#because i used to like design but now i canNOT stand it like get me out of hereeeeeee

[ltash]

Lieutenant Ghost is a big time flirt..

You and Soap end up in Ghost's apartment because he wanted to get some files from there but your LT is a big time flirt and cannot stop flirting with you. He scares the hell out of you everytime.

Ghost opened the door to reveal a yawning Soap.

"So you woke up. Finally." Ghost said.

"Yes LT! Couldn't sleep in the car for that long." Soap said in between yawns.

"Sleep on the couch Johnny." Ghost pointed towards the couch.

"What about Angela?" Soap asked.

"Don't worry about her." Ghost said.

"Ok." Soap said and sunk in the couch.

Ghost took a cushion from another couch throwing at him before coming into the bedroom locking the door behind him.

As I stood there, washing my face, Ghost entered the bathroom, casually removing his zipper hoodie. My eyes widened in surprise as I took in his sculpted physique, adorned with a network of scars, each one telling its own story.

There was a particularly prominent scar on the left side of his ribs, a visible reminder of past battles and close calls.

But what truly caught my attention was the tattoo that adorned his skin, a design I had only glimpsed from a distance before.

Now, standing before me, I could see it clearly, every intricate detail etched into his flesh. It was a mesmerizing sight, drawing me in with its mystery and allure.

"I messed up my clothes love. Going to take a shower. Care to join me?" He asked, his tone playful.

"I don't have the courage plus you can't shower with your mask on Ghost." I replied trying to avoid any further physical contact with him.

I knew I would melt under his touch.

"Why don't we make a deal?" He suggested.

"I take my mask off and you take your clothes off for me." He said stepping very close to me.

Feeling a surge of panic I put both of my hands on his chest, pleading.

"No. Please don't."

"I promise I won't bite." He whispered into my ear.

Flushed and flustered, I bit my lip nervously.

"I can't do this," I stammered before hastily fleeing the bathroom.

His laughter followed me. "Sorry I scared you, love. I was joking," he called after me.

"Don't ever make jokes like that with me. Ever again," I replied firmly, trying to calm my racing heart.

I stormed into the living room, tossing a cushion at Soap. "Get up and go sleep with him," I demanded, pointing towards Ghost's bedroom.

Soap, still groggy, protested, "What? He told me you're not sleeping here."

"Where else am I supposed to sleep then? You two can sleep together on his bed. I'm taking the couch," I declared firmly, settling onto the couch with a cushion in my lap.

As Soap trudged off to his designated room, Ghost emerged from the shower, clad in a grey hoodie and sweatpants.

"Fucking hell! Now I'll have to listen to his snoring all night," Ghost muttered, annoyance clear in his voice.

"Do you want some tea, love?" he asked, rummaging through the cabinets for jars.

"Sure," I replied, trying to push away the lingering discomfort from our earlier encounter.

As I leaned against the counter, watching him put the kettle on the stove, I couldn't shake off the curiosity that had been nagging at me for so long. "Why do you always wear a mask?" I inquired, my voice soft but insistent.

He paused for a moment, seemingly caught off guard by the question. "To hide my face," he replied simply, his tone carrying a weight of finality.

"Yeah, everybody knows that," I countered, pressing further. "But why hide your face?"

"To hide my identity from enemies," he stated, his voice clipped and precise.

I moved closer, closing the distance between us. "Enemies. But why friends? What is our fault?" I chuckled lightly, trying to break the tension that hung in the air.

He didn't answer immediately, and I took the opportunity to continue. "You're perfect in every aspect, and you don't know that. But you can be better than this if you try to be a little less flirtatious," I said, my words pouring out in a rush now.

Its a small part from my original novel on wattpad.

[gailynovelry]

We have a brilliant idea for rewriting the summaries that we hate. That idea is called "what if we just completely ignored the old summaries and opened up a blank document to write entirely new ones instead of struggling to rewrite the old ones for the billionth time."

[kimmkitsuragi]

ughhhh i literally cannot take how my classes start tmrw and i will have to work on a stupid project for another whole semester............ *applies for masters programs while saying this*

[dragon-kazansky]

Bridgerton shade of blue

Benedict Bridgerton x Female Reader

Benedict bumps into you, quite literally, at a ball while trying to escape his mother's attempts to find him a partner. You decide to humour him with a dance, not realising just how entwined you would become with him. It seems the universe will find every excuse to push you and Benedict together, no matter how much you fight it.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Season one

Chapter Eight - Sparkling diamond

♡♡♡

Benedict joined his sister, Eloise, out in the garden again long after the other had gone to bed. She was smoking on the swing like last time.

As Benedict takes a seat on the opposite swing, she passes him the cigarette. He takes it.

"I found bits of your sketchbook in the fireplace," Eloise says.

"Are you spying on me now?"

"You'd actually have to be interesting for me to bother spying on you," she chuckles.

"The drawings in that sketchbook were abominable," he says firmly. "I could not stand to look at them."

"I believe that is why they call it a sketchbook." Eloise looks at them. "I write in my diary, which is not the same as wiring in my novel."

Benedict chuckles.

"It must be very difficult to want something and not be able to get it."

"Eloise..."

"If you enjoy drawing but need practise, then practise," she goes on. "Hire a drawing master. Find a young lady to act impressed."

You cross his mind. However, he doesn't want you to act impressed. He wants you to be impressed by his work. Genuinely so.

"If you desire the sun and the moon, all you have to do is go out and shoot at the sky. Some of us cannot.

"Look no further than Lady Whistledown. She possesses a huge talent for writing, and yet she must hide away and publish under a false name."

"Yes, because if anyone knew who Whistledown truly was, she'd be strung up for what she said," Benedict states.

"That is not my point. Whistledown is a woman, therefore she has nothing, and still she writes. You're a man, therefore you have everything. You are able to do whatever you want. So do it. Be bold."

Eloise envies her brothers.

"At least that way I can live vicariously through you." She rises to leave.

"Eloise... are you Lady Whistledown?" Benedict asks.

Eloise laughs.

"You're an accomplished writer, always scribbling in that diary of yours. You certainly know everyone else's business. You have more opinions than anyone else I know in London. You would have my full support and admiration either way, sister."

Elosie laughs again.

"So... is it you?"

"No." She looks at him. "Though if it were... do you honestly think that I'd admit it?"

Elosie heads back inside.

Benedict is left with his thoughts.

♡♡♡

The ballroom was elegantly designed. Soft shades to light up the room. You find yourself without a dance partner, however.

