at you before his eyes connected with something over your shoulder. “Okay, here she comes. Act natural.”

He released the envelope and you caught it on reflex, sneering at him while he straightened out his poster and uniform jacket. What did he mean to act natural? Absolutely nothing about this situation was natural.

“Oh my gosh, (Y/N). Why did you ask that we meet out here all alone?” Noya said, his voice awkwardly stiff and loud.

Your grip on the envelope tightened as you tried to keep yourself from becoming more agitated with Nishinoya. He has the nerve to tell you to act natural and then puts on a performance like that. “I have something important I need to tell you…” 

“I wonder what it is. As someone who respects all women I will take any amount of time out of my day to listen to your words.” The corner of his mouth quirks up and he shoots you a small thumbs up at his hip. It takes all of your concentration to not roll your eyes.

You heard a pair of footsteps echoing from the walkway that connected the main building and the gymnasium, so you figured one of them belonged to Kiyoko. In your peripheral you spotted her and Yachi pretending to stare down at a clipboard in Kiyoko’s hands, but you knew they were glancing up at the fake display you both were putting on.

“Uh, well, it’s just… um... ” You nibbled on your bottom lip from frustration. Thankfully, they probably took your hesitation for nervousness rather than the inability to think of something to say.

 It wasn’t that you disliked Nishinoya. You actually really admired him-not that you had ever imagined admitting it to his face. But… if you didn’t have a choice.

You took a deep breath.

“I think that you're really amazing,” you said, avoiding his excited amber eyes you knew were trained on Kiyoko anyway. “I like how determined you are to do your best and how that transitions to how hard you work in volleyball. I truly believe you’re the greatest libero there is.”

You felt Nishinoya’s focus become more grounded on you, so you lifted your stare to meet his. The longer you made eye-contact the more it felt like he was pulling the confession from you. “I like how much you care about your friends and that you work hard to cheer people up even when I can tell you’re not in a great mood yourself. I also admire how fearless you are and how you’re the first to try new things.” You looked down again and dug your shoe into the dirt. “I wish I could be more like that sometimes.”

You felt your cheeks warming as his mouth went a little slack and his brow creased. You knew you could probably stop at any moment, but the words were flowing too easily and a part of you wanted him to hear them now. Later you could pretend it was for the bit and not because your heart weighed heavy in your chest.

“I’ve always been jealous of how free it feels to be around you. Like, how chaotic and carefree you can be, but you still know how to be serious in certain situations.” You shrugged. “You’re also pretty cute or whatever, so that’s a good addition.”

Nishinoya looked in awe. You glanced back at Kiyoko and Yachi who were now watching from the gymnasium’s entrance-their heads peeking out from the doorway. You became self-conscious when you remembered it wasn’t just you and Nishinoya and you felt the urgency to wrap this up quickly.

“So, uh,” you held the poorly crafted envelope Nishinoya had made outward. “I really like you, Nishinoya. I hope you can accept my feelings.”

The moment had come where he was supposed to turn you down. Say he couldn’t accept and you’d be on your way to live life like normal. But, instead of saying anything he just kept staring at you.

You coughed awkwardly and waved the envelope in his face. “Noya…”

“Oh, uh, right.” His cheeks dusted pink and he took the empty envelope. “Thanks. That um… you’re also… pretty cool.”

He just stared down at the poorly crafted envelope for several moments before glancing back up at you nervously.

 “So, I get done with practice at around six if you want to hang out later? Unless you’re busy tonight. We can hang out this weekend or really I can make any time work. Dead ass, like, I can fucking skip practice if that’s what you want.”

You blinked.

...what.

“What’s going on?” You leaned forward to whisper, but he leaned away awkwardly. “This wasn’t the plan.”

“I know, but you said all those nice things and now I’m confused.” Nishinoya covered his face with his hands.

“Confused how?” You looked back to the doorway where Kiyoko and Yachi had been peeking out and frowned at how they were gone.

“Confused like my heart feels funny and now I want to get married and have ten thousand kids and stuff.”

Your face turned bright red. “What? I can’t have ten thousand kids.”

“One thousand?”

“I’m not having more than two kids,” you crossed your arms. “Besides, one kid with your energy is equivalent to at least two.”

He pouted. “Fine, but then I get to choose our destination wedding.”

“Absolutely not. You’d pick somewhere ridiculous like Nebraska.”

“What the hell is a Nebraska?”

“It’s a boring place in the US where nothing-” You waved it off. “Why are we even talking about this? You don’t like me, Noya. You like Kiyoko.”

“But I didn’t even know I was allowed to like you,” his brow furrowed as he thought. “I mean, I’ve thought about liking you, but it’s different ‘ya know?”

“No,” you responded. Next time Nishinoya pulls you into a ridiculous plot where he claims ‘what could possibly go wrong?’ you’d have to add actual confessions to the long list.

“You’re like a real person.” He gestured to all of you and you just tilted your head confused. “It’s like, Kiyoko can turn me down a hundred times, but she’ll still talk to me so who cares. But if you turned me down it’d be different. I might never get to be with you again. Does that make sense?”

“I guess… so…” You furrowed your brow and stared at his shoes that were tapping nervously against the ground. “Do you even know how to go on dates?”

“How dare you,” he placed a hand over his chest in mock horror. “I’ll have you know I’ve read two whole romance books. No pictures.”

“Well, when you sell yourself like that.” You smirked before taking a deep breath. “I mean, I guess… it would be fine. If we had one date.”

“Really?” He fist pumped. “Fuck yeah. I’m gonna swoon you so good. This’ll be the best date of your life.”

“I’ve never been on a date.”

“Even better! There’s no standard.” He cackled as he spun around with his fist raised high. “I can’t even fuck it up.”

“I don’t think that’s how that-”

“I’ll text you,” he sent you a wide smile over his shoulder. “I promise that this is going to be really great. You’re going to love it.”

You gave a slight nod and watched him practically skip into the gymnasium. It took Tanaka’s disbelieving shouts to snap you out of your frozen stupor and you stared down at your hands in confusion.

What the hell just happened?

Mindlessly, you made your way to the front of the school where your bike was chained up so you could finally get home and relax. You spent the entire ride home in a numb state of disbelief that somehow, in less than an hour, you’d gone from refusing to admit you found Nishinoya even remotely cool to going on a date with him.

What kind of witchcraft had he pulled?

You assured yourself that it was just a date and nothing would come of it. So when you struggled with focusing on your homework that night because every few minutes your heart would do acrobatics at the idea of spending time alone with Nishinoya, you pretended it was just leftover embarrassment.

It also probably meant nothing that your face turned red when he texted you immediately after his practice with like ten smiley faces. And it definitely wasn’t a big deal that you giggled like an idiot while texting him until three in the morning about absolutely nothing. That was all just normal stuff that happened between normal people who had a normal non-romantic connection. No way had you actually fallen for Nishinoya.

You definitely weren’t in denial.

As you sat through a boring lesson the next day in class your eyes drifted, landing unsurprisingly on the boy taking up too much of your mental space. He was absentmindedly fiddling with his dyed strand of hair as he focused intently on the workbook on his desk. His tongue poked out in concentration as he repeatedly wrote and erased something on the same line in his notebook. You smiled fondly at the frustrated crease between his furrowed brow as he struggled to analyze that day’s literature passage.

Nishinoya must have felt you blatantly staring because he lifted his head confused before searching around the room and finally meeting your eyes dead on. You stared at each other briefly until he gave you a lopsided grin that sent your heart into a frenzy. You lifted your hand for a little wave and embarrassingly turned your attention back to your own schoolwork.

You rubbed your pencil’s eraser against one of your now pink cheeks.

Damn it… you thought, as you began underlining random sentences to appear busy. You really did like him. A small smile rested on your lips as your heart kept it’s irregular pattern. Perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing?

You snuck another peek and your smile fell when you saw him cross-eyed and balancing his pencil on his top lip. He’d apparently given up on attempting to do the assigned work for the day. You watched the pencil roll forward and he tried to catch it on his tongue before it clattered onto his desk, pulling everyone’s attention.

You groaned quietly and covered your face with your hands.

At least he was cute?

[bellafarallones2]

From the meet uglies prompt list:

84. I’m not entirely sure who you are but we’ve been in a massive prank war ever since your first prank on your friend went awry and I was covered in paint

For JakeHollis, please? Sfw or nsfw! This screams them to me!

JakeHollis, SFW, very light angst, some absolutely weird vibes! QueerElfClub's Hollis cosplay is my headcanon for them always and forever

All told, Jake’s first day at Kepler High hadn’t been too bad. Barclay and Dani had told him roughly what to expect, including a rapid rundown of the Earth history he’d be looked at strangely for not knowing. So far, math was his favorite class, because it was the same as on Silvain. Mama had gotten him into something called AP BC Calculus, which seemed like far too many acronyms for a class about shapes. His next most favorite class was PE.

Now it was almost three, and the final bell had rung. Packing up his backpack had taken so much time that the hallways were mostly empty, and he wandered idly, looking for the exit. Barclay was supposed to be picking him up somewhere called the “kiss and ride,” though Jake had been assured kissing was not mandatory. No signs pointed the way, and Jake knew better than to ask someone for directions. Teenagers were the same everywhere.

He found himself in a wing of the school none of his classes had been in, passing rooms labeled ORCHESTRA and BAND and COLOR GUARD EQUIPMENT STORAGE. The sound of music came through the walls.

Finally, though - miracle of miracles! - he saw the light of day, and hurried towards the door it was coming from. The door was even cracked open, and Jake pushed it open the rest of the way and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

Something hit his head.

Something that made a klang noise against his skull, and he thought for a moment his head had cracked - he didn’t know how fragile these disguises were - but no, there was something else dripping through his hair and down his face and down all over his new colorful jacket. He looked down. It was white and foul-smelling, and when he blinked his eyelashes clumped and stuck together.

Jake was fairly certain neither Dani nor Barclay had mentioned this. He could barely see, just the edges of a person saying oh fuck, I’m so sorry, I thought you were Keith, and tugging him back into the school, which was not at all where he wanted to go.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” the voice said, and Jake found himself in a restroom, without even the time to make sure it was the correct one - he needed to be in one called BOYS or MEN, or the one with a little outline of a person without a skirt. or GENTLEMEN. (Barclay knew a long list of things he’d seen printed on bathroom doors.)

But here he was, and he bent to the sink to wash his face and came up dripping. Then he repeated the introduction he’d given so many times already today.

“I’m Jake,” he said. “Dani’s brother.” (People knew Dani; she’d graduated only two years earlier. He told teachers he was Barclay’s brother. Barclay was a little older, but a better student than Dani had been.)

“Oh,” said the person. “I think I had an art class with her. I’m Hollis.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Hollis had curly black hair and brown skin, and the sleeves of their shirt were tattered like they’d been cut off and not hemmed afterwards. When they rubbed at the stuff on Jake’s sleeve with a wet paper towel he could see the fine line of muscle beneath the skin in their arm.

Jake took a deep breath. “Do you think you could point me towards the kiss and ride?”

By the time Jake climbed into Barclay’s truck, he was as clean as one could get with hand soap and paper towels.

“How was your first day?” said Barclay, tactfully not saying anything about the paint.

“Fine. I’m really glad you and Dani told me so much about what to expect. But when I was trying to find my way out at the end of the day a bucket of paint fell on my head.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Someone helped me clean up, though. Their name’s Hollis. I think we’re friends now?”

“Well, that’s nice.”

“One girl in my homeroom brought in brownies to share with everybody because it was her birthday. Are you allowed to do that even if it’s not your birthday?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Can I bring in cupcakes tomorrow? The ones you make are really good and I think people would like me if I gave them some.”

Barclay looked over at him, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll make you some cupcakes.”

--

The cupcakes were gorgeous. Each was as the platonic ideal of what a cupcake should be, the cupcake held before the fire to cast a shadow in Plato’s confectionary cave. The cake part was delicate and moist and yellow, and the frosting was pink, dusted with rainbow sprinkles.

“Oh,” said Jake’s homeroom teacher when she saw him come in carrying the lovingly packed tray. Barclay had put crumpled saran wrap between each cupcake so they wouldn’t knock into each other. “Is it your birthday, Jake?”

“Nope! But I brought cupcakes for everyone.”

“Alright,” said the teacher. “You can start passing them out now, if you’d like.”

Jake held out the tray to each person in the first few rows in turn, receiving varyingly sincere ‘thank you’s in return. But sitting in the back corner by the window was Hollis, and when Jake got to them, he didn’t hold out the tray. No, he selected the most perfect cupcake there was, cupped its soft bottom, and shoved the perfect pink frosting into Hollis’ perfect face.

“Oops,” Jake said sweetly.

“Jake!” said the teacher. “What do you think you’re doing!?”

But Hollis was already laughing, wiping pink frosting off their face and licking it off their fingers. “It’s fine, Ms. B., we’re in a prank war.”

“Well, please refrain from waging it in my classroom!”

“I’m sorry,” said Jake. He’d never heard the phrase prank war before, but the word war he didn’t like at all. War was the slowly narrowing boundaries of habitable land, war was an enemy that was somehow both inuman and implacably angry.

The boy sitting to Hollis’ left was looking up at Jake with something like shock and anger in his face. Looking away, Jake held out the plate of cupcakes to him so he could select his own.

--

Jake still had trouble finding the cafeteria, and so most of the students were seated when he arrived. He was scanning looking for a seat where he wouldn’t be intruding on someone else’s friend group when Hollis’ waving hand caught his attention. “Yo, Jake! Come sit with us?”

Jake hurried over. Before he reached the table Hollis elbowed the boy who was sitting next to them, the same one who’d been next to them in homeroom, and he scooted hurriedly over into the next seat so Jake could sit next to Hollis.

“Hello,” Jake said, nodding at each person at the table.

“This is Jake,” said Hollis. “He got me good in homeroom with a cupcake to the face.”

The others at the table laughed.

“Jake, this is Keith, Madison, and Ty,” Hollis continued, indicating the boy who’d been displaced, a girl with purple streaks in her long brown hair, and a boy with a mullet.

“Nice to meet you,” said Jake. He listened to them talk as he unpacked the lunch Barclay had packed him. A sandwich on part of a baguette, a chocolate-chip cookie, a honeycrisp apple (Jake had just been on earth long enough to have opinions about the different varieties of apples), and a note reminding him that Barclay loved him and wanted him to have a good day.

His tablemates were discussing what they were going to do over the weekend. Ty suggested going to Walmart, which was shot down on the grounds that they’d done that last weekend. No one’s parents were out of town, which eliminated the possibility of a house party.

“There’s nothing to do,” Madison whined.

“Can you drive places?” Jake asked.

Everyone went quiet. “Yep,” said Hollis. “When Madison’s parents let her use the car.”

It was Jake’s first autumn on earth, and from his bedroom window on the second floor of Amnesty Lodge he could see the leaves changing colors, red and orange and yellow between the bristles of the evergreens. “You could drive around and look at leaves. I’d like to come along, if that’s alright.”

Everyone was silent, deciding whether that was the lamest thing they’d ever heard or so lame it went straight through the other side into being kind of a good idea again.

“Fuck it,” said Hollis finally. “Let’s do it. And of course you’re invited, Jake, let me add you to the group chat.”

--

That Saturday, a silver Honda pulled up in front of Amnesty Lodge. Madison was at the wheel, Ty in the front passenger seat, and Keith sulking in the back. Behind it was a sleek motorcycle, and the rider’s helmet reflected the autumn leaves above.

Hollis pulled off their helmet. Their hair was disheveled and gorgeous. “If it was five of us in the car someone would have had to sit in the middle back, and that sucks,” they said. “Hop on, Jake.” They were holding out a second helmet.

“Um,” said Jake, offering them a bottle of sparkling cider with gold foil around the neck. “I brought something for us to drink?” The agreement had been that they would drive to one of the pull-off spots along the highway and have drinks there.

“Sweet,” said Hollis. “Put it in the back of the car?”

When Jake opened the back door of the car he saw a case of white claw on the seat next to Keith. “Was I supposed to bring alcohol?” Jake said. “I could have.” There was wine at the lodge; sometimes on the weekends Mama and Barclay went wine-tasting together, because Dani’s ID said she wasn’t old enough.

“No, Jake, you’re fine,” Hollis said. “Climb on.”

Jake fit the helmet over his head and climbed onto the smooth leather seat of the motorcycle behind Hollis. “Hold on tight,” said Hollis.

The motorcycle roared to life like one of Silvain’s larger beasts. Then it leaped forward, swerving hard to veer around Madison’s parents’ car. Jake swallowed a shriek and held on tighter. He could no longer feel the soft fabric of Hollis’s shirt, only the beast beneath them and the wind tearing at their jackets and the red, orange, and yellow leaves racing by above.

By the time they reached the appointed meeting place the others weren’t even in sight.

“So,” said Hollis when they pulled their helmet off. “What brings you to Kepler?”

Jake knew how to lie, when presented with questions like this. But with Hollis they found they didn’t want to. “I got kicked out of my old school.”

Hollis’s eyebrows went up.

“For… stealing.” Stealing food, because his family’s traditional hunting grounds had been corrupted by the Quell, and everyone else had barely enough for themselves. The huge mounds of apples in the grocery store in Kepler were the first thing to convince him he’d been exiled to paradise.

“Damn, Jake. And here I thought you were so wholesome.”

Jake threw up a hang-ten. “Nah, I’m a real bad boy.”

“Are you… with anyone? From your old school?”

“Nope. Are you?”

“Nah.” Hollis took a deep breath. It was the first time Jake had noticed them breathing. Human beings had to breathe so frequently, he’d found, and he sometimes forgot to until his lungs reminded him. His old body had been able to hold its breath for over an hour, collapsing his lungs so he was sleekness against the water inside and out. Incompressible.

“Wanna make out?” said Hollis.

“Yeah,” said Jake.

Hollis leaned in and kissed him. The best part was how warm their lips were, how warm their face was, right up close to his. No, scratch that. The best part was how they smelled, a smell Jake hadn’t encountered on earth up to that point but knew now he could never get enough of. No, the best part was -

Tires on gravel. Jake startled, but Hollis didn’t stop kissing him, even as Madison honked the horn on her parents’ car.

To Jake, that was the most surprising thing, that Hollis would want to kiss him in front of their friends. Teenagers were the same everywhere.

[lilliannelson]

Maybe, Definitely

Summary: Reader is a long time guest at the Holmes’ Estate. They have been associated with the family for years. One conversation leads to a whole new outlook on the life they thought they knew.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Trigger Warning: Just fluff

A/N: Most definitely going to continue with a jump ahead in time. Let me know your thoughts!!