Prince Friedrich was in the middle of a dance with Cressida Cowper.

The duke was standing sternly off to the side with Lady Danbury. They appeared to be talking quietly, though judging by the stern faces, it was not a pleasant conversation.

You find yourself gently, and you admire the room. Benedict wasn't here. You couldn't see him at all.

That is not to say you had gone unnoticed. You glance to your left and find a perfectly suitable gentleman looking your way. You smile softly and turn your gaze away.

Tactics of flirtation were not completely out of your power.

Before anyone could make a move, however, the doors at the top of the stairs opened. It wasn't so much the doors that caught everyones attention, more like who had come through them.

You swear you all breath left you when your eyes landed on Daphne coming down the stairs with her mother. She was wearing the most beautiful silver gown you had ever seen, and her hair was beautifully done. She looked like, well, a princess.

In her hand was a feather fan. It went beautifully with her attire. She began to descend the stairs.

All eyes were on her.

Prince Friedrich was at the bottom of the stairs. Not once did he look away. You watch with interest as Daphne gets closer, closer, and closer to him.

The prince leaves Cressida's side to meet Daphne at the bottom stair.

The duke does not move.

Daphne stops.

"Miss Bridgerton, I simply musylt have your first dance." He speaks to her softly.

"It would be an honour, your highness." She curtsies.

A moment passes between them, and then you watch as Daphne drops her fan. Just like that, the prince kneels down to pick it up.

The prince kneeled.

You don't even realise the soft gasp you let out as you watch.

Prince Friedrich offers her the fan, and she takes it. She smiles at him and then gives the fun to her mother as she takes the prince hand.

They dance.

The duke leaves. Though he turns back to look at Daphne before he goes.

In the words of Lady Whistledown, why settle for a duke when one can have a prince?

♡♡♡

The invitation to attend the boxing match came from Anthony Bridgerton. You were rather pleasantly surprised by his invitation.

Anthony apparently needed some help to keep his mother quiet about finding a wife for himself.

You laughed.

You follow the siblings until they reach the prince. He approaches Daphne, but greets you, also. You curtsy.

Anthony then offers you his arm. "Shall we?"

You chuckle and take it, allowing him to lead you over to some seats. As you settle, you turn to the eldest Bridgerton.

"Where are you brothers?" You ask.

"My brothers? Currently talking to one of the fighters." He gestures to the edge of the ring where you spot Colin and Benedict.

You don't even notice you're smiling.

"You and my brother seem to have grown rather close." Anthony points out, looking at you.

"I can assure you there is nothing untoward. Your brother is my friend, as are you all now." You smile at him.

Anthony chuckles.

"Benedict seems to have a lot on his mind at the moment. I am not one to get in the way of someone's business."

"Smart woman," Anthony chuckles.

You nudge his arm lightly and wait for the fight to begin.

As the match is announced to begin, the other brothers find their way to you and Anthony. Benedict looks rather surprised to see you. "I had no idea you were attending."

"Your brother invited me to keep your mother off his back. It seems that is all I'm good for." You chuckle.

"No true, but appreciated none the less," Benedict comments.

You smile, and he takes the empty seat beside you. It does not go unnoticed that you keep your arm looped with Anthony's. He doesn't comment on it.

The fight is intense. You gasp with every hard punch. The men around you cheer on their victor.

You had never witnessed such a match before, and you would be lying if you said you were not somewhat into it.

As the crowd stands, you stand with them and cheer along with the Bridgerton brothers. William Mondrich was their friend, and he was putting up hell of a good fight.

Benedict finds it amusing how excited you seem to be.

Mondrich wins!

You cheer along with the brothers. You laugh at the excitement. It was a thrilling match, indeed.

Anthony helps you down from your seat and speaks close to your ear so you can hear him. "We're off to collect our winnings. I shall see to it you get home right after."

You nod and thank him. As he leaves to fetch his earrings, Benedict turns to you.

"Did you enjoy that?"

You chuckle. "I did. Surprisingly."

"I must say, I did not expect to see you in attendance."

"I am full of surprises."

Benedict looks at you quietly for a moment. "Yes. You are."

You smile and look away. However, his gaze lingers on you for a bit.

Later, the Bridgertons see to it that you get home safely before they head off to the club. A place for the gentlemen only.

Anthony helps you up into the carriage and thanks you for humouring him today. Yo return the gesture and wave as the carriage leaves.

Colin has to nudge Benedict out of his thoughts.

♡♡♡

@callmemana - @lilscast - @imgondeletedis - @benedictbridgertonss - @clownsdiehard - @wxnterwidow333

@sillynilly27 - @autumn-slaves - @ben-has-arrived - @ajdelilah - @aadu2173

@booknerdlife - @tamlinrose - @sarahskywalker-amidala - @cheryyluv - @louschan - @lou-la-lou - @cultish-corner

@hopshusushi - @katherinejess - @nannabug - @afunkyfreshblog - @f0x33 - @dd122004dd -

@jupitervenusearthmars - @orchiidflwer - @bespinnn - @captainlunaxmen - @winchestersimpalababy - @acupnoodle

@ms-fandomgirl - @fablesrose - @anyaisinyourcloset - @meowzerzstuff -

[zeltqz]

the ask was for a sanzu x fem reader nsfw and they’re both getting high together in the car and they do the thing where they bloke smoke in each other’s most and one things leads to another. But I thought it would be funny of on the middle of their sesh, ran calls and idk you could decide if he answers or not. Lol

— mile high club

ø contents: smoking, smut, possessiveness, fluff, takeomi slander ish bc i hate the mf, friends to lovers, mutual oblivious pining, akashi brothers' mentioned beefing

o word count : 7.1k.

ø notes: is it even a sanzu fic if i dont include some sort of tension and psychological explanation to do with the neglect he faced from Takeomi? no? ok anyway...

@wenumsmol 🫶🏾

The sun sets over the streets of Tokyo when you park the car in the garage of the Akashi household, having dropped Haru off at home since you’re now his designated driver because his license got suspended for reckless driving.

“We’re here.” The car shuts off when you turn the key, both hands resting on the wheel like the professional, respectable driver you are. “Now get out of my car.”

Sanzu groans from the backseat, laying flat on his back, hand splayed over his forehead, the cold heat from his hands doing wonders to soothe his burning headache. 

“Oi.” Over your shoulder, you peek at him, fighting the urge to poke him awake. “I said we’re here.”

“I know.”

“ So…get out?”

“I don’t wanna.”