You had been staying at the Holmes’ Estate for a few weeks; a tradition that began 5 years before. You had entered society as a young lady and became acquainted with the youngest Holmes, Enola. To say you kept this tradition going for nothing more than the company of Enola and her elder brothers, was simply not at all truthful. While Mycroft made your blood boil more than you can count, and Enola being one of your best companions, your eyes always seemed to flitter towards Sherlock. He had many rungs to his social ladder but currently his consulting agency was thriving in the ever-crazy London Town. As intelligent as he is, he had rare moments of conversation with anyone other than his siblings. It seemed that he couldn’t be bothered by anyone else, which was a positive to the fact his business was blooming. He didn’t have to stay here all the time.

Right now, you’re walking about the large study of which held all of the best novels you could get your hands on in this day and age. You glance up and spot him. He’s tall, very tall. And he has the most gorgeous head of dark curls you have ever seen. You have been observing him from a far for a while. You couldn’t help but wonder what he would say next or if he would even give you the time of day.

‘There he is,’ you think, stopping yourself with the book you’re currently reading in hand looking out the large bay window to see him walking up the drive.

You blink and knock yourself out of the trance you were in. He may be opinionated and gorgeous, but you were better than that to drop yourself to his level. No man was ever worth it.

You continue to walk out the large French-style doors to the wooden swing that hung from your favorite tree in the side yard. The gardeners had done so well this year and the flowers that lined the path that led to your spot was exceptionally darling this time of year. Autumn was your favorite season, after all.

You sit on the swing and get lost in the book. Hours seem to have rolled by as the sun was on the brink of setting. You stretch and yawn as you suddenly realize your surroundings. You feel a set of eyes on your back. An intuition you’d grown to enjoy. You slowly swivel around to see him looking at you. You give him a shy smile and can see him capture his bottom lip with his teeth; a sort of kryptonite to you. As you stand, wiping off the front of you from some invisible outdoor dander, you walk towards him. He stands with his hands in his pockets. You suddenly feel the urge to run, but it subsides as you draw in closer to him.

“Hello,” his deep voice fills your ears.

“Hi,” you greet him back.

“I seem to always find you outside these days. What book are you reading?” You show him the book, a book of poems that he most likely has not read. “Never read that one.” ‘Ha, I knew it,’ you think.

“It’s good to switch up the type of writing sometimes.”

“Yes, it is.” His blue eyes keep your hazel ones, “Listen, I’m having dinner tonight, and I’d love it if you joined me.”

“What time?” Who were you and why were you accepting? Lowering yourself to his level was, again, something you didn’t want to do. But, it made sense to go to dinner with him, since you hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Your stomach rumbled as if on command.

“Right now, actually.” He grins, “Your stomach just gave you away.”

You match his grin, “It has. Shall I change?”

He shakes his head, “I don’t believe so. It’s just you and I.”

You feel a shade of pink flush your cheeks at the realization. But of course you knew it was just the two of you. His siblings and everyone else had already eaten. “Lead the way, then.”

——————————————————————————

You sit across from him at the large wooden dining room table. An extravagant floral arrangement was placed on the table prior to you two sitting down. He moves it over, allowing both of you to be able to meet eyes once more. He’d began to speak about a book he had read last week, and then the conversation moved to you.

“What would you like to know about me?” You take a dainty bite of the meal.

He sips his wine, “Everything.” You spot the grin he’s making behind his glass. This causes you to raise your eyebrow at him, looking down to your plate but also a small grin forms on your lips.

“I’m surprised you haven’t already come to one of your conclusions about me yet.” A little jab at him, but he pressed on.

“Where do you see yourself? The next 5 years?”

“That’s rather deep.”

“If you’d rather not answer, that’s quite alright. I can ask you something else.”

You grab the glass of wine, taking a big gulp before beginning, “Five years? Why not the next year?”

“Because it’s the most generic question people ask to get to know someone. And because I’m sure you have a list of ideas. I would love to hear your thoughts instead of coming to a conclusion.”

“Okay, well... I’ve been trying to read everything I can. I want to educate myself as much as possible. I want to write a book. I want to go to university and get a degree. I want to be a teacher. I-“ you stop when you meet his eyes. He’s so enamored by you in this moment.

“What kind of teacher?”

“English. I want to see a child’s eyes light up when they learn to read and understand the meanings of words and sentences. I used to play Headmistress when I was a child. I didn’t have any friends, but I made them up in my head. Probably why I am such an odd one nowadays.”

“You’re not odd. You’re intelligent. And any child would be lucky to have you as their teacher. Where are you planning on getting a degree?”

“Oxford. I know that it will be difficult to get into any program there, but I’m very certain I can do it. I am fully capable.”

“Yes, yes you are.” A silence falls over your conversation as you recollect all you said, and his eyes stay on you.

“Thank you,” you say in a small voice.

His eyebrows raise quizzically, “Whatever for?”

“For not making my want to teach seem like a death sentence.”

“Whoever has given you that idea?”

You look down to the table, fiddling with your fingers in your lap, “Oh, my uncle. And Mycroft.”

“Of course they have. I should’ve known.”

You shrug, “It’s the times we are living. I expect it most of the time. I can tune it out, it’s just tough sometimes.”

“If it helps any, Mycroft has always been that arrogant and self absorbed to the point he will do anything to raise his status.”

“It doesn’t, but thank you for trying.” You feel tears threatening to form in your eyes. After a beat, you blink them away, “How’s business in London?”

Sherlock frowns slightly, “It’s going. I’ve picked up quite a few new cases. Nothing too important yet, though.”

“I’m sure something will come up.”

“I hope so. I would hate to have to hang up the practice before its prime.”

“But it brings you joy. I have never seen someone so intricately indulge into their craft like you. I’m sure you’re the first one anyone at Scotland Yard thinks of when cases come in.” You look down bashfully when you see him gaping at you.

“I didn’t know you paid that much attention to me.” His grin exposes a dimple. He looks shy.

“You’re Sherlock Holmes. How is that possible?”

“When it comes to my personal life, I tend to refuse to sink into any inklings I may have. I’m much better at helping others, if that makes sense.”

You nod, “It does.”

“You pay this kind of attention to everyone else?”

“Only the ones that are intriguing to me.”

“And what about me is intriguing?” His voice is low.

“Your knowledge, your composure, your personality.” You take another gulp of your wine, calming down your growing pulse, “I like observing you in your natural habitat.”

“Why?”

“Because you act like you don’t have feelings, but it shows in the way you present yourself. The slight grin you get on your face when someone outsmarts you regarding something you were sure no one else could. The other day when Mycroft was sure to prove me wrong, and I told him off, you had this look on your face...” You quickly change your tone, “I will never not laugh at his reaction.���

Sherlock has leaned forward, as if having to prove he was paying attention to you, but his eyes are semi-glazed over as if lost in thought.

“Sherlock?”

“Hmm?” That knocks him out of his daze.

“Did I say too much?”

“No, no. I don’t believe you said too much at all.”

“Shall I continue?”

“Please.”

“I do believe your attachment to Enola is very sweet. She is just like you. She idolizes you, more than she lets on to your face.”

“She does?”

Nodding, you continue, “She and I are friends, after all. She and Mycroft make the air very tense when they are around each other, but when she’s in any room with you, it’s very calm. You’d think it would be the opposite, because you both are attentive, but that’s not the case.”

“You are very good at paying attention.”

“It’s my gift. I tune into energy and gut-instinct. I’ve learned to read people over the years.”

“Sounds very similar to my line of work, can I observe you sometime?”

“Yeah, any time.” You feel timid. But he can’t seem to take his eyes off of you.

He clears his throat, “Let me escort you back to your rooms.”

————————————————————————————————————————————

He walks you through the house, seemingly knowing the route you use even though the wing you’re in is opposite his. You watch him through your peripheral and catch him with his gaze on you more than once. Occasionally as you walk side by side, your hand grazes his but you notice he doesn’t tense up or show any signs of displeasure.

You arrive at your doorway, going inside to the sitting area. You weren’t used to having anyone other than Enola visiting you, so you tidy as you walk around. You hear a chuckle come from Sherlock, making you turn towards him.

You grin to yourself. “Please, have a seat if you’d like,” you gesture towards the chair to his right. He sits. You pace before sitting opposite him. You feel something looming in the air, like there are some unspoken truths, but Sherlock breaks your thoughts.

“Would it be too untoward if I tell you that you are intriguing, too?”

“I am?”

Sherlock nods, “You present yourself unlike any other young woman I have encountered. It’s nice to see you speak up and be unfiltered from time to time.”

“You pay attention to me?”

“Of course.”

“But how come it never felt like that?”

“I don’t follow...” his voice trails off as your eyes link.

You stand up, “It felt, in some ways, that my presence wasn’t allowed. No, not allowed, just you seemed above it all.” You scoff, “Somehow, I’ve always felt invaluable to you. And I always refused to let it bother me because I am a woman and I am better than that. To let a man’s opinion of myself get to me would be against everything I’ve learned in the past. But again, it bothers me. I guess I’m not as good as I thought.” You walk to your drink cart and pour yourself a glass of wine, gulping it down, “So to hear that you notice do notice me, well, that’s a lot.”

Sherlock stands and walks towards you, “I was unaware. You never made any gesture to feeling this way.”

“How would I when your actions...” you take a breath. “There’s been a miscommunication.”

“Yes, there has.” Sherlock pours himself a glass of wine, sipping it delicately.

You lock eyes again, “So what do we do now?”

“I’ve never been one to speak of...feelings. But I care for you, deeply. I believe we are going to need to speak up. And perhaps there won’t be any more miscommunications.”

You catch yourself grinning like an idiot, “I care about you, too.” You reach a hand up and caress the side of his face; he leans into your touch.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Just Swimmingly ch.2 (BAON)

Summary: Jeff has a lot to think about and what better place to do it than at the bar with his best buddy, Stretch?

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Established Relationships,  Hurt/Comfort, Additional Tags To Come

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

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Read it here!

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The night wasn’t as young as it used to be, but to be fair, neither was Jeff. After a few hours of sitting on a bar stool, his tailbone would be more than willing to testify on that.

He leaned back against the bar in an effort to take some of his weight off of it, grimacing as he watched the dance floor. Colored lights flashed to the thrumming bass beat over the gyrating dancers and out in the thrashing sea of sweaty human bodies there was a head that was above almost all of them. Stretch towered over most humans and never was it more obvious than right then. The lights reflected off his smooth skull, a living disco ball, and around him other humans were laughing and cheering as they danced.

Edge would be having a conniption right about now and Jeff was a little bemused to find his anxiety having an internal dance competition of its own. Currently it was at ‘chachacha’ levels, watching all those Humans grinding up on Stretch. He didn’t want to think anyone here would hurt Stretch, intentionally or otherwise, but the threat of low HP always loomed. His trust in humanity took a pretty big dip a few months ago outside a Chinese restaurant and he had the scars to prove it.

Jeff took another sip of his drink. His straw crackled against the bottom of the glass as he finished it off, leaving only lonely ice cubes behind and he set it back on the bar as he settled back in for a little spare contemplation.

If he were honest, wasn’t a huge fan of the club scene even before he started dating Antwan. Not that he didn’t like going out but his problems with it were twofold. One, bars sucked to go to alone and back then he didn’t have a lot of real estate in the friend territory and two, it cost money. His disposable cash in those days was a lot like a pink unicorn: nonexistent.

Being friends with Stretch took care of both of those problems but a third loomed up to take their place like an unwanted acquaintance. Put bluntly, Jeff could not dance and until Kevin Bacon showed up to give him a few lessons, he probably wasn’t gonna learn how.

Not that he really minded that much. Guarding their drinks and listening to the music wasn’t a bad way to spend the night.

Besides, Stretch didn’t seem to care if he wasn’t up to evacuating the dance floor. He mostly let Jeff sit at the bar where he tried to look like someone with deep and mysterious thoughts to process instead of the person he actually was, far more likely to accidently spill his drink into his lap than anything else. On either side of him were other people doing the same, a row of wallflowers watching the dance floor with wistful envy.

Mostly Stretch left him to it but sometimes he’d bounce his way back and haul Jeff out for a song, any song, fast, slow, techno-bop, dubstep, didn’t matter to Stretch, he was an equal opportunist when it came to friendly torment and if Jeff felt a lot like Frankenstein’s monster tromping around next to Stretch’s lithe booty shake, eh, that was okay. Sacrificing a little dignity for a friend’s fun times was part of the package.

As far as he knew, Stretch didn’t go out to the clubs often either, but if there was one thing Jeff had learned when it came to Stretch, it was there were no half-measures. If he was in, he was all in, and that included drinking, dancing, and on the weekends, the occasional explosion caused by a thermal reaction. Truly a wide variety of hobbies came into play when hanging out with Stretch and going out to the bars pretty much guaranteed something interesting would happen.

Like the time they met those guys who’d come into town for the last beat poetry night. One of them mentioned liking Stretch’s Intergalactic Beastie Boys t-shirt so Stretch convinced them all to swap shirts and then swapped them around again, until they were all three shirts removed from the one they’d arrived in. Pants were a harder sell and if Stretch were ever hard up for money, he might take up selling ice to penguins because in no time they were all out on the sidewalk, firmly dismissed from Grillby’s over their rampant laughter drowning out the poet’s rambling about the burden of solitude. The Waffle House they ended up at had a less stringent dress code and all of them crammed into a booth to eat greasy breakfast food at two am in their boxer shorts. At least those were all their own and his plain cotton boxer briefs were no match against Stretch’s ‘wanna tickle my pickle’ pair.

He was pretty sure all those guys still followed Stretch on twitter.

He wondered what Edge had thought of Stretch wandering home in an entirely new wardrobe, minus pants. There was no way he didn’t notice, Edge was very intent on fashion, even Stretch’s version of it. Knowing him, he probably made Stretch strip right in the living room and soaked both him and his clothes in Lysol before burning his boxer shorts. The old-new t-shirt Jeff ended up with was hanging in closet even though it was two sizes too big for him. Antwan stole it sometimes for lounging around the house purposes and seeing him in it was always a cheap thrill.

Huh, now that he was thinking about it, he’d gone to the bar more this past year than in his whole life before. Not just with Stretch either, Blue and Papyrus had brought him along for karaoke a few times and that was an experience right there. Their singing was like a vocal interpretation of his dancing and just as painful for witnesses.

He’d even had a drink a couple of times with Red. Well, he’d been a tag along with Antwan but still. Red was still vaguely terrifying, but Jeff had gotten the occasional glimpse under his onion layers. He knew a little of what Edge and Red went through before they came here. His knowledge pretty much barely skimmed the surface, they’d both been soldiers and they might’ve gotten out alive, but not entirely unscathed. Knowing Red’s HP was similar to Stretch’s and he’d still survived? Perspective was a hell of a thing and it paid to look at Red from a slant.

Speaking of perspective, he was definitely liking the music. They were a local band and this place was close to the college, a good spot to hopefully get noticed and work their way up. The bar itself had probably been here for fifty years, the bartop pitted with scratches and scars from college students of yore, the stools definitely up for reupholstering.

It was really no surprise to find out that Stretch knew the current owner. He knew loads of people, wriggled his way into their lives a lot like he’d wriggled into Jeff’s. Only difference was, he didn’t usually let the other person wriggle back and yeah, okay, that metaphor was going in weird places, but the meaning stood. Stretch was good with shortcuts and he knew a lot of people, but he wasn’t necessarily friends with a lot. Jeff was pretty happy to be on the short list.

Knowing people came in handy, too, and bringing Stretch along always came with added perks. Catty only asked him to listen to the bands on the list to get a feel for their sound, but he’d be able to bring her a better report than that since they were going to go meet the band after their set was done. It would give him a chance feel them out, see if they were even interested in participating in the Midnight Monster Jamboree, as Catty had slyly dubbed it. After everything went down in California, they needed some serious good will.

The Monster community had been found not at fault for what happened right away, but Antwan told him court cases would be dragging on for a while yet. When Humans died, other Humans wanted someone to pay, and Monsters were easy scapegoats for unreasonable anger. His team was working their butts off on it, Antwan coming home at night so very tired, mostly falling into Jeff’s arms to sleep and yet still so grimly determined. Jeff couldn’t do much about all that, but he could try his damnedest to get their big public relations event off the ground.

The idea was to have a huge event for Humans and Monsters together and for it to be held in New New Home. Asgore thought that some of the problems with Humans might be a result of them thinking Monsters had something to hide, so what better way to show them who Monsters really were than a chance to see into their supposedly secret lives.

Jeff was on the lowest rung for planning and even from his view, it looked like a nightmare. Security details made up of both Human and Monsters, background checks, food, entertainment. Access was going to be extremely limited and the guest list was daunting; there were going to be some big names in politics and entertainment. That circled back to his job, getting some local bands together for the opening shows. Partly good public relations, but also an earnest desire to help out a few struggling locals with the kind of exposure most groups could only dream about. That was so like Monsters, trying to help others in the midst of helping themselves, but it sure was a lot of damn pegs getting shoved into so many slots.

He didn’t even want to know what Edge’s current schedule looked like.

There was a soft thud behind him and Jeff turned to see the bartender was bringing him another drink. The guy was probably somewhere around his age, unless you were gauging it by his world-weary expression, which probably put him at about right around three hundred.

He must’ve known Stretch, too. When they saw each other, he youthened to a spry two hundred and seventy after a complicated series of fist bumps. As an added bonus, he’d been keeping their drinks topped up and as someone who usually couldn’t even get a bartender to see him much less pour him a drink, Jeff sure did appreciate the VIP service.

He started reaching for his drink, but a sudden tap on his shoulder startled him. He turned around. A guy he didn’t recognize was standing there, not too bad on the eyes and weirdly nervous, enough that Jeff thought he might actually be trying to pick him up before he noticed the guy was holding something out.

“Did you drop this?” the guy said, barely loud enough to be heard over the music. It was a wallet and Jeff automatically checked his back pocket even as his eyes told him it wasn’t his.

He shook his head and the guy nodded, but instead of asking anyone else or handing it to the bartender, he wandered off towards the entrance.

Okay, that was odd. Jeff shrugged mentally, lots of weird people at the bar, maybe he was going to give it to the guy at the door in case whoever lost it noticed when they left.

He forgot about it as Stretch came back from the dance floor, sweat gleaming on his skull and face. That always gave Jeff a little pause, what exact purpose did sweating serve for a skeleton? Maybe he’d ask sometime when he was less busy with work. If Stretch didn’t know the answer to something, the journey to find out tended to be entertaining, and possibly less explosive this time around, although he wouldn’t put the chances at zero.