“You don’t—” You bite your words, stopping yourself to give yourself time to take a deep breath, soothing your bubbling frustration before it erupts. “You don’t want to enter your own house?”

He raises a long, slender finger, pointing insistently out the window. You follow his gaze to the back corner of the garage, Takeomi’s bike perched on its stand. 

“Ohhh,” you realise, unbuckling your seatbelt to turn and face him fully. “Well..you can’t avoid him forever.”

He removes his hand from his forehead, eyebrows knitted, forehead creased as he glares at you. “Watch me.”

“I’m serious, Haru.”

“So am I.” He’s sitting up, face stern and serious, you swear his green eyes practically glow in the dark as they catch the edge of the yellow tint garage light. 

When it comes to Takeomi, Haruchiyo mainly plans on avoiding him at all costs, dodging him around the house, wearing headphones at full volume just to drown out the sound of his brother’s voice, not coming back home for days on end, rather spending the night at yours or Mikey’s house.

He’s developed different coping mechanisms : talking to Mikey is a big help, though Mikey isn’t one for therapeutic advice, he’s still willing to lend a helping ear and listen to Haruchiyo rant on and on. It’s not much help though, only hearing responses like ‘ hm ’ , ‘ oh ’, and ‘ah’,  maybe if Mikey has a little energy left in him, he’d nod occasionally, but that’s about as much help as you’d get. 

His second coping mechanism is you,  someone he’d befriended a couple months back and kept you by his side secretly ever since, using you as a personal chauffeur and a therapist, but more importantly a best friend. Someone who’d be there for him without judging him and his dirty secrets; someone who likes to be around him not because they’re scared or intimidated, but because they enjoy his presence. 

He cannot be in the right state of mind when talking to his brother, not wanting to remember their interactions in the morning, so he relies on getting stoned or drunk to wipe his memory. It’s a potentially dangerous mechanism, but Sanzu enjoys the adrealine rush of trying something new, enjoys the out of body experiences, the fuzzy feelings, the wild imaginations and visions that make his world look colourful rather than monochromatic. 

“Haru.” You call his name with that sweet voice of yours, one that makes his heart warm. “You can talk to me about anything, okay? I’m always gonna be here for you.” 

He’s looking down at his lap, mouth twisted in a way he always does when he’s deep in thought. You can’t help but wonder just what’s going through that brain of his, knowing fully that up there is a mess of unorganised feelings and emotions he’d never been able to fully process.

“Haru. Is everything oka—”

“You know what I want?” He cuts you off, changing topics with a bright smile. 

His decision to switch topics isn’t something that offends you, knowing that he takes time to fully open up and you’re willing to wait as long as he needs. “What do you want, Haru?”

“I want weed.”

“There’s no weed, wait. What are you doin—” He moves quickly, his lean body brushing past yours, balancing a hand on your lap for leverage as he reaches inside the glove compartment pulling out his stash. “What the hell! You stashed your crap in my car?!”

“Of course I did.” He cackles at the dumbfounded look on your face, moving to the backseat. “Where else would I put it?”

“Uh—I don’t know? Your room? Anywhere but my damn car! I got pulled over the other day. What if I had gotten caught and they searched my car?”

“Did you?” He shrugs half heartedly, opening the ziplock bag. Almost instantly the car smells of marijuana, your nose wrinkles as you try to process it. 

“Well, no…but that’s not the point!”

“Shhhh,” he shushes you, taking his time to roll his blunt, all the while you’re glaring at him. “Stop pouting. You should be thanking me.”

“For what?”

“This.” He licks the joint to seal it, lifting it towards you like it’s his artistic masterpiece. The smile on his face screams child proud of their school project, diamond scars stretching cutely as his smile only widens. “It’s strong. Try it.”

“It better be.” You snatch it from his hands, holding it between your teeth as you manouevr yourself to the backseat to seat beside him. 

His chin is heavy on your shoulder as he watches you light it, wanting to be as close to you as possible not only to get a whiff of that perfume he loves that you practically drown yourself in, but to see your initial reaction to the weed. 

The smoke burns your throat before you could fully inhale, coughing violently whilst pounding on your chest to ease it. Haruchiyo grabs water from the front, tossing it to your lap as you erupt in a series of coughs. “What is that?” 

“I dunno.” He eyes the joint between his two fingers, looking oddly fascinated by it. “I just heard it was strong.”

“No shit.” It hurts when you talk, still feeling the ghost of smoke searing your oesphagus. 

His spare hand hooks onto your legs, and you yelp as he swings them over on his lap, slender fingers rubbing up and down your thigh as he smokes. “You’ll get used to it.”

“I don’t wanna.” You shift upwards on the seats, sitting on his lap, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to rest your forehead against the side of his face and shoulder. The scent of his cologne is overpowered by the marjiuana, but it’s still visible, dipping your face between his neckline and sighing. “This one is too much.” 

“Are my eyes red?” His jaw moves when he speaks, and it tickles as his smooth skin brushes against your cheek.

It pains you to move from your current position, his warmth and scent are soothing to you, but you shift back, turning the car lights on to see better. The corners of his eyes are red, and he’s struggling to keep them fully open. 

“Yeah, they are.” The urge to brush his cheeks is tempting, and your fingers twitch and hesitate by your side.

“Hey hey, wanna see somethin’ cool?” When you nod, he shifts upwards, his hand grabbing to hold onto your waist to ground you before you slip off his lap. 

The sudden contact had you stiffening, blood roaring in your ears as his strong hand held your side. You watch him perform a trick, his diaphragm contracting as he inhales, lips pursed as he exhales, several rings of smoke following suit. Your brows raise in surprise, ready to praise him when he sucks it all back in with one huge breath, the rings dismantling in the air. 

He turns back to look at you, chin high in the air, eyes tinted red gleaming as he grins at you, cheerful and animated. You can’t help it, reaching out to cup his soft cheeks with one hand, tracing over the outline of his lips, the shape of his scars with your thumb. 

It’s like he’s frozen stiff as your fingers feel up his face, and he blinks at you as you look at him with those soft eyes of yours. “You’re so cute, Haru.”

His eyes dilate; from the light in the car, or the strong weed you don’t know, can’t tell. What you can tell is that from his silence, his mind is running wild, thoughts bouncing across his brain from left to right, mirroring the way his eyes dart over your face, your lips, and the curve of your nose.

“So are you.” The words spill out from his lips faster than the blush creeps onto his cheeks. He looks away, embarrassed, clearing his throat before smoking from the joint again. “I learnt it from Ran. That useless lazy fucker is sometimes helpful.”

“Ran, huh?” Your fingers find themselves latched to the front strands of his hair tucked into a ponytail, twirling it on your fingertips. “He’s the tall one, right?”

He chuckles, short and amused, voice muffled from the joint between his lips. “All my friends are tall, ya know?”

“Well maybe if you let me around your friends, I’d be able to identify them.”

“You’ll live without ‘em,” he says, blowing smoke in your face, snorting when you cough and swat the smoke away, then try to hit the side of his face, only for him to catch your hand in time. “Your reflexes suck ass.”

You struggle to shift your hand from his grip, frowning at him. “I’m not a ninja.”

“I can teach you to be one.” 

“You a sensei, now?”

“I’m anything and everything. Like Batman.” 

He smiles when you laugh softly, the sound making him feel lightheaded, paired along with the weed flowing through his veins. “Batman is rich, though. You’re not.”

“I can steal money, all is good.” His hand, warm and hot, slides under the hem of your shirt, leaving a searing trail behind his movements that burns into your skin. “I’ll buy you anything once I get rich. Promise.”

He’s been subtly leaning closer as he speaks the whole time, but you don’t notice until his forehead brushes yours and you’re both staring at each other, daring the other to move closer.  “ Anything? ”

Green eyes fall down to your lips, not even trying to look subtle. “Anything.”

Fuck, at this angle you look so pretty, staring down at him with those dreamy eyes of yours, looking at him like he’s the most precious thing in the world. He always feels like that around you, another reason why he loves getting high around you. It forces him to be vulnerable around you, letting the feelings he’s been shovelling down refsurface.

Though it’s risky, and there’s nothing more he fears than rejection, he’s always been a risk taker. You make him feel good with your words, your presence, your voice, the silly moments you two share alone in his car, your room, his room. 

Your lips are what he favours the most on your face, always glossy with whatever flavour lipbalm you wear that day, and he physically fights the urge to kiss them just to guess it. His eyes are drawn towards your lips like a magnet. The way you bite at them when you’re focused, chew on the skin when you’re nervous, lick them when they’re dry, he notices, and wonders how soft they truly are.

“Do…do you wanna kiss me?” Your question catches him off guard, brows knitting in confusion as he wonders if he’s been speaking his thoughts aloud this entire time, but in truth, he’s been making his intentions obvious as he’s been staring at nothing but your lips the entire time.

“Huh? Don’t be weird.” He instantly facepalms himself mentally, fighting the urge to turn back time to take back his words, but it’s too late when your brows rise, lips parting slightly in surprise before looking down at your lap with a slight frown.

“Oh, sorry. That was weird, wasn’t it?”

“It’s fine.” His heart stings in his chest, he can feel it clenching painfully leaving nothing but a hollow feeling in the depths of his stomach when he realises you’re upset. “Why’d you ask that anyway?”

Maybe he can shift the narrative, find out a way to spin the conversation back to kissing. He still has a chance. “Have you never kissed anyone before?”

“I have!” The pout is back on your face, but not from being sad; he can tell the difference, so he sighs in relief. But still…the way your lower lip juts out slightly has him fighting the urge to tug and bite at it. “I’m not a virgin, idiot.”

He doesn’t bother trying to hide the surprise on his face, and you notice. “What? It’s that hard to believe someone would fuck me? Am I that ugly or something?” 

The effects of the weed start kicking in,  now you feel yourself getting emotional over nothing.

“I never even said anything.” 

“You didn’t need to. I’m not stupid, Haru.”

He flexes his jaw as he glares at you, trying to shovel his anger down. The argument is pointless, so he stays silent, bringing the blunt back to his lips. He inhales it for longer this time, and it can’t possibly be healthy for his lungs, but he doesn’t care.

“What time is it?” you ask, and his hand squeezes your waist tighter, stopping you from squirming from his lap.

“Why do you need the time?”

“Because I gotta get going at seven.”

“...why ?”

“Because…” you chirp, shifting to face him with a huge smile on your face, “I’ve got a date.” 

When you bite down on your lip, he can’t even be bothered to look down at it, or notice it. It’s silent in the car as you wait for Haru to be your best friend/wingman that hypes you, ask you for his name, height, age, job, personality, whatever. But he’s silent, face unreadable, and the tension in the car rises thick when he continues to stay silent; your excitement fades along with your smile.

He knows he’s been silent for too long, now everything is awkward, but he can’t find the right words to say. Congratulations? It’s just a date, what do you expect him to do? Find you wedding rings? 

His brain isn’t co-operating either, not in the right state of mind to process his words like a filter, so he says nothing before he says something he’ll regret.

“...Anyway,” you have to choke your words out, refusing to show your slight embarrassment, “hurry up and get high, so I can leave and get laid.”

“I am high.”

“Then I can leave.”

“No, you can’t.” He glares back when you glare at him, but he can’t find it in himself to control himself any longer. Maybe it was a bad idea to get high in a confided space with you, on his lap, with your face so close to his. 

“Why can’t I?”

“...’cause he’s a loser, and you don’t wanna get laid by a loser.”

You snort. “He’s the only loser available, so maybe I do want to.”

“What if…there’s another loser available?” He goes stiff and still when your eyes flick up to his face, looking concentrated at him eye to eye as if you were trying to decipher his words. “Me. I’m the loser.”

“You?” He simply nods and you do the opposite and shake your head. “You’re not a loser.”

“Yeah, I am.” You shift on his lap when he shrugs, leaning his head back against the headrest, and you watch as smoke leaves his lips as he exhales. 

His senses are intensified with the drugs, your fingers tickling their way up his shoulders, along his neck, to behind his head, lacing them between his soft hair. Leaning down, you hold his face in your hands and kiss him.

The moment your lips touch his, he feels like the world paused, and he’s dying to find whoever has control over the remote of his life so they could press play and he could embrace you like he deserves. Or, maybe he’s dying, and whoever is up there allows him to imagine just one night with you before he fades into nothing.

It’s real, all real. The tender slide of your lips against his are real, the sensation of his teeth sinking into your soft plump lips, biting, and nibbling at it is real, the gentle moans he eagerly draws from your lips when his tongue swipes against yours, wet, messy and sloppy is real. 

“Fuck—” you whisper along the swell of his lips, pulling away to examine his face.

He looks gone, shallow half-lidded eyes looking up at you with blown wide pupils, mouth half open as if he’s forgotten how to close it. 

“Haru, you there?” Your knuckle traces along the side of his face, stopping under his chin, lifting it to look up at you.