Stretch grinned at him, still panting, and picked up his own drink, gulping down half of it in one swallow. Jeff couldn’t remember was it was. Stretch tended to order more for the name than the taste, so it was probably something like a slippery nipple or a total screaming orgasm. Whatever it was, a skewer of fruit was floating in it and Stretch fished it out, pulling the cherry off the end with his teeth.

“so what do you think of the band?” Stretch asked, perfectly audible even over the loud music. There was another point of interest; when your voice was produced by magic, it didn’t always obey the rules of sound. “gonna give catty the thumbs up?

“I like it,” Jeff shrugged. He could barely hear his own voice, trusting that magical hearing worked the same way as speaking, “but I’m not the greatest judge of music. That’s why I bring you along.”

Stretch chuckled and propped his elbows on the bar, slouching back. It put him almost at head level with Jeff and the shirt he’d almost certainly borrowed from Edge pulled tight across his ribcage. “think i’m a better simon cowell than you?”

“No, you’re more Paula Abdul, and anyway, two heads are better than one.” Jeff played with the straw in his own drink. “Jokes aside, this is important, I don’t want to mess it up.”

“you’re not gonna mess it up.” Stretch scoffed. He bit a chunk of pineapple in half before polishing off the rest of his drink. “how even? you’re doing double-duty as it is. henry said once they’re finished, we can meet them backstage. i’ll have a chat with them, we’ll see if they’re assholes, and good to go! besides, it’s not like security isn’t gonna give ‘em a good, hard rundown, anyway.”

It was the truth and he knew it, but there was always that niggling little doubt in the back of his mind, that somehow he’d find a way to mess it up, and that would be it. This was so important to the Monster community and his chance to finally payback some of what’d they’d given him. He could do this, Jeff told himself, and he’d do it right.

The band started a new set, something with a low, growling bassline and Jeff turned back to watch, only to freeze as Stretch suddenly spoke again, the single word clear as a bell in church.

“jeff.”

The name caught his attention as much as the tone, Stretch never called him Jeff, it was always Andy or kiddo or whatever nickname was currently floating his proverbial boat. The last time he’d called Jeff by his actual name, he’d been lying in a parking lot in a pool of his own blood. The taste of hot metal was strong on the back of his tongue as he turned back to Stretch, his heart pounding, and some cringing part of him expected to see that friendly face instead as the one that appeared sometimes in his worst dreams, a deathmask with one socket dark and blank, the other strobing orange with grim intensity.

But Stretch only looked like his normal self and when he spoke again, each word was calmly measured and deliberate. "i don't feel right. i think we should go."

Somehow, that was even more alarming, and his worry quickly overshadowed any lingering bad memories that were vying for his attention.

“Sure,” Jeff said, “right now.” He hopped down from the stool. Stretch pushed off from the bar and staggered, leaning hard against Jeff and thank fuck he was light because his height already made it awkward to hold him up. He started to call for the bartender, maybe there was someplace they could sit down in the back while he called Edge, when another guy came up next to them, helping hold Stretch up. Then another on Jeff’s side and he started to protest that he didn’t need help when a voice growled close to his ear.

"Don’t look at me. Keep your mouth shut or I'll kill you."

It was followed by the sensation of something hard butting into his ribs and this could not be happening. This did not happen in the real world, this wasn’t a Jason Bourne movie, there could not be a gun pressed to his side right now. Even his own fear was sitting on the sidelines, pushed out by disbelief as Jeff stumblingly followed the guiding arm around him leading towards the door. The crowd reluctantly parted and next to them, Stretch was shuffling along, his eye lights blown wide and fuzzily diffused. He started sagging, his skull lolling back on his shoulders and around them were murmurs, people starting to notice.

“Hey, what’s going on? Stretch?” From the direction of the bar, and Jeff glanced back wildly to catch the bartender watching with dawning concern. There was no time to say a word, to even mouth a desperate ‘help’ before he was forcibly swung back around and pushed through the door.

The cold night air was like a slap in the face, sobering, and fear was starting to sink its teeth in past his disbelief. The guy next to him was keeping back out of his line of sight and he could only barely see the one on Stretch, dark hair, taller, burly, did he have a gun, too, who were they and why—?

By the entrance, the bouncer looked up in surprise as they walked past. “Hey, Stretch, you guys, okay?”

“Fuck off!” The man holding onto Jeff barked and the gun swung towards the bouncer. There was a beat of incongruous silence broken by the strains of music coming from inside the bar, then a girl screamed, the waiting crowd scattering.

“Fuck! Get them in the car!” A different voice, loud and panicky and he caught another glimpse of dark hair before he was shoved forward again. He stumbled, almost falling to his knees among the cigarette butts that scattered the asphalt, and the memory of another parking lot was strong, the swell of panic gagging him.

He didn’t resist as he was pushed towards a van, the side door sliding open and then he was inside it, collapsing across the backseat.

Weight dropped directly on top of him with a clatter of bones and Jeff grunted, trying to push Stretch off of him enough to sit up. Only to lose his balance again as the van squealed away from the curb, the tangle of his own limbs catching with Stretch’s limp ones.

A new voice barked from the direction of the driver’s seat. “Get their phones, hurry up!”

Rough hands grabbing at them, and Jeff instinctively tried to recoil, but there was nowhere to go. His phone was yanked from his pocket and Stretch didn’t say a word, only breathing with a slurry snore into Jeff’s ear. There was the sound of a power window going down, of tires squealing against asphalt and the inside of the van was too dark to see.

Not that it mattered. Rough hands hauled Jeff upright and the person they belonged to was wearing a ski mask like a fucking heist cliché. Jeff choked back a hysterical laugh, but even panicked amusement took a backseat when ski mask demanded, “Okay, both of you need to strip.”

Jeff only stared in mute horror, barely comprehending as a duffle bag was suddenly thrust at them.

“Change into these,” Ski Mask ordered, “Don’t get any funny ideas.”

There was a pun there, Stretch would have been able to think of one. Would have if he wasn’t lying slumped across the seat. His sockets were still open, but his eye lights were dim and unseeing, the lights were on and no one was home, not quite a pun but it’d have to do.

“Please, don’t hurt him,” Jeff said. He tried not to look at the guy with the gun as he carefully opened the duffle and pulled out the clothes inside, choosing his words with the same care. “He’s…he’s fragile, just a punch and you could kill him. Please.”

“Then don’t make us do anything that’ll get him hurt.”

Good advice from a shitty source.

Jeff scrambled into the oversized t-shirt and sweatpants in the bag, then helped the other…what, kidnapper? Asshole was the strongest contender in his head and that was what Jeff went with. Helped Asshole #2 get Stretch change into his. The guy was brusque but not ungentle, at least, and the second they were finished, the van pulled up next to a dumpster. A fourth asshole sitting in the front seat hopped out, tossing all their clothes plus the bag into it. Four against two, not including guns, not the best odds. Like Jeff would have been much help even if it were mano a mano. He sure as hell wasn’t a fighter past panicked desperation and he wasn’t about to hinge Stretch’s life on that.

“Now, sit back and relax,” said Asshole With A Gun. “You two behave and no one gets hurt, okay?”

Jeff knew a lie when he heard one. He nodded anyway and huddled into the seat, one arm looped around Stretch to offer what feeble protection he could. His skull resting in Jeff’s lap was a familiar weight from movie nights and Netflix marathons. His unconsciousness was not, but he was alive, they both were. It was a place to start.

Jeff kept silent, petting the smooth curve of Stretch’s skull as he watched the streetlights flash by and waited to see what came next.

tbc

[scars-of-the-hart]

Tempest on the Shore: Shakarian angst on the Citadel

Her legs had finally stopped trembling. Shit. Shepard tried to hold onto the last tendrils of the woozy, tingling, mind-wiping high.  But it was like trying to hold water in cupped hands, it slipped away through the cracks no matter how tightly she tried to hold it, leaving emptiness behind. And the emptiness was loud. She let out a frustrated sigh and rolled over shifting to the edge of the bed, remembering exactly where she had dropped her pants and tank top. She hadn’t bothered with underwear for this in ages. 

“Um...excuse me?” Demanded the salarian in the bed pressing himself up onto his elbows.

Shepard gave him a puzzled frown.

The salarian (he had a name but she’d intentionally failed to commit it to memory) imperiously raised a scaled brow at her. “What the hell was that?”

“What?”

“That noise you made.”

“What noise?”

“You sighed.”

“Oh...um did I?”

The salarian scowled at her. “Yes, you did. Look honey, I don’t know what your problem is but two hours with me will not result in the most quad-rung overstimulated krogan feeling dissatisfied so you better get that little viscous crack looked at.” He narrowed his eyes at her, and cast a disgusted look between her legs. “Because it is the problem. Not. Me.”

Shepard just stared at him. She was tempted to pay him double because she was close to laughing, which was more of a service than anything he’d done in this bed. But the spark went out as quickly as it had come. 

She shook her head as she tucked a hand between her legs. Not too wet. Manageable for the walk back to the Normandy. That was the handy thing about salarians. The females created enough moisture of their own that the blokes were pretty dry in the bed. As she pulled her pants on she gave the salarain a hard look. “I appreciate that you take so much pride in your work, but you're worrying your giant head over nothing. You were great. Thanks.” He still looked pissed as hell. She vaguely tried to care, but just couldn’t.  “Keep to working with people's bodies, you’ve got no natural ability with their heads.”  She pulled her tank on, bound her tangled mane of red hair in a messy bun on top of her head, crossed to the door and waved her omnitool across the payment console. It registered her transfer of credits and the door clicked as it unlocked and hissed open. She gave the salarian a mocking salute as she left.

“See you in two weeks, freak.” He called after her, his voice full of venom.

She tried to ignore it. She wouldn't be back, she lied to herself as she made her way along the wards. The streets were wet from the rain that had been falling before she started her session with the salarian. The layer of moisture almost made this part of the Citadel beautiful. There was something about the extended blur of the neon lights that made them romantic, instead of just... seedy.  

 A human who passed her made the mistake of eyeing the motion of her breasts under her tank and she gave him a look that told him exactly what kind of retribution that attention merited. He turned instantly pale and hastily turned down a different street. She should care-about the way he had looked, or his reaction or...or anything.  She pushed away that thought as she tried to push away every other, shifting her focus to the way walking made her recently stimulated vagina feel. She shifted her stride, trying to stir any lingering feelings of pleasure, to tease out a last rush of dopamine, but it wasn’t working. Between the bitchy salarian, and the oggloing tool...or maybe it was just her. Just the empty, broken, piece of shit she was.   She glanced at the time on her omnitool. She had half an hour before the end of their shore leave. Fuck. She could be fast but that wasn’t going to give her enough time for a session with anything if she wanted to avoid judgmental looks from Miranda and the Cerberus goons for coming back late when she was the one who had threatened to depart without any stragglers. 

You know what, fuck it. I didn’t ask to come back from the dead. 

She pulled up the booking page that had become the top listing for her “frequently used” extranet sites, and started typing in her preferences. Doesn’t matter if I pay for a full session and only use a few minutes. What am I gonna do with credits when the Reapers get here? Try to pay them off?  She filled out the request sheet as she walked: either gender, cunnelingus.  There literally wasn’t time to fuck around with penetration. Species. The form asked. Shepard grunted impatiently, didn’t really matter, she just needed something waiting for her when she got to the back rooms of Chora’s Den.  She selected turian by accident, and then physically collided with one. 

Shepard rubbed her forehead where it had collided with the offending turian’s armor as pain lanced through her head. Ok, any lingering effects of the salarian generated dopamine were definitely gone now. She glowered up at the mandabled idiot she had run into, preparing a curt, ufelt apology, and fell silent as she caught sight of the glow of a blue visor. 

SHIT

“Commander…” Garrus’ browplates furrowed as he stared at her in surprise. Shepherd’s mind went completely blank as she just stared at him. His crystalline eyes widened in concern and more than a little shock. A steadying hand went to her arm and his rough tipped fingers round her brow, testing gently.  “Are you...I’m sorry I should have-”

Shepherd’s gut clenched and she quickly brushed away his hands. “Been watching where the fuck you were going. Yeah. Work on that.” His head cocked ever so slightly at her harsh tone, his eyes narrowing a fraction.  

“I’m sorry, Shepard.” His mandibles flared in irritation. “I was endeavoring to make it back to the Normandy as you-”

“-yeah, well if you're that careless while carrying out an order you're not gonna last two minutes against the Collectors.” She snapped.  His eyes narrowed further, every calculating thought clear in those eyes. Fucker. Shepard though. Her stomach clenched. She didn’t have time for this. She didn’t have the energy or the...anything, for this. “ I’ll have to put what’s left of your cold ass carapace in a box.”

And then she saw his chin set: slightly raised, head tilted ever so slightly to the right. His pissed off defensive posture. She was too tired and empty and furious and stressed and scared and- 

Shepard turned on her heel and started stomping towards the nearest tram station that would lead her to the Citadel docks.

“Yeah,” Garrus called after her, “if you can still afford a box and you haven’t spent every last Cerberus credit at Chora’s.”

Ice shot down her spine. She stopped, turned slowly and stared at the turian.  “Excuse me, Vakarian?”

His chin was still set. “I’m sorry, is there something inaccurate in my assessment?” He drawled.

She hadn’t ever been followed...not that she cared if she had, you just didn’t survive the shit she did and remain capable of not checking for tails and hostels and whatever.  She didn’t care. She shouldn’t care. Why would she care if he knew? Especially if it was Garrus. Garrus who had gotten his whole crew killed. Garrus who’s medical chart after taking a rocket to the face had shown just what crap the turian had been pouring into his body (well...Moria wasn’t going to point fingers there..unless certain taloned fingers were already pointing at her), but that wasn’t the point why should she care? Except he shouldn’t know.

She gritted her teeth. “I would say there is as I have no idea what you are talking about.”

His eyes were cold as they narrowed. He casually lifted the hand that had, only minutes ago, brushed tenderly against her forehead, and sniffed it. His nostrils flared. “Salarian. Human sweat, yours, by the way, we’ve spared enough for me to recognize it. “

“Oh, fuck you, Vakarian.” She spat. “I probably smell like you, dipshit, after running into you. Who the fuck do you think you are throwing accuzations at your commanding officer?”

“You do smell like me.” Garrus snarled, “but it's different, and there's also a little krogan, asari and batarian-” she opened her mouth to snarl at him but he spoke over her “-not that those are from today, or you, not quite in the same way as the salarian. My guess is those scents are left over from whoever else was in the room before you.”

Rage washed through ther. “If you want to get back on my ship you’ll shut that pincushion of a mouth right now.”

Garrus’ nostrils flared, and she didn't think it had anything to do with him smelling her this time. “You asked me to come aboard!”

“Yeah,” Shepard snarled, “and I remember someone saying that he couldn’t exactly doubt my judgement.”

“That was before you were fucking everything and anything on the wards.”

It was like the world bottomed out around her. Nothing existed but his eyes and those words. She saw fear flash through them for a second, before being replaced by that same rage as before. 

“And what the hell makes you think what I fuck is any of your goddamn business?”

There was some hurt in the rage. “Because I’m your friend Shepard.”

“Yeah. Friend. And crew. Neither of which has anything to do with the personal choices I make.”

“Look,” he said, “taking on the Collectors, everything with the Council, coming back from the dead I get that its a lot to deal with-”

Heat rushed through her cheeks. “And I'm dealing with it so back the hell off.” 

“You’re being reckless there’s-”

Why was this happening? Why was she having this conversation? Why did it matter- she shoved the thoughts a way and glared at him. “Don’t talk to me about “being reckless” Archangel.”

It was a direct hit. Garrus blinked, a different type of pain in his expression. Shepherd’s gut twisted. It was a low blow. A fucking dirty low blow. 

He looked away from her, staring out at the skycars soaring past the walkway, then gave her a long look out of the corner of his eye.  “You are reckless in the field. You are tense on the ship. Its behavior I recognize. I was there recently, as you have so kindly reminded me.”

She wanted to say something. But she didn’t. She just held his gaze.

He slowly closed the difference between them, staring down at her. She refused to give ground: she didn’t move her chin an inch, and continued to glare up at him. He tilted his head so that he could meet her gaze and said slowly. “I don’t care who you fuck.” They were inches apart. “I care why you make bad calls when you know there are better ones.” She couldn’t breathe. His long slow breaths tickled her nose. “You asked for my help.” The challenge in his eyes made her blood sing. “So I’m going to call you on your bullshit, Shepard.” 

He’d been the one to support her after Eden Prime. Someone who had seen through Saren’s lies on his own. The one she wanted on her side on every mission. The only one who hadn’t questioned her using Cerberus…An feelings the salarian had left in her body were gone, the vague numb bliss replaced with the electric currents those eyes sent racing through her. She was rooted to the spot and ready to rush him all at once. She wanted her hands on him, to tear, to push against that immovable impossible weight and solidness of him. That was what she wanted. She wanted something real, something strong, something constant, something she could unleash herself against without fear. Her lips parted as a breath escaped them, crashing against his like a wave. 

But something broke the spell between them and Garrus pulled back. “No one on that ship is in their right mind.” He said quietly. “I have a feeling we’re all going to have to grapple with spirits that haunt us if we want a shot at taking the fight to the Collectors and coming back in one piece.”  He gave her a last long slow look. “But I think you need to figure out what the hell you're actually fighting for.” And with that he turned away, walking towards the docs without so much of a backwards glance. His crest cast a long shadow on the ground in the slowly dimming lights of the Citadel promenade, and Shepard felt herself fall into darkness as it slipped away.

[smileyjaeminies]

Easy afternoons

Synopsis: After a trip to your orthodontist, you discover that you have to start wearing your retainer again. Once you break the news to your boyfriend Sunwoo, a shower of teasing comes over you.

Word Count:   1,6 k

Genre: fluff, boyfriend au!

Warnings: a few curse words

Member: Sunwoo

A/N: This may be the fastest I have ever written a fic but it’s for a good cause!! One of my good friends has her birthday today, so I’d like you all, along with this fic, to wish her a happy birthday!!! Babie, I hope this makes you smile~

  You were half lying- half sitting on your bed, music coming from your phone that was sitting on your nightstand. Laid on your lap was your tablet, in which you were doodling little nothings, trying to blow off some steam after a long day.

  Your music momentarily stopped to inform you that you had received a message and you groaned. You contemplated not checking your phone at all, but you were expecting your boyfriend to stop by any minute. You shuffled on the bed, reaching to get your phone on your hands.

  Without surprise, the very first notification belongs to your boyfriend.

   ☀️ woo

 I’ll be there in like 10 seconds

  Like clockwork, you heard a knock coming from the front door of your apartment. A low groan escaped from you once again as you pulled yourself out of bed and went to answer the door. Opening it revealed your boyfriend Sunwoo, in all his glory, black sweatpants and grey oversized hoodie, red hair in shambles.