“Yeah yeah, ‘m here.” 

Your giggle echoes in his ears, and he’s never been harder in his life, cock pressing uncomfortably tight against his pants. “Good, because you look wasted right now.”

“Just, fuck— stop talkin’. C’mere.” He pulls you down for a kiss with a hand at the back of your head, sloppily working his mouth against yours. He tastes like weed, the smell strong but it doesn’t stop you from licking into his mouth, desperate to drive the strong taste away and replace it. 

Big, strong hands wander the length of your back, slipping under your shirt, cold hands hugging you tight, tight to his body that you can’t help but arch into him.

A sound that comes from the inside of the house has you pulling away, turning to face the window, and he trails his lips down the length of your neck. His nose pokes into the flesh of your neck as he sucks deep, red hickeys onto the plane of your neck, breathing heavily as he savours the feeling of your soft feeling of your skin. 

He could get used to this; the weed makes him feel like your skin is ten times softer, or maybe that’s how it generally feels and you’re just perfect, so soft everywhere. 

“Tak—take this off.” The words are lost to your neck as he sucks along the column of your throat, rogue hands wandering along your chest, up your shirt, kneading your tits through your bra.

“Okay, okay, wait —” When you pull backwards, he follows, leaning up from the seat, lips attached to your neck by the hip. “Haru. If you want to see me naked, you’re gonna have to let me remove my clothes.”

“Just…wait a min’ longer…” He sucks harder, and you shudder as shivers race down your body at the feeling of his teeth nibbling at the sensitive part of your neck. When he’s satisfied, he pulls away, admiring his handiwork. “You look so sexy like this, fuck.” He’s tugging your shirt off, throwing it behind you, uncaring of where it lands. 

Warm hands roam your stomach, your sides, sliding up further to wrap around your throat. “So beautiful ‘n sexy, just for me.”

“You already said sexy.” He hums absentmindedly, obviously not paying attention if the way he’s squeezing the fat of your breasts were any indication. 

“You’re sexy times two.” He grins up at you before pulling your bra cup down, and you inhale sharply when it brushes down your nipple. “No, no actually. Times infinity.”

You flush hot at his words, especially when his lips brush against your ears, biting down against the shell. He’s sweating from the heat in the car plus the heat from both your panting bodies. 

“Don’t you think we should—ah fuck—” He tugs you upwards on his lap, your clothed cunt grinding against his hard cock, hands curling into fists behind his neck. 

“We should what?” His musical chuckle vibrates along your ear, sending cold shivers down your spine, forcing you to arch to chase the feeling away. You squeal when he bites down along your ear once more, smirkingpleasantly at the soft, squishy press of your tits against his chest.

“We should go to your room. I mean there’s not much room in here.” Your neck aches from the angle you’re sitting at, neck bent at an awkward angle to avoid hitting the roof of the car. 

There’s not enough space in this crammed car to fit yourself comfortably. Haru, on the other hand, is more than comfortable, seated on the seats like a king that’s blessed the majestic view of your half naked body atop of his. 

“I got an idea,” he says, not giving you a moment to wonder what he’s thinking before he’s lifting you from his lap, plopping you onto the seats. Your forearm darts quickly to cover your chest when he pops the car door open, lips pressed together tightly as he walks to the front seat, yanks the door open without a care and readjusts the seats back, pushing it till there’s enough room between the wheel. “This space big enough for ya?”

You tilt your head past the seat, surveying the space with a keen eye. There’s enough room for you to kneel down and take his cock in your mouth without a fuss or a struggle. A bed sounds nicer though, the thought of sinking into his soft mattress as he fucks you crosses your mind, but it’s overpowered when you remember his siblings are home and you’d rather die than let them hear you.

“Seems good,” you shrug, sliding quickly out the car; the cold air from the garage AC hits you smack in the chest, hardening your nipples momentarily. 

“Ah, ah wait.” Haru pulls you back before you could climb on top of him. The cute way your tilt your head at him, confused, makes his heart do a triple beat for a moment. “I wanna try somethin’.”

“Okay…” 

It’s stressful the way he’s manouevring you along the seat, pressing your back into the front seat as he shifts to kneel between your legs. “Hold your legs up for me.”

You swallow hard, unable to taste your saliva with how fast your nerves are racing. Doing as he said, you bring your hands under your thighs, holding them up as he tugs your pants down, struggling to get them past your bent knees, glaring at you when you choke on your laugh, muttering out a quick apology. 

“Don’t apologise now. You’ll be beggin’ for it later, trust me.”

His confidence is over the roof right now, evident in his strong posture, shoulders back as he leans forward, swiping a finger along your folds with ease. 

“You’re really wet.” Your slick catches on the tip of his finger, and you want to hide your face between your hands when his pink tongue darts out to lick at it. 

“Could you maybe not do that? It’s awkward…”

He hums when he looks at you; now it’s his turn to tilt his head at you. “How else am I supposed to eat you out then?” His hands press themselves between yours under your thighs, and your back aches from almost sliding down the seat in this awkward position. “You want me to skip the prep? Fuck you into the seat right now?”

“I mean—” It sounds like a good idea, but then you remember the length and thickness of his cock through his pants and swallow excessively. “Prep please.”

He smiles at you, the car light reflecting off the side of his face as he dips his face closer, digging his fingers into the swell of your thighs, nose pressed against your folds and sniffs so hard it’s like a vacuum, your clit tingles with the need to have his tongue in you. 

“This gonna sound so weird, but I really don’t give a fuck but…” he moans as he licks along your slit, a long, wet stripe from the bottom to the top, “you taste so good, fuck—”

“Haru stop…” He seals his lips around your clit, fingernails digging into your thighs as he sucks hard, numbing your clit with the continous flicks of his tongue moving at rapid speed. “Oh my go—”

Your hands fight the urge to fly to his hair, pull him closer to grind his nose against your stubborn clit, but you remember his instructions, to keep your hands on your thighs, keep you spread open for him. 

He’s devouring your pussy like a starved individual, flicking his tongue rapidly, slurping the wetness that drips from your puffy folds. You try to close your legs, try to squirm away from the ticklish feeling of his wet tongue trying to squeeze its way through your cunt, but it’s intoxicating, and overwhelming, especially when his finger tickles against your hole.

It’s fascinating watching it go in and out, and Haru dreads pulling his mouth away from your cunt but he needs to watch your face as his finger slides knuckle deep inside you. His bloodshot eyes twinkle as he watches your slick coat the length of his finger, translucent liquid dripping down his knuckles to the seat. 