  His smile made its way to your heart, as your own lips turned upwards.

  “When I said text me before you get here, I meant text me once you leave your house, not 5 seconds before barging into mine” you whined at him as he walked in and pulled you in a hug.

  “It was 10 seconds actually. In my defense, I knew I was going to be late so I didn’t want to get scolded” he said with a chuckle, ruffling your hair.

  “Fuck you” you teased, pushing him further in your small apartment.

  Sunwoo plopped down on your couch, getting comfortable in his seat as you went in the kitchen to get a glass of water. Once back in the living room, he looked up from his phone to you, beaming at you as you sat yourself next to him.

  “What’s on the agenda today?” he asked in a low voice, helping with the overall silence of your apartment.

  “Nothing really, I just wanted to see you” you confessed, snuggling up at him.

  “So, Mario Kart?” he offered.

  “You really wanna get your ass kicked this early on?” you teased him.

  “Ha! You wish! Loser buys pizza?” he asked again.

  “Sure thing, loser” you continued your teasing.

  After a few rounds of foul play from both of you, from planting kisses on the other’s lips to throwing their controllers away, you admitted defeat, leaving Sunwoo to run back and forth in front of your TV in a victory lap.

  Sitting square on top of you, he crashed you with his weight as you laughed, screaming at him to get off. He paid no mind to your words, proceeding to shower you with kisses. You stopped struggling, cupping his face with your hand as your lips found his.

  The kiss was soft and sweet, as you tasted your boyfriend’s favourite lip balm. Breaking away from the kiss, you said

  “Sunwoo, I seriously cannot breathe”

  “Oh, quit being such a baby” he told you.

  Nevertheless, he flipped your position, with you now laying on top of his chest. You kissed him again, running your hand through his hair and playing with it.

  “Y/N~. Pizza~” he sang and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

  “Fernando’s? The usual?” You asked as you opened the delivery app on your phone.

  Sunwoo nodded, getting up and stretching a bit.

  “Where’s the list? We should pick a movie” he asked.

  The list was a piece of paper on which both of you wrote down movies you wanted the other to see. Sometimes, there would be movies that you both were dying to see, others it would be old classic black and white movies you adored, or gangster movies Sunwoo had grown to love.

  “Oh, it’s on my bedside table. Somewhere under the lamp I think.” You said, waving your hand to the general direction of your room.

  He nodded, striding towards your room as you placed your order. When he came back, he had two things in his hands.

  “What’s this?” he asked and you looked closely at the items he was holding.

  One was definitely the list, the piece of paper neatly folded so many times it was close to tearing. On his other hand, he held the neon green case of your retainers.

  Previously this week, you had booked yourself your annual appointment to the orthodontist. Even years after removing your braces, you were still hung up on the habit of taking very good care of your teeth’s health. So when your orthodontist announced that you had to wear your retainer again you were disappointed. You thought you had been doing your best, but it felt like you were starting all over again.

  A blush crept up on your cheeks as Sunwoo stood before you, one hand on his hip, the other holding your retainer case, waiting for an answer.

  “That’s my retainer case” you said, trying to sound nonchalant.

  “I thought you were all done with that stuff. Hell, your teeth should be healthy as hell with the amount of floss you use” he said, sitting down.

  “Well it turns out all that floss started moving my teeth a bit. It’s no big deal. I’ll just wear the retainer for a while and it’ll be all good” you answered, trying to show that the conversation was clearly over.

  “Do you have a lisp when you wear it? I had the worst time, I could barely speak” he told you.

  “Yeah I do. But luckily, I’ll only wear it at night, so it won’t be a problem” you said.

  “Wear it now! I wanna hear it!” he said, shoving the case on your hands.

  “Sunwoo no-” you tried to say, but he pulled the puppy dog eyes immediately.

  “Please, please, please, just this once, I just want to hear you and I’ll stop I promise! I won’t even take a video of it I just want to hear your cute lisp please” he begged and you caved in.

  Without an answer, you just shook your head, trying desperately to fight the smile that was creeping up to your face as you pulled the retainer on.

  “What do you want me to thay?” you asked, flinching when you said ‘say’ wrong.

  Sunwoo was smiling so big, you thought his face would fall off. He got comfortable on the other end of the couch, hugging a pillow tightly as he thought about it. Ultimately, he gave you several phrases with lots of s’s in them. Every time you repeated a phrase, he’d drop his head on the pillow, half screaming and half laughing, then screaming at your face how cute you were before giving you another sentence.

  At first, you felt really self-conscious, even hating the sound of your voice. As Sunwoo started falling apart in front of you, showering you with praise and love, you begun feeling better. You didn’t enjoy the experience per se, but you found your boyfriend just as cute as he found you, so you felt better.

  “Okay, that’s enough” you said after a while, getting up and taking off your retainer.

  You left a pouting Sunwoo in the living room as you put the retainer back in its case and placed it on top of your nightstand. With just the right timing, the doorbell rung, announcing the arrival of the pizzas. You answered the door and paid the delivery man as Sunwoo chanted “FOOD, FOOD, FOOD” from the other room.

  You shook your head as you set the pizzas down, discovering that Sunwoo had already picked the movie. As you settled down, you smiled at the movie choice being one of Disney’s newest releases you had been dying to watch. Too invested in the movie, it wasn’t until after that you realized just how happy Sunwoo made you.

  Yes, he pushed your buttons, even making you enraged sometimes. But he also knew when enough was enough and every simple way to make you feel happy and at ease.

  As you laid in your bed that night, your mind filled with thoughts of your boyfriend, you decided to send him a somewhat different goodnight text.

  You

Hey. I just… Thank you for today? I really missed spending down time with you. And thank you for the retainer thing. I felt kinda iffy about telling you. You have such a magical way of making my mind stop racing and I couldn’t thank you enough.

Bottom line is, I love you, you idiot.

 ☀️ woo

I love you too. It helps that I can read you like an open book, you know. You ain’t sly girl.

Now go to sleep. You have classes tomorrow.

 You

Don’t tell me what to do, Kim.

    ☀️ woo

Can’t you just let me win for once? I’m trying so hard to be cute over here. How am I supposed to post them “texts like these🥰” screenshots when you keep jumping down my throat?

  You Where’s the fun in that? Plus, you wouldn’t have it any other way. So shut up. And go to sleep. You have classes tomorrow.

    ☀️ woo

I see what you did there.

Goodnight, Y/N~

[kaetastic]

CONFIDENCE

pairing: Avengers X Confident!Reader

summary: Confident?Reader leaves the Avengers shocked, even if you weren’t new to the team.

word count: 2.5k+

warning: sexual tensions

note: thank you so much for 300 followers! i wonder why people even bother to read crappy stories written by me. I needed to post something :( i was too lazy to re-edit this once again :D i dont know what this is but have a nice day!!

The faint buzzing of the refrigerator echoed through the pin-drop silence of a room, the commencement of hissing caused the soldier to jump at the abrupt interruption of his elongated train of thoughts. The air lingered peacefulness and with one glance out of the window, the view being the bar-like buildings was breathtaking. Especially at night. Steve glanced at the meandering rivers that shallowed itself onto the marble counter, the frigid slab holding a newly bought coffee maker. The inanimate object hums, it clicks like a thin melody of a stick tapping onto a music stand, one two three, before it extracted the liquid it was made to do. Clashing of the beverage with the cup rung through the air, the fresh aroma of coffee wafted through noses as it angrily huffed, filling the cup.

The paper that would smudge its ink on you with one swipe crinkled under the soldier’s furrowed eyebrows that he sent towards the machine. He didn’t make it. But his attention was like a fly’s, his eyes darted back to the words of different sizes. To be a superhero doesn’t mean to save lives only, it would be politically better to comprehend what was going on around you. Muffled footsteps onto the tiled floors slapped with echoes through the hallways.

“Sam?” He already knew who it was. With his familiarization of everybody’s way of steps, the way one would lay their foot on the ground creates distinct sounds, and super hearing- he could make out anyone with little to no doubt. His expected teammate appeared from the shadowed hallway; it was 7 a.m. in the morning and the only light shining onto the path was the light from the window on one side of the narrow hallway. It glimmered the dust particles that danced before settling on the ground. Stretches of faint layers of light ran from one side of the hallway to the other formed a dim smeared swatch of a rainbow.

The male hummed, groaning when light beamed onto his eyes even though he had closed it tightly- not wanting a single ray to infiltrate. His hands moved in a frenzy; his gestures caused Steve’s jaw to fall in confusion, it was as if a conductor was teaching a class very frantically. Although his eyes were shut tight, to what Steve had concluded, Sam did not want to open his eyes for he tried his best to meet the tabletop. Finally, he made contact with the counter, a groan fell off Sam’s lips when he accidentally slapped the hard surface. A slight wince diminished in the 100-year-old man’s head at the toes curling noise.

Giving up to the forces of the good (in his case the other team), he had finally adjusted to the lighting that blinded him nonetheless- Sam sat on the high chair with his steaming cup of coffee in his hand; swirly vapour evaporated from the beverage. Steve had finished absorbing information from the newspaper, nothing new. He crossed his arms, pushing his back to rest onto the couch. He admired the view that laid open in front of him. Too focused onto the small figures of people carrying on with their daily lives, his breath hitched and he nearly jumped off the couch when an arm wrapped around his neck.

“Good morning.” The waft of a familiar breath glossed his cheeks. As if embedded into the walls of his mind, the intoxicating scent of the perfume prodded him. Eyes darted to the corner, to meet the person who has been disturbing thoughts lately, which used to be organized and collective with filters. Heart screamed, he quickly turned his gaze in an attempt to avoid the attraction that strung between both of them.

Slightly pitchy, he mumbled, “Good morning.” The rosy warmth grew on his cheeks, it raised to settle below his eyes. He tried his best to focus on the paper that rested on his lap, he really did- trying his hardest to write the bolded letters in his head to be distracted. It didn’t work. The soft breathing glazed his ears, his hairs erected to salute the wind. Y/N smiled at his mild response. Slight disappointment diminished in him when the weight on his shoulders had eradicated. A smirk played on her lips when his head snapped back to whip around- searching for her.

His cheeks grew redder like lava. It beamed heat and his widened eyes stared into hers’ calm ones. A mute gasp fell off his lips when she had tugged the paper into her grip, throwing herself onto his lip as a seat. As if the other surrounding seats were non-existent. She hummed in satisfaction, finding a comfortable position on him, opening the paper wide for him to see the text he had re-read again and again, moments snipped as she had intruded his mind, “Could you please read it for me?”

The blaring sirens in his head sent one message: to calm down his heartbeat, she could’ve definitely heard it, not missing a pace- for her head rested on the nape of his neck, strands of hair prickling his skin; her breath grazed him. Just like a summer’s day, the wind breathing onto the grass. As soon as his mouth gaped open and a letter had slipped off the edge of his lips, the mini earthquake sent onto the glass table vibrated into their ears.

Relief filled the soldier while she let out a loud sigh, hoping he was not oblivious to such sounds. Before he had the chance to turn around, to pick the cause of the interruption, was it a saviour if he craved her more? His breath hitched. Y/N’s legs rested around his waist, straddling him with slight tightness. All the tension that ran through his muscles froze, it stopped. She groaned, pushing her body forward, fingers grazing over the table; the short distance between her fingers and the phone frustrated her. Steve didn’t know how to react. As if he was still in the ice. He wasn’t bothered, not knowing himself that he had rested his gaze on her chest, that had been pushed hairbreadth away from his face. A gulp descended down his throat.

The skimpy tanktop she wore dragged down, displaying her indigo bra- Steve whipped his head, hoping she did not accuse him of suspiciousness, “Hello?” Almost like an irritated sigh, she inquired the person on the end of the line.

Whenever he would in be in her presence, or ball of aura- he noticed he’d always space out. Possibly why he didn’t bother pushing her away, his headspace was in the middle of nowhere. He was lost. Y/N let out a loud laugh, cackling as the joke echoed through her ears. Fiddling with locks of his soft hair, she played with it as the conversation seemed to continue.

Another protocol broken, a siren blared in his head as she had jumped from excitement and laughter. He let out a groan at the abrupt pressure on his shaft, “Shh!” If she wasn’t right in front of him, he would’ve rolled his eyes. Y/N knew what she was doing, but she liked pushing all the buttons on the elevator.

A part of the 100-year-old man hoped, crying out loud as it pleaded for the moment to linger longer. He knew there was no point of holding on to the hope. She stood up and her figure faded away into the shade of the walls. All alone, once again. Massaging his temples, he let out a sigh laced followed by a frustrated groan.

Y/N would be the death of him.

Pants rang through the crevice of the training room, slamming of fists onto the punching bag echoed, bouncing off the tall walls. The red-haired assassin let out a huff, throwing another punch towards the victim. Her eyes narrowed and concentrated at the targets she aimed onto the object, veins that ran through her fingers pumped blood heavily. 

“Woah, easy there.” Not bothered to even take a short glance at the person who had intruded her focus, just by the soft-toned voice- she could make out who it was for it had engraved the walls of her well-built walls. However, she did not let the figure falter her training, even though it took everything in her not to turn around and stare into her eyes.

A few more punches towards the sand-filled bag, she finally pulled away, slight joy sparked accompanied by relief, as the words in her head formed the sentence that fell off her lips, “Hydra won’t go easy on us.” Y/N hummed, nodding her head as she agreed at her true statements. Strapping off the velcro straps, Natasha bent down- under the strings of the boxing ring, making a quick eye-contact that sparked electricity. The sight of Y/N in a tank top, the prominent blue bra making an appearance left her breathless despite working out, leaning against the doorframe- drained all of the energy in the assassin.

She was a magnet. Not a second would she deny the fact. Y/N’s lips faltered to an ‘o’ shape as the abrupt realization railed over her head, “Right,” Pacing towards Natasha, who stood in front of the sink, contracting and relaxing her fingers at the constricted space in the glove caused a numb feeling that lingered in the muscles. She rested her elbow on the frozen-tiled counter, batting her eyes towards the assassin. “I came to tell you that,” Y/N bit her bottom lips, almost contemplating if she should say it, already looking at the endless of possibilities, taking a whole list of page. Pushing her lips to hover over her ears, a tingle cascaded down Natasha’s spine. “I think they switched our laundry, your bras are... kinda in my drawer.” 

With widened eyes, the assassin whipped her head. Firstly, the confusion had diminished to welcome the redness rise- curtaining her pale cheeks just like the colour of her hair, “Huh?” Somehow, not surprised, she has managed to steal her breath away.

“At least it’s in my room...,” Y/N placed her hands on the counter, leaning her body on Natasha’s back, her head resting on her padded shoulder. “Wouldn’t know how I would react if it was in someone else’s room,” Shivers prickled down the red-haired, hair saluting the air; lips gaped open as damp warmth settled in her panties. “Do you... want me to bring it to your room? Or are you coming to mine?” The tone of her voice was sultry, delicate, causing inappropriate thoughts to be projected in Natasha’s mind- not even a shake of her head, would the ideas jump out.

Running down her hand from her waist, Y/N bit her bottom lips as she left her eyes to watch her performance, which she hoped wouldn’t last quickly, “I think I’ll come to your room.” With a satisfied smirk, she walked away, leaving Natasha’s eyebrows to crash against each other like a pair of waves. Oh, she was playing her like the strings of a guitar.

Letting out a loud huff, the billionaire’s eyebrows creased to curl upwards. The ball of aura that sprinkled around him sparked static electricity, a way of warning people he was busy. Even though they knew that was when he was serious, there were some, very few, who ignored such signs like transparent glass. Fiddling with the floating holograms, his hands pushed the thin air. Faint vibration echoed through the floors as it rolled through the trash can.

Tony pushed himself back, arms crossed as he scanned the vast table- that seemed to be messy. Although he has worked on this for hours, he couldn’t find the logistics and method correct. If one dared to comment on the project, he would’ve smacked someone. But he IS Tony Stark. A groan echoed.

His heart jumped out of his chest, thumping outside of his body as a pair of arms wrapped around him, “What’cha doing?” Out of all the team members of the Avengers- Tony seemed to be the only one who had accepted or looked comfortable with skin contact. As if he was left untouched and unbothered, not a muscle contracted at the abrupt addition of voice to the thin air.  

“Just trying to configure these sequences, they don’t match up. It wouldn’t make any sense whatsoever to even use this piece of trash,” He hissed, grabbing the hologram before flinging it towards the trash can. “I need this to compliment one another.”

Grabbing the thin air, he shook his two hands, shooting beams at the two objects, “Well... maybe you should relax a bit,” Already stressed with the frustrating project, his body had exuded scorching heat, generated by the irritation. How did it manage to increase in temperature, he did not find the answer. Her hands ran the side of his body, accidentally allowing her fingers to brush over his twitching shaft.

His breath hitched.

“Don’t you start something you cannot finish.” Almost a growl, it rumbled off his lips, his fingers wrapped around her wrist. Even though knowing how he would respond, she tugged her hand. With little to no effort, Tony’s body twirled around. Stopping his escape, she placed her hands to trap him in.

“Oh, but I know I can finish it.” With a quirk of the corner of her lips, she leaned in closer towards his chest before slamming her fingers onto the glass table. A loud hissing rung from the device as it followed the instructions it has been encrypted to do. The door to the lab now sealed tight. Natasha would just have to wait.

Soft squeaking by the shoes filled the empty air, she bit her bottom lip in contemplation. Was she really doing this? The heavy basket in her arms weighed down, glancing at the pile of belongings that was not hers. The redness crept up to her cheeks as she played the memory of opening her drawer to find skimpy choices of clothing and... intimacy. She was entering a lion’s den, allowing herself to enter an obvious trap. Clearing her throat, her hands hovered over the door, mouth gaped open- ready to ask for permission to enter. However, it creaked to an open. Natasha’s eyebrows clashed in confusion, Y/N never let her door wide open.

The tightening anticipation curled her heart, balancing her life on a frail line to save the world is one thing, but entering Y/N’s room is another. Maybe worse. Her plan that she had rapidly formed over the span of hours was simple. Get in, take her stuff and leave. Even though she had already scanned the room that resembled like those of the building, she dared not to step in for she knew what she would get herself into. 

Resting her hands on the doorframe, her head peaked, bopping up and down. Toes strained, aching as a familiar shock pass through it so she could get some height to overlook the bed that covered what was behind it. Finally, her eyes landed on a basket, filled with her items she had come to retrieve. As if she was making a loud commotion, the bathroom door yelped as it was pushed open.

Out came Y/N with a sheer silk robe draped over her skin that had been displayed with no doubt. A smirk played on her lips, “Why don’t we play first?”