“You always get this wet?”

“I don’t know…” It’s not often you finger yourself, so the experience is first hand. You’re also partially amazed that your body managed to produce this much slick from a single finger. “Wait, wait, right there. That feels so good—”

“Here?” His finger curls inside you, itching the side of that spongy spot. 

“No, no—not there, wait—” Your hips shift to the side a little, then it’s like something switches inside you, hands shaking against your thighs as he spreads you out with a second finger, applying pressure to that spot that has your moans increasing in pitch. 

His cock twitches with the need to replace his fingers, sink himself deep inside you, watch your eyes cross as you melt in pleasure. He leans forward, slurping, sucking along the sensitive hood of your clit.

Your body feels numb, voice coming out as breathy pants as you tilt your head back to hit the headrest, giving into the warm, fuzzy feeling deep inside your abdomdem as he fingers you to your climax. 

He knows that you're close when your walls cling and squeeze his fingers tight, barely giving him enough room to move them. His own tongue slithers through your folds, lapping up the leftover slick. The taste of you is better than he’d expected, and he thinks he could live between your legs for the rest of his life. 

There’s a swell of pride swirling through his chest when he feels you lose yourself on his fingers and tongue, your teeth pressing into your bottom lip painfully as you jolt and sit up from the effects of your orgasm. Your hands forget holding your thighs up, gripping onto his hair tied up loosely in a ponytail and tug him forward, craving the warmth of his mouth sealed around your clit as your world comes tumbling down.

It takes a couple moments for you to get yourself together, still holding painfully onto his hair before letting go. He presses ticklish kisses along your thighs, licking at the wetness spread along them. 

“That was—” You swallow, trying to find the words since your brain isn’t co-operating. “That was so good.”

You look all cute when flustered, face heated and flushed, your pretty lips left open as you pant heavily, desperately trying to catch your breath. 

“Think I found my new addiction.” He grins up at you, big hands squeezing the fat of your thighs as he kneels up between your legs, wrapping them around his waist and leans in for a kiss.

Your hands cup his cheeks, holding him close to you as he licks into your mouth, forcing you to taste yourself on his tongue, giving you a moment to gather your nerves because you’re going to need it. 

“I’m ready,” you mumble into his mouth, feeling the shiver that races down his spine.

“Bet, okay. Hold on.” He draws back, big hands spreading your thighs apart.

You look at him through your lashes as he sheds his shirt, tossing it behind you. His body is lean, capacious, abs faint but visible and your mouth waters, hand flying out to run down his stomach. Your touch is so light, his muscles flinching away from the ticklish feeling. Everything you do to him makes him feel so good. 

He grips both your hands, pinning them above the headrest. “Keep ‘em there,” he says, unbuckling his belt, sliding his pants down to his knees. He grabs a condom from his back pocket, ignoring your humourless stare.

“You planned this?” You gesture at the condoms with your head. 

“Better be safe than sorry.” He bites the end of the wrapper, pulling the condom out, rolling it slowly down his shaft. 

Your eyeroll is cut short when the tip of his cock angles itself at your entrance. He can see the way you’re dripping, the slick smeared along your thighs. 

Warmth engulfs the head of his cock as he slowly pushes it in you, and he hisses, biting his lip to stop himself from thinking how good you feel, how tight you’re going to squeeze his cock, how he’s going to cum inside you—

You’re panting, the tip of his cock stretching you out, almost screaming when it pushes past, the thick head making you dizzy it carves a path inside you. “Ah, Haru that—” He pushes deeper, and his eyes roll back when you clench around him.

Haru swears, gripping onto the base of his cock, squeezing it to stop himself from cumming too quickly, pushing through the urge to shove the rest of his length inside you. He stills halfway, needing to take a moment to compose himself, his mind fuzzy and warm, and he feels lightheaded. 

He has to close his eyes, knowing if he looks down, seeing his cock between your legs, halfway inside you, he’d cum in an instant. 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to wait—I can take it,” you pant, hips desperately trying to rut forward. “Please…”

He takes a moment to swallow, groaning lowly, as he pushes the rest of his cock inside you, trying to ignore the tight suction of your walls. The moment he bottoms out, he’s falling forward, dipping his face between your neck and shoulder and moans, the sound desperate and needy, causing your pussy to clench and quiver around him.

You wrap your legs around his waist, arms wrapping around his head as you hold him closely, enjoying the feeling of his breath tickling your shoulders. “You okay?” 

It’s funny how you’re asking him this instead of the other way round, and a part of you feels pride in the fact you could make someone this desperate and needy without effort. 

“I’m good…it’s just…fuck , you’re so tight.” He forces himself to inhale deeply, eyes squeezing shut painfully to compose himself. He shivers at the feeling of your nails raking up and down his hair, scratching at his scalp addictvely. “You’re good though, right? It doesn’t hurt?”

You shake your head, smiling softly at him. “Nah. The seats a little uncomfortable but…that’s about it. You can move, Haru.”

“It’s uncomfy? Oh…” You almost want to cry when he pulls out, but he’s lifting you from the seat, switching your positions, slotting you back down on his lap. 

“You want me to ride you?”

He nods, biting his lip when you grab onto his cock, seating yourself down on his cock. 

“Oh my god—” You feel so full, his thick cock stretches your walls, whimpering beside his ear when he rolls his hips sensually, pressing his cock deeper inside you. 

“ Holy shit , you’re so tight.” Your pussy drives him into a frenzy, eyes threatening to roll back at the way your cunt squeezes him so tight, clinging to every inch of him. 

He swears, voice low, sounding wrecked as you begin riding him a little faster, slowly lifting your hips up and down. The obscene squelch of your pussy grasping pathetically around his thick shaft has him biting his lip so hard he might draw blood. 

“ Haru.” You wail his name, collapsing onto his chest, shuddering when his hands, rough and warm, grab onto your hips to slow your pace down. 

“Yeah?” His voice is quiet, like a whisper, so he clears his throat and tries again. “Yeah? What’s wrong?”

“Lemme move—” You trail your lips down his neck in an attempt to soften him, waiting for him to let go of you so you can move faster. There’s a nudging spot inside you, an itch that needs to be scratched. Your attempt to move is shut down again, frustration building up and up the longer you feel his cock twitch inside you. “Haru please…”

“If I let go, you gotta promise to take it slow.”

“But I wanna make you feel good.” You whisper along his lips, tugging at it with your teeth. He groans into your mouth, and shifts for a moment, his cock follows suit, twitching desperately for some friction. “Wait, do that again.”