[scgdoeswhat]

The First Solstice – Beckett x Clarette

Summary: Beckett and Clarette celebrate their first holiday season under the same roof.

Rating: T

Words: 3065

Author’s Notes: Happy Holidays!!! Complete and unadulterated fluff that takes place post Penderghast. That is all 😂

Hope you all enjoy! Beckett doesn’t belong to me (unfortunately), but the story does. No Beta used.

Sorry if the “Read More” link isn’t working. It’s Tumblr’s fault, not mine!

Tag list: @xo-endlessmayhem-xo @grungeisntmything @friendlylilshipper @felmasri @numberonepoetryexpert @hellomynameisdevi @beckettbaguette @siegrrun @choicesthatplayyou @retroangxl @askdana @50shadesofraleigh @darley1101 @kamybelen-blog @herdecisions @artchoicesreblog @teenytinymagician @choicesfannatalie @itsstillnotwhatyouthink @abigailpoe @flyawayboo @brightpinkpeppercorn @gardeningourmet @harringtons-honey @manateemilk @queenodysseia @thatcatlady0716 @divergentofhogwarts @pottershat @topsyturvy-dream @choicesyouplayandmore @zeniamiii @never-neverland @drakewalkerfantasy @syltti78 @elementalistshoe @maxwellsquidsuit @sleepingpillcorporation @tabithacarlisle @ludextruction @pbmychoices @wickedgypsymoon @mistychoices @izzycheeese @lady-kato @fluffy-marshmallow-heart @adrian-rainess​ @walkerismychoice @thefirstcourtesan @drakesensworld​ @laceandlula​ @rhymesmenagerie​ @shainaa00​ @princessstellaris​ @itsbrindleybinch​ @donutsgirl36​ @liamzigmichael4ever​ @mckenzie-powell​ @sunflowergirl05​ @justendlesssummerfeels​ @friedherringclodthing​ @choicesarehard​ @desiree-0816​ @elanorwaverley @aworldoffandoms​ @mrsbriarmarlcaster​ @star-adorned​ @wiselight @cloacasexual @thequeenofcronuts​  @slytherclawwarrior @mslarimone

Please let me know if you want to be tagged/removed on future fics and I’ll tag anyone I may have missed in the comments. Thank you!

 The early morning sun rose in the distance, the rays of light casting an ethereal glow over the fresh snow that had fallen overnight. Across the landscape, fat, fluffy cardinals and blue jays flittered to and fro; the little balls of red and blue adding to the dots of greenery that were peeping out of the blank canvas of white powder just beyond the large bay window.

Beckett hummed to himself in a hushed tone, putting the finishing touches on the first of his many gifts to Clarette. His eyes darted about the spread he had made himself, satisfied with the final product. With a point of his finger, he enchanted the decorations and candles to light when she entered the living area later that morning. He padded back to their bedroom, peeling his clothes off by the bedside to keep the facade of him being asleep the whole time.

Crawling back into bed, Beckett smiled to himself as he kept his movements silent with the aid of some quick air magick to mask any sounds. He looked down at Clarette with tenderness, his gaze roving over his sleeping girlfriend's figure that was burrowed under the blankets. Her dark, luscious hair was spread out in contrast to the pale blue of the pillow, her lips slightly parted in her deep slumber. As he slid under the covers, it was automatic for Clarette to turn towards the heat of his body, her arm wrapping around his torso while her head nestled onto his chest. He brushed her hair back and kissed the top of her head, his other arm holding her close, caressing the soft skin of her bare back with the lightest of touches.

He closed his eyes in an attempt to get a few more minutes of sleep, knowing full well that Clarette was going to wake up uncharacteristically early on this special day, even though they had both fallen asleep only a few hours prior. The corner of his mouth lifted with the memories they had created earlier that night, the specialness of sharing their first Solstice while living together under the same roof fresh in his mind.

The evening had started out innocent enough as they headed to the LeFleur household earlier that day. What he was going to wear to her family’s place never crossed his mind, assuming a blazer and tie would suffice. He was about to throw on a crisp button-down shirt when he saw Clarette walk out in one of the ugliest sweaters he had ever laid eyes on. The red sweater had a lone reindeer on the front, its antlers bedazzled with rhinestones, with a geometric design of white snowflakes covering the rest of the jumper. The only saving grace of her entire outfit was the pair of skintight leggings she paired them with.

Beckett’s jaw fell agape in horror. “What in the world are you wearing?”

“Beckett, your face!” His reaction brought her to tears of laughter, her almond eyes crinkling in amusement. “Did I forget to tell you? It’s my ugly Christmas sweater! And you might as well save the suit and tie for your parents’ dinner tomorrow. Tonight, we’re doing Christmas LeFleur style.”

Quirking an eyebrow in response, he removed his shirt, placing it back on the hanger. He stood shirtless in front of their closet, mulling over what to wear now that his original outfit had been dashed. “What, then, constitutes a ‘LeFleur style’ Christmas?”

“Well, for starters,” she sauntered over to him, placing her hands on his chest before sliding them up his muscular frame and around his neck. “There’s no need for a fancy schmancy blazer. I mean, we’re a family who wears onesies for Christmas, remember? A sweater’s fine,” she giggled. “Though I’ll tell you what. If it wasn’t the holidays, I’d suggest we just stay home because I’d much rather see you in this state of undress any day of the week.”

Going up on her tiptoes, she brushed her lips against his in a slow, seductive manner, smiling when he moaned into her mouth. She unwound her arms and pulled back with one final peck, watching his eyes open slowly, the hazel grey hues now tinged with desire. “Except that it is the holidays, so you need to finish getting ready. And as much as I appreciate your exquisite physique, I don’t think the rest of my family would appreciate you showing up without a shirt.”

Taking a quick look through the closet, her fingers rummaged through the hangers before landing on a charcoal, cashmere, V-neck sweater. She handed him the piece of clothing before she walked out of the room, tapping his toned ass with the back of her hand for good measure.

He shook his head with a grin on his face as he heard her laughing to herself down the hall. She was absolutely ridiculous, and he loved her for it.

A couple of hours later, Beckett and Clarette walked hand in hand up the driveway towards a modest, one-story, ranch style home in the middle of suburbia. The surrounding neighborhood houses all had simple lights and decorations strung up along their roofs, the neighborhood giving off a different and distinct feel compared to the affluent community he grew up in. While he knew they had different upbringings, this was the first real opportunity to experience her life before Penderghast and before him. He exhaled deeply, letting out a breath he didn't even know he was holding as they approached the front door.

Taking the keys out of her purse, Clarette stopped before ascending the front steps. He took the step up, only to notice she had paused in her gait, causing him to halt and rejoin her on the bottom rung.

“Is everything alright?” He held her gloved hand, clutching it for support.

“I was about to ask you the same thing. I heard that breath you let out, you know. And don't even try to deny it.” A crease of worry lined her forehead as she glanced up at him.

“I’m afraid I might be overthinking things again. How do you know me so well?” Wrapping his arms around her, he squeezed her in the ridiculous puffer coat that she wore over the ugly reindeer sweater.

“Because I always have. I just know you.” She hugged him back, breathing in his scent.

“I suppose I might be slightly nervous, this being the first Solstice that your family has invited me to,” he confessed.

“You have no reason to be. You've already met my entire family and they love you. Even Atlas does, although she'd never admit it.”

“I know you're right, but I can't help but seek your family's approval at all turns.”

She tilted her head up at him, cupping his jaw. “And you already have it. They want what's best for me and you're it.”

He beamed, her words relieving some of the pressure that he had placed on himself. Leaning down, he placed a gentle kiss on her lips. “How did I get so lucky with you?” He murmured before grazing his lips over hers once more.

She responded with fervor, her hand sliding from his jaw to the base of his head, the other gripping the soft cashmere of his sweater underneath his black pea coat. “How about we call it even and say we both got lucky.” 

Stepping back, she smoothed the fabric down his chest, straightening his sweater out while taking the opportunity to feel his hard body underneath her fingertips. “By the way, I really love this on you. It brings out your eyes and just so you know, I'm going to be imagining tearing it off of you all night long until we get home later.”

Laughing, his eyes lit up with desire before looking down at the mocking reindeer on the front of her sweater, its obnoxious, bejeweled eyes glittering back at him. “And I can't wait to tear that hideous thing off you either.”

As if on cue, the door opened, revealing a reindeer-onesie-wearing Atlas just in time to catch Beckett's words. Her smile turned upside down and her eyes darted between the happy couple, glaring at the pair. She stepped aside, letting them into the house.

“I was going to say I've missed having you around the place for the holidays, but Harrington just reminded me why I don't. I was going to ask what took you so long, but I think I already know the answer. And no, I don’t want any details.”

Clarette hung her and Beckett's coats up, glomping her sister with lightning quick speed before the fair-haired twin could dodge her advances. “I've missed you too, sister! And don’t worry, we weren’t late because we weren’t having sex, if that’s what you were implying!”

Beckett coughed, clearing his throat. “Clarette, must you verbalize that? What if your parents heard you?!”

Atlas squirmed out of her touch, scowling at them both. She shook her head before her mask broke and a hint of a smile appeared. “Sometimes I really hate you, you know that.”

“What did your sister do now?” An amused voice echoed from inside the house, the footsteps getting louder as they approached the entryway. Their biological mother came into view, donning an apron and looking like an advertisement for ‘Better Homes & Gardens’ instead of being the almighty Sun Source.

Theia hugged her Sun-Att daughter hard, rocking her back and forth in the embrace, keeping in line with actions of the affectionate mother she had become. “Clarette! It's like I never see you anymore once you moved out!”

Clarette rolled her eyes, grinning as she hugged her mother with the same gusto. “What are you talking about? I just saw you two days ago!”

“But it's different when I was used to seeing you every day for past Solstice breaks!” She let her go, turning to Beckett with a stern expression, the ancient Sun Source power radiating from her mortal form, “And you, Beckett Harrington, I hope you've been treating Clarette well.”

“Yes, yes of course, I have, I - ” he stammered, “- always! With the utmost respect!”

Theia broke out into laughter, gathering Beckett into a hug. “You should've seen your face! Clarette is right, you are fun to tease!”

Beckett sputtered, his ears turning pink as he returned the hug for a moment before taking his place back at Clarette's side. “Well, at least now I know the teasing is hereditary,” he joked, an easy smile coming to him.

She clasped her hands, an action she did to control herself when she could feel her Sun energy spiking with joy. “In all seriousness, I'm glad you were able to join us, Beckett. I do have one question for you, though, before we all go help with the cookies in the back.”

“Yes?”

Clarette jostled when she saw the shit eating grin creep onto her mother's face. “Mom…”

“So... when are you going to pop the question?”

“MOM. OH MY GOD!”

Beckett could feel the red color his cheeks and he never had the chance to reply as Clarette grabbed his arm, pulling him towards the kitchen.

The rest of the evening went swimmingly, with lots of love, laughs, and a frightening number of cookies and egg rolls being consumed. They arrived back at their townhouse a bit before midnight, where Clarette still had a warm buzz going after too many glasses of spiked eggnog.

The tree in the corner glowed under the sparkling lights that were draped on the branches, the dimmed room illuminated by the soft, silver sheen of the tinsel. Presents wrapped in foil, paper and tissue were piled under the greenery, the scent of fresh pine, cinnamon, and allspice filling the area.

They sat on the sofa, watching the flames of the fire dance and leap from across the room, the heat warming them up from the cold outside. The fireplace crackled in the comforting silence; the sound was a soothing melody as they reflected on their first holiday living together so far. This night and the morning to come was a nice respite from all their familial obligations through the Solstice season.

Beckett raised his arm, allowing Clarette to snuggle into his warmth and he rubbed her back as she nestled into his nook. She traced imaginary patterns on his sweater, only stopping when he laced his fingers with hers, kissing the back of her hand before stroking it with his thumb.

“Thanks for coming tonight. It really meant a lot to me and I am so sorry she put you on the spot like that, I had no idea she was going to go there.” She buried her face into the crook of his neck, still reeling from the embarrassment of earlier.

“The question that your mother asked me?” He kissed the top of her head, a low chuckle rumbling from him. “There's nothing to apologize for. It is something we have discussed in the past, is it not?”

Raising her head, she looked into the depths of his eyes. “Yeah, it is, but I don't want you to feel pressured into asking just because societal norms tell you to do it. I'm not going anywhere.”

He hummed in agreement, noticing the sincerity in which she spoke those words. “You're the only thing in the world that I don't feel pressure from. And when I do ask the question, I want it to be as perfect as possible because that's what you deserve.”

She sat up, running a hand through his hair before studying his face. The fire may have been reflecting in the gloss of his eyes, but it was an internal heat that she recognized as she cupped his warm cheeks between her palms. She brought his lips to hers, faintly tasting the gingerbread they had from earlier.

Tangling his hand into her dark mass of hair, he pulled her onto his lap and she straddled him, her knees on the outside of his hips as she pressed herself against his hard body. He groaned at the contact, his head falling back while she rubbed herself on him. Straightening up, he ran his hands down the curves of her body, this time making her sigh in pleasure as he attached his mouth to her neck, kissing and nibbling her skin before he captured her mouth once again.

With a smirk, he pulled off the atrocious sweater, the night air causing goosebumps to raise on her skin. “Finally,” he chuckled, his hands and mouth covering the newly exposed expanse of flesh. She undulated under his touch, ripping off his top as she had earlier promised, running her hands over his strong, taut frame.

They ended up making love on the couch, and twice more in bed, which brought him back to this exact moment, except he now felt Clarette stirring in his arms. He heard the deep, contented sigh that signaled him she was waking, and he closed his eyes feigning sleep.

She kissed his chest, right over his heart, before trailing her lips up with the softest of touches, culminating with a slow, lingering kiss. “Morning, sleepyhead.”

He responded after a moment, a moan originating from deep within his throat as he wrapped an arm around her, holding her tight. “Hmmm, you're up early.”

She propped herself above him, her arms on either side of his head, leaning down to give him a quick, smattering of pecks on his face. “It's our first Christmas together. Do you know what that means?”

“Tell me.” His hands rested on her waist as she hovered above him.

“It means presents!”

He gave her a lazy grin, his thumbs rubbing minute circles against the supple skin of her hips. “I don't know if anything could top the present you gave me last night.”

Giggling, she bent down, their mouths meeting. “I'd have to agree, that was a great gift, but I'm talking about things you unwrap and stuff!”

Pulling her close for more, he laughed in between kisses. “I don't want to get technical, but I'm relatively sure we both did some unwrapping last night.”

“You're ridiculous,” she tittered, before placing a final kiss on his lips. “And I love you for it.” Bounding off the bed, she threw her fluffy robe over her nude body, securing it closed with a knot around her waist. “I'll make some coffee while you get up?”

“Certainly. Give me a second.” He put the shirt and pajama pants that he had removed not even 20 minutes ago back on, proud of himself that Clarette had no clue what he had been up to that morning. Walking down the hallway, the smile on his face grew as he heard her exclamation from the breakfast nook. As he entered the dining area, he was greeted with her running towards him.

Clarette threw her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist as he hoisted her up with no effort. She peppered kisses all over him, the smile on her face worth its weight in gold.

“When did you have time to do all this? And how?” She gestured to the dining table, which was chock full of waffles with fresh strawberries and whipped cream, plates with sizzling bacon and eggs, and two steaming mugs of peppermint mocha. “Not only were you asleep, but you said you can't cook!”

He led her to the table, pulling her chair out before sitting next to her. Holding her hand, he ghosted his lips over her knuckles. “I was thinking, wouldn't it be nice to start our own traditions? So, I taught myself how to make your favorite breakfast. I hope everything turned out to your specifications.”

Clarette placed her free hand on his cheek, gleaming at him in wonder. Their eyes never left each other as he placed a sweet kiss to her palm.

“It's absolutely perfect,” she whispered, never taking her eyes off him.

Leaning in towards each other, their eyes fluttered shut as they shared a soft kiss full of hope, promise and love.

“Merry Christmas, Clarette.” Beckett rested his forehead against hers, both relishing the peace and serenity of this moment, as well as the deep connection they shared.

“Merry Christmas, Beckett. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

[ladyfogg]

May I? - 1/?

May I? - 1/?

Fic Summary: Ensign Faith Diaz struggles to hide her mental illness from her fellow shipmates aboard the Enterprise until an intrigued Data goes out of his way to try to understand her behavior. At his insistence, Faith tries to figure out what she's truly passionate about and eventually seeks the professional help she needs. Fic Masterpost.

Fic Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Data/Female OC

Warnings: tw: depression, tw: anxiety, fluff, friends to lovers, eventual smut

A/N: Hey guys! I have this fic posted over on AO3 already but thought I’d post it here as well. Currently there are 12 chapters. This fic is ongoing and while I have a clear arc/story in the works, I haven’t decided when it will end. I’m just kind of going with it. This story has been my support fic throughout this whole fucking quarantine mess and I’ve been having a lot of fun writing it. I’ll be posting all the chapters so far throughout the week. 

It may seem that everyday something happens aboard the Enterprise. It was almost like every week it was an invasion, a messy political shift, a weird time distortion loop, hostile negotiations...the list went on and on. However, in reality, there was a lot of time when nothing happened. When the ship glided through space effortlessly and the crew fell into a steady routine. Occasionally, they stopped at a planet to gather samples or map it. But other than that, all was quiet. 

It was on one of those routine days that Data found himself in Engineering, helping Geordi with several re-calibrations. They were minor modifications the two had wanted to implement for some time yet had not been able to.

All had gone according to plan and they were in the process of completing their work when Geordi stood up straight, a triumphant smile on his face.

"All set," he declared. "The conductors are functioning five-percent higher than normal. We should run a level one diagnostic just to be sure but there shouldn't be any issues."

"I agree. Readings are well within standard parameters," Data concluded, fingers dancing across the console. 

"I asked Diaz to do a manual sweep just to be sure," Geordi said. "I haven't heard from her yet but it doesn't seem like anything is out of place." He tapped his communicator. "La Forge to Ensign Diaz, what's the status of your sweep?"

Geordi waited for a response but one did not come. He tapped his communicator again. "Ensign Diaz, report!"

Nothing.

Data had only known Ensign Diaz in passing but he recalled Geordi's increasing frustration with the new crew member. She did not seem to have the same level of skills as some of her fellow engineers and her behavior had been less than exemplary.

"Where is she?" Geordi muttered. "Computer, locate Ensign Diaz."

" Ensign Diaz is located in Jefferies Tube 42B."

"Now what the hell is she doing in there?" Geordi said with exasperation. "And why isn't she answering?"