“This?” He rolls his hips upwards, rolls your hips backwards and forwards, and you drip a little wetter down his leg, wetting his thighs. 

“Yes. Do it again.” 

He starts a steady pace, steady enough for you to feel the way he’s deliberately aiming at that spot in you that makes you squirm around. 

“I’m so close.” He says beside your ear, his voice lingering in your head, clouded by the feeling of his hands roaming your back, scratching at it with every bounce you give him. 

“Me…me too.” 

He’s tense, gritting his teeth when you clench around him. You shift backwards, unslinking your hands from around his neck to grab at his knees, using them as leverage to support yourself as you roll your hips in circles.

He can feel the energy buzzing between you both, can feel the tingling sensation on the edge of his fingertips, the drugs running through his veins has the regular feeling of sex intensifieid, and he swears he can feel every inch of you. 

Everything is so hot right now, the temperature in the car, the feel of your hands braced against his knees, the way your nails dig into the bone, the way your tits bounce in his face as you fuck yourself on his cock. 

You clench when you cum, and he leans forward suddenly, grabbing your hips to lift you up, slamming you back down with a loud moan, hips jerking as he cums inside you. 

You’re shaking, trembling at the feeling of his cum spurting inside you, the wet sensation is ticklish, cold shivers running down your spine. 

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he mumbles again, holding you down to feel your greedy walls sucking him in further. “Holy fuck, I could stay here forever.”

“I need a shower.” You say once you come back to your senses, groaning softly when you lift yourself up and off his cock, the wet squelch following after echoes throughout the car. 

“That’s so hot.” He mutters, eyes wide with fascincation as he reaches out to thumb at your clit, enjoying the way you shiver and let out a soft moan as he rubs it in circles. “Holy shit that’s so hot. You’re so hot.”

“I kno—” It’s distracting when you can feel his cum dripping out from you slowly making you lose your train of thought , the drip of it is anticipating until it forms a small pool between both of your bodies. “I know.”

“You hesitated.” 

“I didn’t.”

He removes his thumb, wiping the wetness from it along his tongue, tasting you, and you feel your face flush at the action, burning hot when looks up at you, the corners of his mouth dragging up slowly. “You did.”

“Shut up.” 

Sanzu’s reaching towards the backseat for his stash, and you laugh at how his arm barely reaches it, flailing it uselessly around the air. 

“You’re not gonna reach it, Haru.”

“Watch me.”

He grunts and groans like he’s lifting heavy bricks, and you start to take pity on him. “Dude, just give up.”

“No.”

 If there’s one thing about Sanzu it’s that he’s determined, but not in the way you think. It’s more the stubborn version, always trying to do the impossible, ignoring you when you tell him it’s not possible, then sulks when he fails. 

He clicks his tongue, shifting you down on his lap so he has more room and this time successfully grabs at it. “Told you. Always hatin’ on me.”

You giggle, faint and shrill, leaning forward to rest your head against his shoulder, watching him dug through the contents of the bag, his slender, skilled fingers professionally rolling another blunt. 

It’s silent in the car again, you two both bask in each other’s presence. Both of you refusing to discuss what happened earlier, not sure if those sudden feelings you felt were because of the weed or if there’s something else deep inside, a false truth you’ve refused to make terms with, or shoved them aside for another unknown reason unbeknownst to you.

Your head is racing with thoughts, pictures of Haru wondering where you suddenly felt these emotions towards him came from. The thought of sharing him with anyone else angers you, but it shouldn’t because you’re both friends. The thought of him laying in a car with another girl on top of him angers you, makes you feel bitter and resentment towards this imaginary woman your brain fabricated inside your head.

It’s like your body is working against you. 

Stupid weed. 

Haru’s gone for the second time today, and for the first time in what felt like ten minutes—in actuality it was only three—you look up at him. He looks like he’s falling asleep, those chubby cheeks of his so promising, so soft, you can’t help but shift upwards, pressing soft kisses against them.

It should be weird to him  that he doesn’t question your sudden out of character movements, but then again you both did just have sex not longer than five minutes ago. 

His phone rings at the backseat, pulling you away from his neck where you were sucking fresh purple hickeys onto and he groans when your ass brushes aginst his cock. It’s been slightly hard the entire time, still not over his recent orgasm, but not strong enough to maintain itself to stand tall. 

“What’re you doin’?” You freeze as your hand hovers over his phone. 

“Your phone’s been ringing non-stop. It’s irritating.” The caller ID is Ran, and part of you wants to answer it so you can know what he looks like. It’s been nudging at your brain the entire time, trying to figure out which one of his friends is who, trying to put the pieces of the faceless group of boys together to solve the puzzle. 

“Just ignore it—okay then.” You answer the phone away, turning the camera away from your naked body onto Sanzu’s face. You squirm around, trying to find where Sanzu threw your bra and shirt as the two engage in small talk.

“What do you want?”

Ran snorts on the other end, his voice deep, familiar, and husky. “Don’t needa get all pissy, you big baby. Takeomi wants to know where you are.”

“What the fuck does that have to do wit’ me?”

“Call him, or somethin’. I don’t fuckin’ know?”

Haru sniffs, nose wrinkling when the smoke he blows out invades his nostrils. “Tell him I’m busy.”

“Being a fuckin’ junkie?” Ran snorts, petty and bitterly, voice now laced in sarcasm. “So productive.”

Haruchiyo rolls his eyes at the same time you put your shirt back on, reaching under your shirt to fix the straps of your bra. “I’m doing more than getting high, you slug. I’m with my friend.”

You had tuned out the conversation from the beginning, your main priority being your clothes, but at the mention of ‘friend’, he jostles his leg, catching your attention. “Say hello.”

“Uh…hello?”

“Oh? Who might you be?”

“I’m—” Haruchiyo ends the call before you could even get the first letter of your name out. “What the hell?”

He lazily shrugs, tossing his phone into the backseat without a care. It hits the edge of the seat, before hitting the floor with a mild smack. Two noble fingers grasp at your chin, redirecting your gaze from his probably broken phone to his face. 

The kiss is passionate, and long, his wet slide of his tongue laving itself inside your mouth. Your face grows hot when his lips wrap around the length of your tongue, sucking the moisture from it, replacing it with his own. It’s messy but you don’t care, happily drinking the mixed saliva from his mouth. 

His sharp teeth sink into your lips, stopping you from pulling away, kissing you with fervour as his heavy head spins, and bright flashes of colour appears behind his closed eyes.