Data cocked his head as he ran through all possible scenarios. "I have calculated two hundred and thirty possible reasons for Ensign Diaz's behavior. One, she found a structural issue that she decided to correct. Two, one of the conductors may be showing signs of stress the computer cannot detect. Three—"

"Thanks, Data. I get it," Geordi cut him off. "Well, whatever the reason, I'm going to find out what's going on."

He had barely taken a step away from the console when his own communicator beeped. "Riker to La Forge, meet me in Transporter Room One. Prepare to beam to the planet's surface."

Geordi sighed but responded, "Aye, Commander. On my way."

Data saw Geordi glance in the direction Ensign Diaz had gone. "I am not required on the Bridge until oh-eight hundred hours. I can locate Ensign Diaz for you," he offered.

Geordi looked relieved and gave his best friend a smile. "That'd be great, thanks, Data. I'll be back as soon as I can." He gave him a pat on the back as he walked by. 

Data finished his work a second later before heading to the tubes. He found one of them already open and climbed inside. 

He did not see any signs of the ensign so he proceeded forward. 

"Ensign Diaz?" he called, his voice echoing off the metallic walks around him. 

He came across her communicator a short distance away, sitting at the bottom of a ladder. Frowning, Data picked it up and examined it. It did not look damaged and a quick diagnostic revealed it was in working order. He continued his search.

When he climbed the ladder, he was met with the sight of Ensign Diaz, deeply engrossed in one of the panels on the wall.

"Ensign Diaz?" he asked.

She spun around in surprise. Once she realized who spoke, she tried to straighten up, though it was difficult in such a tight space. 

"Commander Data! What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question." Data held up her communicator. "I found this in the shaft behind us. I believe it is yours."

Diaz touched the spot on her uniform where it should have been as if she had not known it was missing.

"Thank you. It must have slipped off when I was climbing." She took it from him, pinning it back in place.

"Why are you in the tubes? Commander La Forge asked me to find you. He said you were told to do a manual sweep."

"I was a-and I did," Diaz stuttered, tucking a loose strand of dark hair back into her braid. "While I was doing so, I noticed one of the panels was out of alignment. Physically. I-I tried to correct it. It wouldn't budge so I decided to try to get it from the other side."

"I see." Data moved forward to check her work. Sure enough, he could see where the unit was off-center. "Most curious. That should not be possible."

"That's what I thought. But I can't seem to get it back into place." 

Data knew what was going to happen before it did. Yet even with his quick reflexes, he was not able to prevent the accident. 

Diaz did not have a proper grip on the part when she tugged on it. She had been perspiring and as a result, her hands slipped. The momentum sent her forward, where she smashed her head on the metal edge of the unit.

She screamed in pain, hand pressed to the spot as Data pulled her away. "Son of a bitch!" she exclaimed.

"Are you alright?" Data asked.

"Aside from seeing stars, I think so. Let's just fix the stupid thing and get out of here."

"I will handle it." Data carefully released Diaz, letting her rest against the tube wall while he took her place. Within seconds he fixed the situation, securing the unit into its proper position before determining it was in perfect working condition.

"My readings indicate everything is in working order," he said as he moved his tricorder over the unit. "Good work, Ensign."

"Thanks," Diaz said, removing her hand from her head.

Data looked at her, only to realize her forehead was smeared with blood.

"Ensign Diaz, you are bleeding."

"What? No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are. I believe you injured yourself when you hit your head."

"It's not that…" She looked at her hand, the color draining from her face when she saw blood on her palm. "...bad."

Data put his recorder in his pocket and made a move to tap his communicator but she stopped him. 

"No, wait! Don't!"

"Ensign, you are bleeding. I must contact sickbay."

"Honestly, I'm okay. I just need something to wipe up the blood. I'll be fine."

"I insist."

Diaz sighed and Data noted her eyes looked glossy. He wondered if the injury was more severe than she was letting on. 

"Let's at least get out of this stupid tube," she said. "I promise I'll walk there myself."

"That would be acceptable. As a precaution, I will accompany you to Dr. Crusher."

He motioned for her to move ahead and the pair began to backtrack. It was slow work as Diaz was careful not to leave a trail of bloody handprints in their path. When it came time to climb the ladder, Data insisted on going first so he could monitor her in case she needed help. 

He kept his eyes on Diaz, looking for any signs of distress while she descended. He noted her balance was unsteady. She rocked slightly and had to pause several times. During one of those times, she shut her eyes, arms wrapped around the rung in front of her.

"Ensign Diaz—"

"Please, call me, Faith. I never liked formal titles very much."

"As you wish. Faith, are you experiencing dizziness?"

"Sir, I'm fine."

Data found himself making a noise of disbelief. "No. You are not."

Faith cracked her eyes open, glancing down at him and Data saw her arms trembling as she tried to keep herself up. "Commander?"

"Yes?"

"I think I might pass out."

Her eyes rolled back in her head and her grip loosened, sending her tumbling off the ladder. For the second time, Data caught her in his arms. Quickly he tapped his communicator.

"Data to Transporter Room Two. I need immediate transport for two to sickbay. Current location Jefferies Tube 42B."

"Aye, Commander!" O'Brien's voice answered. "I'll have you there in a jiff."

A second later, Data found himself standing in the middle of sickbay, Faith's limp body in his arms. Dr. Crusher whirled around, eyes widening when she saw them.

In an instant she was at their side, scanning Faith. "What happened?" she demanded.

"Faith hit her head. She became weak and lost consciousness."

"How long ago?"

"The injury took place approximately ten minutes ago. She has been unconscious for thirty seconds."

"Data, get her up on the bed for me."

As he carried her across the room, her eyes fluttered open.

"Ugh, where am I?"

"You are in sickbay," he answered, gently lowering her down onto one of the beds.

"What happened?"

"Do you not remember hitting your head?"

Faith's eyes closed and she swallowed thickly, her head lolling from side to side. "It's all fuzzy." She grew still again.

"Faith? It's Dr. Crusher. I need you to open your eyes again. Can you do that for me?" When there was no answer, Beverly injected Faith with something while handing Data a towel. "Data, press this to her wound while I get my dermal regenerator. We have to stop the bleeding."

"Yes, Doctor."

Data did as he was told, pushing Faith's bangs back from her face so he could see the wound properly. It was deeper than he initially noticed. He pressed the towel to it, noting how much paler she had become in such a short period of time.

Beverly reappeared a moment later. He stepped aside so she could work, watching with rapt attention as she peeled the towel away before spraying the wound with antibacterial ointment. Once it was clean, she carefully sealed up the wound, leaving nothing but smeared blood in its place.

"That's done at least," she muttered to herself. She picked up her tricorder and resumed scanning the young woman.

"Will Faith be alright, Doctor?"

"She should be. According to my readings, she has a concussion. I recommend she be taken off duty for the time being."

"A smart recommendation."

Beverly finished scanning Faith, but this time her mouth deepened into a frown. "Hmm…" She scanned her again.

"Is something wrong?" Data asked.

It took a moment for the doctor to acknowledge his question. When she did, Beverly gave him a tight smile. "Nothing you need to worry about. Thank you for your help, Data. I can take it from here. You're free to go."

"I have already created a formal report of the accident. I will send it to you now for your records."

"That'd be great, thanks. And I'll let Geordi know not to expect Faith for a few days."

"Excellent. Have a good day, Doctor."

Data took his leave, but something came over him and made him pause, turning to look back. Faith was still unconscious and Dr. Crusher was staring at her as if deep in thought. Her expression was one Data had come to associate with that of concern.

However, he had duties to attend to. So he left sickbay and filed the incident for later review.

[dustedmagazine]

Dusted Mid-Year Exchange, Part 2: Positive No to Yves Tumour

Six Organs got a lot of mid-year love this time

Welcome back to part two of the Dusted Mid-Year Exchange, in which we tackle the second half of the alphabet. If you missed part one, with its lengthy description of what we’re doing here, you can read it here. Or just muddle through. Cheers.  

Positive No — Kyanite (Little Black Cloud)

Kyanite by Positive No

Who recommended it? Tobias Carroll

Did we review it? No.

Tim Clarke’s take:

Positive No braid tight bursts of guitars, bass and drums into upbeat yet agitated shapes. There’s a touch of Blonde Redhead’s Kazu Makino in Tracy Wilson’s vocal delivery, or My Bloody Valentine’s Belinda Butcher, especially on expansive opener “Elevator Up.” At just under half an hour, the urgent economy of Kyanite’s songwriting makes all the more sense when you learn that it’s the band’s final album, released on Valentine’s Day this year. As their parting gesture, nothing is wasted, everything invested. As one of the song titles says, “Get In, Get Out. Don’t Linger. Go On.”

 Raspberry Bulbs — Before the Age of Mirrors

Before The Age Of Mirrors by Raspberry Bulbs

Who picked it? Jonathan Shaw

Did we review it? Yes, Jonathan said, “Even in its heaviest metal moments, on ‘Reclaimed Church’ and excellent closing track ‘Given Over to History,’ the record’s punk vibe cuts and grins. It insists on a deadly aesthetic seriousness, and at the same time, it’s tugging the rug out from under its own feet.”

Jennifer Kelly’s take:

Raspberry Bulbs splices punk’s antic venom with metal’s storm and roar, shifting from one mode to the other inside individual tracks, sometimes measure to measure. Consider “Doggerel” which kicks off in a pogo-ing furor, rattling violently over rapid oi band rhythms, everything clipped and percussive, even the vocals, though hoarse and splintered. Midway through, a sirening guitar riff intercedes and the singing turns ominous and measured; all the sudden it’s metal. “Midnight Line” pulls the opposite trick, beginning in clanging, feedback-morphing guitar and larynx shredding howl, then introducing a punk rock palm-muted chug and anthemry. It’s a volatile mix, at times nearly playful, at others agonizingly heavy, at still others (the “Intervals” mostly) surprisingly lyrical.  I lean towards the punk-er tracks—"They’re After Me” and “Doggerel”— metal fans may feel otherwise.

 Stephen Riley — Friday the 13th (Steeplechase)

Who recommended it? Derek Taylor

Did we review it? Yes. Derek said, “Knuffke and Riley are a directly collaborative pairing now and their partnership politely demands many more dates like this one.”

Justin Cober-Lake's take:

Saxophonist Stephen Riley has put together a quartet with a singular idea of playing these classic tunes on Friday the 13th in relatively straightforward and spacious renditions. Their take on Eddie Vinson's “Four” has Riley and cornetist Kirk Knuffke trading long solos. The rhythm section does its job, but it's a horn players' record. The album comes alive most when Knuffke and Riley interact more immediately. On Oliver Nelson's “Hoe Down,” they reveal how great a partnership they have, initially matching each other on the main melody before spiraling off. “Round Midnight” could have been too obvious a choice, but the combo's personalized take on the standard works out. Everyone sounds at ease enough within the song that they take a few more risks, and the horn players supplement each other nicely with more harmonic considerations. The album ends with a trio of spirited numbers, and in each case Riley and Knuffke play off each other's solos with a sharpness that by now makes sense. Riley's listening to Monk and playing like Rollins (hence the title track) as he and his group find ways to make old bop sound new.

  Gil Scott-Heron and Makaya McCraven—We’re New Again, A Reimagining (XL Recordings)

Who recommended it? Jenny Kelly.

Did we review it? Yes. Arthur Krumins notes, “McCraven lays down a lush musical backdrop that allows Scott-Heron’s words to have emotional impact.”

Jonathan Shaw’s take:

The word “reimagine” has a sexy resonance, and for that reason, it’s often too casually used. But in the case of We’re New Again, the word is warranted. Drummer and producer Makaya McCraven doesn’t just remix Gil Scott-Heron’s final record, I’m New Here (2010); McCraven shuffles the track list, adds some relevant recordings of Scott-Heron’s voice, and creates entirely new arrangements, moods, and musical accompaniment for the earlier album’s songs. It’s ballsy — I’m New Here is justly recognized as a masterpiece, and it’s marked by a stylistic austerity. On that record, Scott-Heron sang and spoke and recited his poetry over minimalist beats, a strummed guitar, or his own piano playing. McCraven attentively reimagines the tunes, working with polyphonic, post-Bop ensembles; busy hip-hop soundscapes; gospel and funk quotations. Remarkably, none of the richness of Scott-Heron’s vocals and none of the complexity of his poetry get obscured. More often, McCraven inventively intensifies the impact of Scott-Heron’s songs. And the reordering and recontextualizing of the tracks reveals a different narrative, grounded in the resilience and the suffering of Scott-Heron’s upbringing and too-short life. You listen and you feel it. It’s a terrific record.

Six Organs of Admittance — Companion Rises (Drag City)

Companion Rises by Six Organs of Admittance

Who recommended it? Jennifer Kelly

Did we review it? Yes. Jenny said it’s “straight-down-the-middle Six Organs, not as loud and abrasive as the first Hexadic disc, not as reticently wisp-y as the older folk-derived records.”

Patrick Masterson’s take:

Back when Dusted was still a dot-com, we talked about making a site-specific canon for our 10th anniversary, a kind of “Dusted 500” field guide. There was a shared spreadsheet and talk of a benefit show and a mixtape comp and so on that never amounted to anything for myriad reasons, but I can promise you Ben Chasny would’ve figured into it somehow — and nearly a decade on from that, my promise stands. The latest (30th? Let’s call it 30th) Six Organs of Admittance record is a beautiful slow burner that shows why, all astral spirits and slow-rolling starlight guitar plucks that is, as Jenny rightly notes, a Six Organs line drive. My belief after numerous spins since early February — mostly in the mornings, for which this music also seems suitable accompaniment — is that, like the rest of Chasny’s oeuvre, it will appeal to anyone who likes guitars or reads this. On the off chance you stumbled in here or haven’t heard this record yet: Welcome. It’s always been this way.

Patrick Masterson

 Spanish Love Songs — Brave Faces Everyone (Pure Noise)

Brave Faces Everyone by Spanish Love Songs

Who recommended it? Ian Mathers

Did we review it? Yes. Ian said, “it’s more a record of solidarity and mutual support than it is anything more prescriptive.”

Patrick Masterson’s take:

L.A. quintet Spanish Love Songs occupy a very specific point on what I like to think of as the Bar Band Spectrum, where one end is a bottom-rung covers-only collective found in just about any weeknight dive pre-COVID playing for beer money out of boredom and modest ambition… and the other end is Bruce Springsteen. This band isn’t as ramshackle as, say, Ladyhawk, nor have they yet hit a glass ceiling à la the Constantines; they sound to me more like Beach Fossils or Single Mothers, where everything from their songwriting to their slightly glossy production suggests they’re as ready as they’ll ever be for arena life. And what a record to make the case, too: Brave Faces Everyone is the sound of Run for Covers Records growing up or early onset Gen Z realizing a glass of wine after everything is, in fact, a coping mechanism for adulthood in a profoundly uncaring world. It’s got a big, young heart to match its big, old sound. It says, loudly, that in the increasingly untethered reality of 2020, we are all losers forever — but there’s still a “best of it” to be made if you wanna and the bravest face is an optimistic one. I’ll rock with that (from the quarantined confines of home and the other side of another lousy livestream, of course).

Patrick Masterson

Squirrel Flower — I Was Born Swimming (Polyvinyl)

I Was Born Swimming by Squirrel Flower

Who picked it? Patrick Masterson

Did we review it? Nope.

Arthur Krumins’ take:

Making the most of a dour mood, Squirrel Flower squeezes disaffection from her vocal delivery. The instrumentation is reminiscent of a less noisy Built to Spill, or maybe Julie Doiron, and is effectively now a retro indie rock sound originally from the late 90s or early 2000s. The jamminess of some of the drawn out riffs feel both pretty and sad, and could be a good soundtrack to a rainy drive. The heaviness is well developed without being bogged down. The lyrics catch your attention with their plainspoken narration of conflict (“You slap me, I’ll slap you right back” she repeats in “Slapback”). A fitting album for looking your troubles head on while still being totally surrounded by them.

 Waterless Hills — The Great Mountain (Cardinal Fuzz)

Waterless Hills - 'The Great Mountain' by Waterless Hills

Who picked it? Bill Meyer

Did we review it? No.

Arthur Krumins’ take:

A dissonant flow that steadily increases in intensity starts this record, which is a live recorded improvisation. The combination of aching, modal violin by dbh with slightly overdriven cascading electric guitar by C Joynes makes for a feel reminiscent of “Venus in Furs” by the Velvet Underground. The percussion by Andrew Cheetham, a drum kit plug some extras like a hung Chinese gong, creates texture and mood. Sometimes there’s just a steady counting of time in the background, at other moments waves of cymbals crash and make a cacophonous emphasis as the music rises and falls. The overall effect of the jams is hypnotic, like getting absorbed in a swirling light show. The players’ sensitivity to the musical interplay of their instruments, combined with a masterful looseness, makes it a trip worth taking.

Well Yells — We Mirror the Dead (Self-released)

Who recommended it? Ian Mathers.

Did we review it? Yes. Ian Mathers notes, “tipping towards the slightly industrial/EBM side of the genre, We Mirror the Dead gains a kind of gloomy propulsion without losing any of the atmosphere or intensity of [the band’s] prior work.”

Jonathan Shaw’s take:

The Gothic is not famous for stylistic restraint, and neither are the various contemporary subgenres that have inherited goth music’s romance of dark interiors, painfully fraught feeling and highly stylized self-fashioning. A few recent acts have cut against the grain of those established maximalist textures: see the grim industrial rancor of Street Sects, and the more experimental, sample-based austerities of Wreck and Reference. Well Yells’ music feels similarly stripped down to a pulsing electronic essence. But the record is more interested in the strobing spaces of Clubland than in decrepit factory ruins, and the darkwave gloss of We Mirror the Dead presents a more conventional relation to goth’s sensations. At its best—as on album opener “Kill the King”—the music of Patrick Holbrook, sole member of Well Yells, snaps and glimmers with compelling dread and arch sophistication. Holbrook’s breathy tenor is a useful counterpoint; his vocals are vaguely reminiscent of the best of those other habitués of Clubland, the British New Romantics (remember Bronski Beat?). It’s good stuff, somehow simultaneously polished and dirty.

  Lucinda Williams—Good Souls Better Angels (Thirty Tigers/Highway 20 Records)

Who recommended it? Justin Cober-Lake

Did we review it? No.

Bill Meyer’s take: I haven’t listened much to Lucinda Williams; the one record I have by her, Sweet Old World, is 28 years old. The first thing that hit me when I listened to Good Souls Better Angels is what’s changed. Williams’ voice is much rougher, and she’s adjusted the music correspondingly, adding Hendrixian guitar flourishes to “Bone of Contention” and coarsening the domestic violence scenario “Wakin’ Up” with bad-trip electronics. The next is how pissed she sounds. Violent boyfriends are bad enough, but having a charmless sociopath for president is even worse. Fortunately, bile hasn’t overwhelmed her writing chops. Big-sounding roots rock isn’t really my thing these days, but if I feel the need to change that, Good Souls Better Angels is a good place to start.  

  Wire — Mind Hive (Pink Flag)

Who picked it? Andrew Forell

Did we review it? Yes, Andrew said, “Mind Hive is concise yet full of restless intelligence, musical ideas and willingness to push boundaries.”  

Derek Taylor’s take:

I tapped Wire late and left early. That truncated exposure lends a narrow vocabulary in describing their music contextually, pre- and post-reunions. This latest missive sounds alternately like what I remember and at least several zip codes removed with a heavy lean into synths. “Be Like Them” and “Primed and Ready” fall in the former category, while “Off the Beach” trades gangly ennui and menace for what almost resembles instrumental optimism until the lyrics stack dutifully into another ode to the disaffected and disconnected. “Oklahoma” feels inscrutably weird. “Hung” drops as the album’s extended, incremental, post-industrial dirge. There’s additional insulation sheathing this Wire, an inevitable adjunct of ascendancy to elder status, but the current foursome is still dependably conducting current.

 Yves Tumour — Heaven to a Tortured Mind (Warp)

Who recommend it? Patrick Masterson

Did we review it? No.

Ian Mathers’ take:

Listen to music for long enough and you might realize that most of the time when you hope any artist goes in any particular direction with their work, you’re bound to be disappointed. But every so often, maybe after a promising album that you just didn’t fully click with, an artist does exactly what you were hoping for and fully manifests all the potential promise you thought you glimpsed. Yves Tumor’s 2018 album Safe in the Hands of Love was admirable in many ways, but it was really only on crucial single “Noid” that all the combustible elements were really brought together into something that properly bangs. Well, Heaven to a Tortured Mind might not have as many showcases for the ambient/noise chops that Tumor definitely has, but it does consistently bang for 36 minutes of should-be alternate universe pop hits, from the brassy “Gospel for a New Century” to the floaty duet “Kerosene!” For anyone who loved “Noid” and then found more to respect than the viscerally love on Tumor’s last record, this is the record you were waiting for, and it is magnificent and ferocious.

[theladylovingcrow]

Black Panties and An Angel's Face Pt 1 (Sanny Christmas Fic)

** A Continuation of Silk and Satin, Leather and Lace, but there's no actual sex in this part (sorry horny friends, sorry) **

Author (As known on Various sites): Lady Lover- Rockfic, Luluthechoosingcrow - AO3, theladylovingcrow - Deviantart and Wattpad, @sammy_bluebells - Instagram, @imacrowcawcaw - main Tumblr, @theladylovingcrow - writing/art Tumblr, @insannywestan Sanny shipping Tumblr

Fandom: Greta Van Fleet

Pairing: Sam Kiszka/Danny

Length: about 3k

Warnings/tags: lingerie, cross dressing, no smut yet, established relationship, gift giving, Christmas

Summary: Sam had said that he would wear whatever Danny bought him.... would he, really? Fuck, if not them this was about to he a sucky Christmas for the both of them.

Author's notes: I've been busting my ass all morning and last night trying it finish this, because honestly a Christmas fic after Christmas is just kinda... meh. But, alas, I only got the first half, the sort of build up, done. Well, something is better than nothing, Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

From @therealswanqueen 's request for me (:

"Oh if you're going to write a continuation of the lingerie fic it would be nice if Danny buys it for Sam ♡♡♡ like if he's out shopping and sees something pretty and thinks 'Sammy would look gorgeous in this' ♡"

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

Danny mentally went over the list in his head, arms too full of stuff to actually pull it out of his pocket at the moment. He had gotten the regular shopping out of the way, and was now working his way though the upper level of the mall, searching for Christmas gifts the one day he could get away from those sneaky brothers.

He had already gotten a variety of gag gifts and weird oddities the twins were sure to enjoy at Spencer's, and a new Christmas sweater for Sam; after some deliberation, a matching one for himself, as well. Their mothers were sure to enjoy it.

It was hard to know what exactly to give when they already had most things they could want, but Danny still tried to be thoughtful and give nice things to the people that meant the most to him.

New boots, a watch, and an engraved harmonica for Jake? Check.

A vintage fur coat for Josh? Yep, and surprisingly cheap.

Books for all three Kiszka's? Yes, as well as some parchment, ink, and quills for Joshie - it was one of those random finds that hadn't been on his radar of gift ideas, but as soon as he saw them he knew Josh would love them.

All that was left was Sammy. His best friend (now lover, too) always seemed to be both the easiest and worst to shop for. He was picky, so picky that, even after all these years, Danny could rarely be 100% sure that he'd like his gift.

He went in and out of every store, desperately searching for *something* that Sam didn't already have, and that he would appreciate receiving.

Nothing.

Not a single item that would be a good fit to give his new-ish boyfriend, not even a cool pair of sunglasses to just fill put some space in his gift bag.

Danny sighed, deciding to fuck the mall and go Amazon it in the comfort of their bed. But, just as he was heading towards the exit, something caught his eye.

A blue something - pale, like a robin's egg, but speckled with small, shimmering beads instead of brown splattered spots. It was a lacy bra, hanging several racks in inside of a Victoria's Secret.

Danny stopped and stared at it, considering. Sam had said.... Sam had said that he would wear whatever Danny bought him. It had been nearly two months, and, while they had definitely had sex many, many times since then, none of the lingerie items had made another appearance. Sam hadn't even mentioned it again after that day, instead only shooting Danny the occasional meaningful look that he interpreted as "Well? I'm waiting, it's on you to continue this."

He took two steps forward, but stopped just before entering onto the lighter tiles of the store's entrance. Would Sam actually like this as his Christmas present, instead of other stuff - namely, things he could actually tell their family he got?

Danny turned and was about to walk away, but then spun around for just one last look at the bra. It was so, so pretty, and would look so, so good against Sam's tanned skin; he could envision his lover perfectly in that little blue piece, coyly teasing Danny as he ran his hands over his lacy chest.

He took in a sharp breath and marched into the store, bags of presents banging against his thighs as he rushed over to the rack to closer inspect the bra. Danny set his purchases down on the ground so he could touch it, tentatively reaching out a finger to run over the scalloped trim along one of the cups.

Danny realized that the one he was looking at would never fit Sam, but, luckily, there was a whole row of blue items in different sizes behind it. He flicked through the hangers, eyebrows knitting together at all of the different numbers, letters, prices, and, he realized, slightly different styles and designs.

Which one should he choose - what would look best on Sam, and what would fit him? Danny was at a loss. The first bra he had seen and fallen in love with appeared to be the only one of its kind, which was highly disappointing but he knew that often happened when shopping - if you fall in love with something, chances are it's not going to work out. Such was life.

The other bras, though: all were the same pale blue, but some had no beading, some possessed a ridiculous amount of straps, and one was also covered in purple, trailing vines embroidered over the lace, curling over the soft fabric.

"Sir, do you need any help?"

Danny startled, looking over his shoulder at a friendly, understanding looking employee. He nodded sheepishly, nudging aside some of his bags with his foot so he wasn't barricaded in a circle of paper bags.

"Yeah, I'm... I don't know what size to get- yeah," he cut himself off, nearly saying "to get my boyfriend" but realizing that maybe he shouldn't.

It wasn't like Danny was ashamed of being bisexual, but he figured that revealing he was dating a guy and buying him lingerie was not a good idea - not only because she could react weird, but because who knew who could recognize him. He decided it was safest to just pretend to be buying a present for his girlfriend, it was close enough and completely plausible, if only requiring more thought before he spoke.

"Of course! Do you know what size she is?"

He shook his head, looking back at all of the tags. Like every guy, he knew, roughly, that A was small and D was big - stereotypically perfect, though Danny disagreed - but there were also double letters and numbers that were confusing him. He had no frame of reference to know what size the numbers indicated, nor the scope of the sizes. 28 was the smallest he saw, but it still seemed like an awfully big number for Sam's tiny ribcage, and many of the other girls he'd met, too.

"That's all right, this is probably a surprise, huh?" The employee, he saw her name was Stephi, gave him a knowing look and a grin, and Danny nodded again, smiling back.

"Yeah, she... she's been kind of hinting, but this is totally going to be a surprise and I didn't really think to check sizes before I came. She's really small though, very skinny and uh, an A cup, I think. What are the numbers?"

"Oh, the numbers are for band size, it's like the circumference of the of the ribcage. She'd probably be a 28A, that's the smallest we have," Stephi said, sorting through the rack methodically and picking out several of the blue bras as well as a few others from a lower rung. "Do these look like they would fit?"

Danny squinted at them, trying to imagine if they would hang slack on Sam's body or sit snug like they were supposed to.

"I guess, yeah, those look like they'd fit. Though, I've never really seen her wear the shaped ones, she likes softer things. They're called, uh, it has 'bra' in it..."

Really, Danny didn't want to get the shaped ones because he thought they would pop off of Sam's body weird with nothing to fill them, and that looked both unsexy and uncomfortable. He'd heard one of his past girlfriends talk about some bra thing before; it had sounded like a lighter fabric or something, but he just couldn't remember what it was called.

"A brallette? Yes, we have those, here's a few."

She took the shaped bras and set them aside, holding out a few that looked like lacy, cut off tank tops or teddys, soft and thin fabric that would most likely lay flat if nothing was underneath.

Ah, a brallette! Danny swore he was going to pay more attention to what his partner was talking about when it came to stuff like this, be it Sam or another girlfriend - though, he hoped it would only ever be Sam from now on.

Danny looked at the bras she was holding, trying to decide. There was the soft blue one with purple vines crawling up from the band at the bottom, little flowers budding up high over the mesh and lace top and then continuing over the straps. He really liked that one, so he gently took it from her and kind of tucked it under his arm, then continued surveying.

Another was completely pale pink lace, "Millenial Pink" he was pretty sure. His eyes passed over it, going instead for one of similar design but of a rich, deep green color. He grabbed that one too, and decided not to get any of the others Stephi was holding.

He thanked her for her help, figuring he had a good grasp of what bras to get, now.

"No problem! I'm sure she'll love these, let me know if you need anything else, I'll be at the counter."

Stephi turned and started walking away, then came back to him. "Hey, you have a lot of bags, do you want to put them next to the counter while you shop, if you think it'll be awhile? It might make it easier."

Danny grinned at her. "Oh, yes, please, and thank you."

He appreciated how nice she was being to him, even though that was technically her job and she'd probably seen many hapless boyfriends in the store before. Still, it was the busy week before Christmas, and she had taken the time to patiently help him while people were rushing and yelling and making a mess of things all around them. Danny carried his bags over to where she directed and took the metal basket she gave him, turning back to survey the store for anything else that caught his eye.

Over in the left corner, he spotted a table full of colorful pieces of cloth - panties, he realized, looking at the mannequins modeling a few pairs. Danny wandered over to them, stopping briefly to run his hands over another bra but moving on when he realized it wasn't something Sam was likely to wear.

There were so many options! Danny knew that there were many, many styles of women's underwear; he was proud to say that he had seen quite a few of them first hand. Still, the colorful piles were almost making his head hurt, though his heart was beating faster with something that felt like excitement.

He picked up pair after pair, settling on the 10 for $100 deal he saw advertised. It seemed ridiculously expensive for tiny, flimsy pieces of fabric, but it would be so, so worth it when he got to see Sam's sinful hips in these cheeky little triangles.

Danny grabbed one more pair of panties and another bra - a matching, strappy set - and brought everything over to the front of the store, waiting in line with all the other ladies and boyfriends to purchase his secret gifts. He grinned at Stephi as she rung him up, thanking her profusely for the help and adding the pink striped bag to his cache of others.

He made his way past the giggling groups of teenage girls out of the store, pausing to give a few of them a smile when they blushed and pointed at him. He would stop and take pictures if they asked, but otherwise, he was a man on a mission.

Danny couldn't get the image of Sam all dressed up for him those two months ago out of his head; his stockings and garter, the corset, his sweet smile. He wasn't likely to find a corset like that at a commercial mall, but the other stuff - he wanted, he needed, to get the complete outfit.

His next stop, after dropping all the other gifts at the car like he had originally intended, was a high-end 'bohemian' boutique right next to Macy's. Danny pushed open the door, quirking his lips at some indie cover of Jingle Bells playing over the store's speaker.

Danny smiled widely, looking over the store. Florals, paisley, glitter, lace and satin and taffeta, all hung like shimmering, rainbow banners on the walls. He knew what Sam's style was, the only thing he had to do was build the bridge between the lingerie he had gotten and what Sam would wear, normally, and it was - hopefully - going to be an unforgettable gift. He decided to start at the hair clips and work his way around to the mini skirts on the other side.

~~~~

Two hours and nearly two thousand dollars later, he had three full-to-bursting bags of clothing and accessories for Sam. Danny knew he had gone over board, and over budget, but every time he thought he had found the last item he turned around and another was screaming at him, sometimes from an entirely different store, how good it would look on Sam's lithe body. This new idea had shone a new light on the mall where he had previously found nothing of interest to get his lover; now, it was like he couldn't stop the floor of gifts.

He sighed, hands straining to grasp all of the bag handles as he made his way to the parking lot, trying not to knock anyone over with his haul. Now all that was left was wrapping everything up and placing it under the tree, where Sam could receive it in a few days time.

Danny worried his lip in between his teeth as he loaded up the trunk of the car. He was happy with his purchases, but that didn't mean Sammy would like them. He tried to quell any doubt in his head, though; Sam had asked for Danny to buy him more stuff, so he had. Simple.

The only thing he had to worry about was the wrong person opening the presents - which, shit, maybe they shouldn't go under the tree.

~~~~

Jake was smirking, looking back and forth between Danny's red face and his little brother's more self satisfied, but also blushing one.

"So, Sammy, what did you get? Let us see."

Sam shook his head at first, looking like he was being asked to feed his arm to a lion, but then slowly raised his gift out of the mess of tissue paper. It was a top, silver and covered in shimmering fringe all the way down its torso and in lines along the sleeves. Some of the things Danny had gifted Sam toed the line - lacy shirts, crop tops, one skirt, booty shorts (though he already wore those) with the hope that Sam would actually like them, as in making them a part if his every day wardrobe. Dressing up for sex was fun, but Sam's androgyny, even when not sexual, was still incredibly attractive and Danny wanted to encourage it.

Jake whistled. "Dang, Sammy, I might have to "borrow" that from you. But that's not what made you blush, now let us see it. "

"Nuh-uh, no can do Jack-o. Do I demand to see everything your girlfriend gives you?"

"Ooh, so it's that kind of gift!" Josh laughed. He was sitting on the floor, surrounded by shining bits of metallic paper and rainbow wrapping, swaddled in a plush red robe and grinning like the little Christmas elf he was; he had demanded they each open one gift before they did Christmas with the entire Kiszka-Wagner clan like usual.

Danny squirmed in his seat, his face getting even darker. He had gotten Sam some regular things so as not to arouse suspicion, and then saved most of the special items for later that night, privately hoping Sam would try them on and give him a little show. But, he had slipped in one pair of frilly white and black panties to let Sam know what was to come.

Sam adamantly refused to show his brothers anything else in the bag, setting it aside behind his chair and shooting Danny a look that could only be described as sultry. Danny swallowed, dry, and opened his own gift from Sam.

It was a gorgeous silk robe, starting at a light lavender and melting into a deep, inky black at the bottom. There was embroidery along the edges, little flowers and curls trimming the sweeping bell sleeves. Black lace formed a belt along the gathered waist, little silver buttons shining against the darkness.

Danny gasped, softly running his fingers over the fabric, feeling the cool softness and already imagining it against his skin.

Sam leaned over and whispered in his ear, one hand curled around Danny's bicep. "I'll wear anything you get me, but I want you to do the same, at least try it. What do you think?"

Danny turned to Sam, almost at a loss for words. "It's... it's beautiful, Sammy, of course I'll wear it. We'll be matching."

It was incredible how fast Sam was able to take the reins of a situation and flip it - here, Danny had thought that he was indulging his lover's interest, but, apparently, Sam had realized that Danny was just as into it and brought the control back to himself. Danny was putty in his hands, buying what he wanted and following every order, and he always would be, with joy.

"Woah, that's cool. But why'd you get Danny a lacy robe?"

Danny looked up, startled, to see both of the twins leaning over and staring into the box on his lap. He quickly put the top back on and shrugged, not sure how he had forgotten they were there. It was the excitement, he supposed, and the sentimentality of the gift, too, that had distracted him.

Jake shook his head, mumbling "Weirdos," under his breath and going to start gathering up the wrapping paper strewn all over the floor. There was a weird air in the room, one Danny couldn't quite shake. Sam was still sitting way too close to him and giving him looks, not at all helping him get his head back on straight.

"So, anyways, did I mention that I got us matching sweaters? Mom will love them!"

~~~~

To Be Continued

~~~~

@satans-helper

@okietrish

@lazingonsunday

@bigthighsandstupidguys

@karrotkate

@oblvions

@lantern-inthenight

@mountainofthesunn

@ryetheruler

[bigskydreaming]

remypix said: So. How do we get you to become the main writer for Dick at D.C.?

LOL! I appreciate the flattery, but tbh, I don’t really see that ever happening. Its something I’ve thought about a LOT, to be honest, and went back and forth on for years before I ultimately arrived at the conclusions I did and figured out what it was that I really want and what matters the most to me as a writer.

So the following ramble is just my train of thought on all of that, in case its of interest to anyone else for whatever reason. LOL, no scraps of meta to be gleaned from this particular wordvomit-bomb, so don’t feel you’re missing out on anything by skipping past it, its pretty much just how I went about working through my own personal priorities in terms of career goals as a writer, before settling on what path I want to take ultimately, and what paths I’m not really interested in working towards.

But yeah....although I absolutely invested a LOT of time and dream real estate in envisioning my future writing for DC or Marvel someday, came up with entire Giant Size lineups of my own X-Men characters I couldn’t wait to make canon and actually wrote out honest to god To-Do lists for things I wanted to do with certain characters once I got my grimy little hands on them before anyone else had a chance to realize what a mistake that’d been to allow.....

Now, tbh, I don’t really see that as ever being likely....largely because its no longer a career goal I have any real interest in pursuing.

Not because I don’t aim to write professionally - I’ve made a living at it before, and expect I should be able to manage to again once I’m out the other side of my living situation of the past few years where my body only tolerates my attempts to get it to like, function, for a few hours at a time. Writing professionally is a hustler’s game, lol, its not enough to just do the writing, you have to be prepared and able to follow up on any opportunities that come your way quickly and that’s just not in the cards right now. 

But I know how to do it, have done it before, I know how to network and while there’s no such thing as guarantees, there is such a thing as my single-mindedness and refusal to quit even when I probably should, so with that thrown in and all other factors considered, I do think I COULD potentially work my way up to at least a trial writing gig at either Marvel or DC someday, if I focused my efforts on that career direction specifically. Like its possible, I think my skills are at the requisite level, I’ve got the drive, etc, etc.....

But I just don’t see myself likely to set myself on that course ever, at least not any time soon. Not as something I’d need to commit to for a considerable period of time in order to break in and land the right opportunity, because the one thing I know myself well enough to know I lack completely and totally.....is my willingness to ‘play the game.’ The politics that go along with working in a corporate creative environment like Marvel or DC, particularly at the very bottom rungs of those corporate ladders, where I’d inevitably start out and need to kiss a lot of asses to have any chance of someday working my way far enough up the ladder to have any real kind of creative control over what I was writing.

*Shrugs*

Part of the problem is, as much as I love the characters DC has to play with, I do not love the structure that playground is formulated around. Like I’ve talked about a fair amount recently.....for years now, a huge creative problem with DC’s content is how disparate and isolated the various characters and franchises are kept from each other.......and while I know I COULD come up with stories that worked within those kinds of limiting parameters, I wouldn’t really WANT to, you know?

Like as much as I love the idea of writing Dick professionally, making canon stories for him.....in all likelihood, I wouldn’t even have the option of bringing in most of the other characters I’d want to draw upon as supporting elements in those stories. Dick is my favorite member of the Batfam, granted, but like I;ve said before, I do actually like all of them, when written well. I don’t WANT to write a Dick Grayson who’s kept isolated and solitary by editorial mandate, and at most allowed a guest appearance by one or two other Batfam members, as long as its kept brief and nothing significant enough to potentially impact their own storylines occurs in those appearances. 

And you just can’t really write a family like that, at least not well. Not without being severely hampered, to such a degree that even if I did find workarounds to allow me some pagetime with the characters I needed/wanted to include, figuring out a way to make that work creatively within whatever limitations are put forth, like, that would no doubt be stressful and exhausting and the complete opposite of the entire POINT of creative endeavors in my opinion. 

There’s not really a whole lot about that scenario that I’d enjoy, that would make the experience worth the time and effort it’d take to get to a point where its even a possibility......and chances are, it’d be more likely to sour me on the whole creative process of dreaming up and writing stories about this character I love so much, and potentially even leak into my ability to enjoy him, just because of how much personal negativity I now associated with it.

 And then the other aspect of things is just.....there’s a degree of game-playing that’s expected and even required of working as a writer for major companies like Marvel or DC, where you’re one little cog in a very big machine that quite frankly, doesn’t give a damn about your opinions beyond thinking you should be really careful about not expressing any that potentially reflect badly on them or any of their content....not if you want to KEEP working for them for any length of time. Trust me, I’ve known writers and artists who’ve worked for both companies, even known some pretty well, and I wasn’t kidding about the ass-kissing that falls under the heading “job requirement” thanks to a lot of the egos that sit very high up on the creative ladders there, and in key, critical positions that mean you can’t afford to piss them off or seem overly critical of them or their own content or work.

And that’s just....not me. Not anymore, anyway. Don’t get me wrong, I’m more than capable of holding my tongue when necessary, and doing and saying the right things to advance in those kinds of environments. Like I said, I’ve done it before, and quite well, and for years. Hell, forget the writing for a second, just in my acting career alone....working as an actor is nothing BUT networking, and to get and keep any kind of jobs at all you have to be just as good at that side of things as you are at actual acting, if not better, and well, I worked pretty steadily. I know how to network, how to keep my mouth shut, how to DO it and just focus on my end goal and where all that networking is hopefully going to lead me to.....

I just don’t WANT to, anymore.

Because it really is exhausting. And more than a little soul-crushing. I absolutely LOVE acting, as in the actual craft, just like I love writing, and creating in all kinds of forms. But the hierarchies of bullshit and egos and completely unnecessary power plays that go hand in hand with a lot of the professional work in those fields, is just......really, really draining. 

I’m not someone who likes keeping my mouth shut when I feel I have something to say.....having things to say is for me a huge, integral part of what draws me to story-telling in its various forms in the first place. And for me, that doesn’t begin and end just with what I write and act in myself, it also applies to the atmospheres and environments AROUND what I write and act in and where I write it and act in it. I love big, immersive shared universes like DC and Marvel because of their scope, their potential, the inter-connectivity of it all, and just how BIG it all is, and how big it allows stories to be, how big it allows various characters and their impact to be. But to actually be a PART of one of those myself, on any level, to be one of the pieces that make up its whole, my work a representation of it and thus all of it, to some degree, a representation of me....it wouldn’t be enough for me, to just be proud of what I create in that environment, I’d want to be able to also be proud of what my work is a part of, the other pieces surrounding that. 

And the reality is just.....for all that I like about Marvel and DC, there’s a shit ton I don’t like, and most of that falls under the header of specific tropes and trends and MINDSETS. And I don’t need things to be perfect, or ideal, or exactly as I want them to be personally, I really truly don’t.....because nothing is perfect, and unlikely to ever be perfected within any person’s lifetime. I know that. I understand that. But a lack of perfection doesn’t mean that things can’t constantly be worked on, improved upon, made BETTER, at least heading in that DIRECTION.....and the thing is, I don’t bitch about the various things and trends and mindsets I dislike in my fandoms, in the media I consume and enjoy, like, just to do it. Just to be negative. For me, criticism exists in order to point out existing flaws or areas where something is lacking or could be improved upon.....so that at least the OPTION of improving upon those things even exists.

 If you truly think there’s a flaw in something, something that makes a story or character or creative work less than it could be, holds it back, limits or detracts from its enjoyability at least in some small ways.....the one and only guarantee that exists, is that there’s not even a chance of those things being worked upon, tried a different way, being CONSIDERED by their creators or even just given more thought when creating along similar lines in the first place.....if like, nobody who has a problem with it as is ever like, MENTIONS having that problem with it, or seeing it as being lacking, or less than it could be, in these specific ways. To improve upon a thing, one must first be looking at what could stand to be improved upon, and SEEING it as something to potentially make better or do in a better way, instead of just....exactly the way it was already made.

Criticism is integral to making things better, stronger, MORE than what they already are, and I honestly think the truly great writers and artists of all kinds are the ones who are not just open to criticism, but who THRIVE on it. Who see it not as a judgment, but an opportunity. Who take whatever they can get from it and know how to leave behind the parts that have nothing useful or productive for them.

And Marvel and DC are just....not environments that I see as being all that open to hearing criticism, whether from outside or inside. In fact, I think that’s a huge part of the problem both have, something that’s stagnated them considerably......they’re never really improving upon any of the many areas they’re criticized for, because they refuse to hear that criticism, regard it as having any validity, and when you won’t even LOOK at something that needs improving upon as something that you acknowledge as needing improvement, FOCUS on improving, make that criticized flaw something you focus on rather than ignore, so you can LEARN from its mistakes rather than deny any mistakes exist at all....

Then the only way anything ever gets better at all, whether a little bit or a lot, is by pure blind chance, by just happening to not make the same mistakes next time out or because you focused on a new direction and were lucky enough to avoid stumbling into any particular pitfalls.

And that’s just....not appealing to me at all, even a little bit. Not something I care to be a part of, and I think its a waste of my time or energies, to work for a company that has a lot of problems that I see very specific areas that could be made better and not just for the sake of pointing out flaws, but because I also see various ways they could do things differently and potentially improve upon things......but working for a place who churns out content I think has a lot of flaws, or that I see and hear other people pointing out and commenting on those same flaws and others I didn’t see myself at first but saw after they were pointed out.....and yet knowing that company more than likely wouldn’t be receptive to hearing any mention of existing flaws, but would rather I just keep my mouth shut and just focus on my own story, no matter how I worded any criticism of the broader universe or directions or went about trying to raise said criticism or float it out there even as a hypothetical to consider......

Nah. No thanks. Not for me. 

I know how to play these kinds of games because I was raised playing them and surrounded most of my early life by nothing but game-players, people who played games with everything from the truth, to peoples’ lives, to social issues and politics, all of it was the same and they played games with it all just because they COULD. And I was tired of it a loooooong time ago, and at this point in my life, especially looking back on the last several years that I can’t help but view as largely wasted, because I flat out didn’t even have the OPTION of doing any of the things I wanted to do, was so consumed by day to day survival to such a massive degree that there literally wasn’t even the possibility of trying to work towards the longterm or do anything to advance any of my various career paths or goals.....like, that’s over three years now, going on four, that have just come and gone with nothing to show for them in terms of things I really want for myself and my career, things I actually want to do, things I want to say, stories I want to tell, NEED to tell....and in light of that in particular, like, I honestly can’t stand the thought of wasting potentially years more of my life keeping my mouth shut about things I see problems with purely for the sake of towing the company line, when literally NOBODY benefits from allowing problems to exist unacknowledged and just fester and grow and become entrenched.....not even the company itself.

*Shrugs* It just seems wasteful to me, and I’m already chafing at the bit as is to get back to a level of health and energy and focus, not to mention financial security/stability enough that I can even START moving forward with my actual careers again, working on selling and putting out there the kind of stuff I really want to put out there, put my name to.....it honestly just makes me shudder, thinking about the likelihood of wasting years more of my life in service to priorities that aren’t mine and that I don’t agree with, for the sake of egos I have no stake in, just because the company in question is full of people who are perfectly content with everything they create as is, who don’t aspire to ever be any better than they already are, are okay with already having PEAKED......just so long as it means they don’t have to listen to anyone insinuate or outright state something that everyone already claims to already be aware of and thus shouldn’t actually be all that hard to hear: that perfection doesn’t exist, its unattainable for everyone, and thus the things they’ve created and are working on right now....aren’t....perfect. Meaning, by extension.....they could be made better. Improved upon. Grown or evolved or honed into something that reaches MORE people, resonates MORE strongly, touches MORE hearts, changes MORE minds.

Why don’t people, artists, want that for themselves? For their work, that they put so much of themselves into, expend so much time and effort to make? I’ll never understand. Can’t relate.

And the real kicker for me, the thing that ultimately helped me make up my mind on this awhile back, and more than that, make my PEACE with the possibility of never getting to work professionally on these characters who mean so much to me already, even though I think theoretically I’m capable of it, could potentially make that a reality....

Its that....I don’t HAVE to waste that time, catering to those other peoples’ priorities, just to tell the stories I want to tell. Aiming for that particular path, constraining myself in ways I’m not really comfortable for the sake of people I don’t really like and messages I don’t actually agree with.....its not actually anything I need, and doesn’t actually offer me anything.

I do love Dick Grayson and other existing characters, and want to write them the way I truly see them, and immerse them and surround them with other characters I like as well and think SHOULD be around them, supporting them, their narratives entwined with them......and I already can do that with fanfic. *Shrugs* I can write the stories those existing characters inspire in me, that I really want to tell, and not worry about the oversight or by-committee mandates or approval of uncreative DC higher-ups holding me back or limiting me or telling me I can only use certain characters and only to certain degrees or in certain ways. I can scratch that itch, I can put those out there without DC, and an audience exists for them, and always has and always will. Yeah, its a limited audience, compared to the platform DC has and the greater number of committed fans their Brand Name and existing properties help direct to every new writer who works for them or new story or new characters....no fanfic I write will ever reach the number of eyes Tom King’s or Scott Lobdell’s stories get in front of.....but honestly? I’d MUCH rather have a limited audience, than be limited in the stories I can tell.

And as for reaching wider audiences, getting my content, my stories out there in front of more eyes.....I have my original content for that, and I’m fully comfortable and confident in my ability to create characters and build immersive worlds that can be just as compelling as anything existing, whether that’s actually self-confidence or hubris, lol, who knows and who cares. Point is, I love DC’s characters but I don’t NEED them in order to have characters to play with, and I don’t need to try and break into a playground that honestly seems full of a ton of crap for every square foot I’m ACTUALLY interested in and there for.

I can make my own, and have, and will continue to do so. I’ve got my own superhero universe called The Ellis Eighteen that I’ve been building most of my life and might not have the history or scope of DC’s decades of existing content and hundreds of creators, but its still more than enough content to keep me busy for the rest of my life, even just that one universe of mine alone, and when my problem with that particular project is not having enough time or energy as is to write all the stories I already want to write there with just my own characters and universe and narratives........there’s absolutely no reason for me to settle elsewhere.

Because similar to what I was saying about why I’m okay with writing just fanfic for Dick, even if that puts a ceiling on how far I can ever go with that......its about personal priorities and everyone ultimately needing to figure out what matters most to them in terms of personal ambitions and longterm goals, and in a world where nobody can ever get everything they want all the time, exactly on their terms.....figuring out where you’re most willing to cut losses and what you most strongly feel you need to do your way.

My own original superhero universe could be the best thing anyone’s ever seen and leaps and bounds above anything DC or Marvel create, and it doesn’t matter - the mere limitations inherent in creating new characters and universes in an already saturated market, the struggle to compete with household names and give people a reason to direct even a second glance towards characters they’ve never heard of when there are four different titles out this week containing even just one of the characters they already know and love and have been reading for decades, the basic math of one individual creator’s content never in a million years ever going to have the real estate or reach that even the least popular and worst written of DC’s titles enjoys just because association with all their other established and proven content gives them an automatic boost that I’ll never be able to match or replicate on my own with original characters....all of that is real, and a factor and things I’ve considered and accepted. 

Because at the end of the day, I decided the most important thing for me is bottom line, I like telling stories. But I like telling MY stories, the ones that only exist because I came up with them and thus will never exist for anyone else unless I write them the way they read to me in my head, the stories that CAN’T exist without me to tell them. And I like to tell my stories my way, in the sense that they may not be perfect and they might have areas of their own in which they’re flawed or lacking or could stand to be improved upon, but they at least don’t make the mistakes I see as mistakes in others’ work, and they prioritize the things that are important to me, and tell the messages I want to tell.

And with all that in mind, I would much rather devote myself towards walking a much longer, much harder road with absolutely no guarantees of ever gaining the kind of audience I might have if I worked for Marvel or DC......as long as it means that for all its drawbacks, every step I take on that road, I get to take while telling MY stories, MY way, the way I think they were meant to be told and without people I don’t respect or agree with backseat driving as I tell them, trying to give me directions as if they know how to get to where I want to go with my stories better than I do myself.

Compared to having a (comparatively) shorter even if no less difficult road to GET to a place where Marvel or DC hired me to write for them....at which case they’d shuttle me off in whatever direction they wanted to send me on a shortcut that admittedly gets me to a much wider audience in a much shorter time, and with far more guarantees of profit and thus a smoother ride.....but every step I take on THAT road, I ONLY ever get to tell the stories they allow me to tell, the ones that they like personally, and only after I’ve run them by them for approval first, and reshaped it into the form THEY want it to have and read the way they want it to sound, before ever reaching a single other person’s ears, with that vast audience only ever getting to read those versions of the stories I came up with....rather than the versions that read the way I originally wanted them to, that tell the stories I REALLY wanted to tell.

Again - its not about not being willing to compromise or settle or an insistence on things being the way you want them to be and no other way.

Its about the fact that everyone has to decide for themselves what they’re willing to compromise and what they aren’t - because it is OKAY to have things you’re not willing to budge on, you’re not rigid or unreasonable for having SOME things exist as dealbreakers for you, that make or break whether you head in a certain direction when a multitude of other directions are open and available to you.

And similarly, its up to the individual to figure out for themselves WHERE they’re willing to settle and in what ways....and where and in what ways they have to stand firm because settling there means sacrificing too much of what’s most important to them.

Like I said, for me, personally? The journey and the destination are the same thing. Whether I’m acting or writing, I view it as just different forms of story-telling. THAT’S the career I secretly dreamed of even as a child.....it was never that important what medium I told the stories through or logistics or superficial elements....the important part was the story, that was the point, that was the endgoal. *Shrugs* That’s all that’s really most important to me, priority uno at the end of the day: finding ways to go through life maximizing my ability, my freedom to spend my time telling stories, MY stories, the ones only I can tell because I’m the one that came up with them and they don’t exist outside my head, and telling them the way I truly want to tell them, the way they seem to me are MEANT to be told - because there’s only so far and only certain ways you can deviate from a story as you initially conceive it before it becomes actually a different story, that says something other than what you actually meant for it to say.

Big audiences and large royalty checks and movie deals and getting to use characters that others created but I fell in love with and see myself in all the same - all of that is great and has its place. But to me, the stories themselves are the point, they’re what any story-telling skills or talents I have seem FOR....

And if I’m going to bust my ass telling as many of the stories that pop into my head as I can, to the best of my ability, in hopes of them reaching the most people in ways I WANT them to reach people, resonate with them, speak to them, always trying to become better with each story I tell, each criticism I’m given, not out of some expectation I’ll ever actually craft a ‘perfect’ story or some sense of moral superiority, but rather just because stories IMO are meant to be enjoyed, and the better each story is, the more people are likely to enjoy it and what else is even the point of story-telling if you ask me personally...

Well. I’m just saying. If I’m gonna put in the best work I can either way, put in the time either way, and basically spend the majority of my effort, time and life telling stories one way or another.....

I’m sure as fuck only doing all of that so I can tell MY stories. Not someone else’s stories. 

Because when writing for DC, even for the chance to write characters I’ve loved for most of my life....also means having to shove each story I want to tell through a woodchipper that shaves it down according to someone else’s priorities, expectations and rules for how and in what ways I’m allowed to use which characters and to what ends or what degree - or worse yet, a whole COMMITTEE of someone elses - when all of that is going to whittle away whatever story I WANTED to tell, to such an extent that by the time it actually ends up in front of readers, it stands as much chance of being the story one or more of them actually wanted out there as it does of still being or saying anything I actually wanted or intended.....

Then as much as I used to dream about writing the X-Men or Green Lantern or Nightwing as a kid.....now, I’m more than comfortable saying nah, hard pass. I’ll go my own way with my own characters in terms of professional content and output, even if it never gets me as far as working for Marvel or DC might. And it costs me absolutely nothing to do so. I lose nothing in making that choice.

Because for me, its the alternative that would actually feel like settling.

And if any writers out there prioritize differently or choose differently or see all this differently and writing Dick or Bruce or Jason or some other existing character is still the dream, and the goal they still focus on working towards....there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that, as long as its what works for you, and aligns to what YOU prioritize as most important for your career, art, goals and how you want to spend your time and effort as a writer.