“I’m so hungry,” he gasps out when he finally pulls away, wiping the saliva from his mouth with his forearm, giving you back the breath he stole from your lungs with that kiss.

“You want me to drive you to McDonalds?”

He grins up at you, that stupid adorable look on his face that has your heart warming in your chest. “Is this your way of asking me out on a date?”

“It’s my way of forcing some food down your throat before you die of starvation.”

“What if I was thirsty instead?”

“McDonalds sells drinks, dumbass.”

“ Or… ” He places his hands on your hips, pulling you forward on his lap. You yelp at the motion, hands flying to the headrest behind him to stabilise yourself. 

What he’s insinuating is lost to you for a moment, only becoming obvious when his hand snakes down to your pussy, thumb nudging insistently at your clit. His eyes dip down to your chest, your nipples still hard and poking through the thin fabric of your shirt, then drags them back up to your face and smiles.

“You’re so horny.” Your eyeroll is fabricated and fake, part of you deep down wants it too. 

“You like it though.” It’s true, and he knows it too. The defeated look on your face is all he needs to know when he moves to open the car door, nodding his head outside. “Let’s go to my room now.”

[pommedepersephone]

Buck up, Hamlet! or how Aziraphale and Crowley's blocking helps communicate the evolution of their relationship

Can we talk about the blocking?

Specifically, I have been rewatching S1E3, one of my favorites. I love how the development of the relationship between Aziraphale and Crowley is shown through these little vignettes. There have been some great explorations of the costuming and dialogue, but what always strikes me is the BLOCKING. The way their placement and movements add such depth and tell the story of living as a queer person, having to communicate in coded language.

Through the episode, we get 4500 years of history - Eden, Mesopotamia, Golgatha, Rome and Wessex - to see Aziraphale and Crowley standing on their opposite sides. Aziraphale always on the right, Crowley always on the left. But after the Arrangement, their blocking changes drastically and becomes much more fluid and nuanced. Each scene after this is distinct but the scenes in at the Globe and the Bastille have the most development, and I find myself rewatching them A LOT. Here is what I see. 

All the World's a Stage

This is the first meeting we see that isn’t a chance encounter, though the two try to stage it as such. It takes place in a theatre - and they are acting, playing their roles as demon and angel. Even the humans are complicit in this performance, with Shakespeare stepping in to address the two "in your roles as the audience." Oh, delicious.

But once it's been firmly established for anyone watching that they AREN'T friends, they DON'T know each other (cough cough) the following moves are clearly choreographed and have been played out many times before. Crowley sashays to the right, opening the dance, and Aziraphale accepts the invitation to dance with: “What do you want?” 

“Why ever would you insinuate that I might possibly want something?” Crowley is just playing his role as cheeky demon offering up a temptation - but his position to the right of Aziraphale speaks to the fact that they are both very complicit in this performance.

“You are up to no good.”  “Obviously. And you are up to good, I take it? Lots of good deeds?” Just standard character establishment, here.

“No rest for the, well, good." Ah, this line, the inversion of the well known idiom. Because the line between good and evil (and between angel and demon) maybe aren't so distinct, and Aziraphale acknowledges this with his words. We are moving into negotiations now. "I have to be in Edinburgh at the end of the week. A couple of blessings to do, and a minor miracle to perform. Apparently, I have to ride a horse.”

“Ah hard on the buttocks, horses. Major design flaw, if you ask me. I’m meant to be headed to Edinburgh too this week. Tempting a clan leader to steal some cattle.” The way Crowley moves AROUND Aziraphale here, intimate but also careful, watching for his reactions.

“Doesn’t sound like hard work.” Said with a little sideways look, because Aziraphale can see where this is going. And he's open to suggestion temptation.

“That was why I thought we should… well, bit of a waste of effort. Both of us going all the way to Scotland.”

“You cannot actually be suggesting what I infer you are implying?” A little bit of pretense, because Aziraphale has to pretend to be tempted, right?

Crowley presses. “Which is?” Because he is willing to play the part of tempting demon, but only if it is clear this is a farce, that this is indeed mutually agreeable. He is making sure they are doing the same dance.

"That one of us goes to Edinburgh and does... both. The blessing and the tempting."

Yes, they are doing the same dance, and what is left is the formality of concluding the dance - a moment of Aziraphale expressing his concern for Crowley, the coin toss - they both know how it ends. It's a ritual, an act of give and take.

But if it were ONLY the Arrangement, a simple quid pro quo, it would have ended there. It doesn't. Instead, the two offer each other a more intimate exchange - "It'd take a miracle to get people to come and see Hamlet."

Aziraphale doesn't even have to ask with words, just a look, and Crowley happily agrees. That is the final part of the dance, a small acknowledgement that this isn't just about making their jobs easier.

A Free Man in Paris

Paris is something else. This is a HUGE step beyond making sure that audiences like a show your angel is particularly fond of. This is a stolen dangerous moment, an OUTRAGEOUS flirtation that takes place outside of time, conducted in clear view of others but beyond their understanding. Isn’t that how their entire relationship is now conducted, hidden in plain view and so clearly affectionate? 

And look, Aziraphale is BITCHY in this scene. Peak That Bitch. He's just purchased a bookshop, he's creating a very permanent place for himself here on earth - Aziraphale is feeling quite proud of himself. In fact, he's preening a bit that he has figured out how to exist, even in some small limited way, as himself within the confines of the system of Heaven. Buuuut he may have gone just a bit too far, and gotten himself in a spot of trouble. He has landed in a prison, threatened with "death" and stuck because he's already gotten a warning about being frivolous with his miracles. Oh jolly good that Crowley is here to save the day!

There is something raw being communicated here here, where both Aziraphale and Crowley are presenting themselves to the world in ways that are dangerous. Aziraphale's reaction tells us that Crowley's look is doing things to him, but also in a way that it is NOT socially appropriate. Aziraphale may have showed up in all the trappings of an English aristocrat, but here is Crowley as a French royal sympathizer. NEITHER of these are safe choices in the middle of a revolution. The costuming is so critical to fully appreciating this scene, so check out the amazing clothing overview with @cobragardens.

When Crowley arrives and stops time, he and Aziraphale find themselves situated facing one another, but angled so they aren’t facing straight on. Interestingly, from Crowley’s perspective, he is where he is supposed to be - the left of Aziraphale. But Aziraphale, from his perspective, is also to the left of Crowley. It was Aziraphale after all who initiated this situation, who put himself in danger by being too… Aziraphale. It’s dangerous to be yourself when you don’t fit into heteronormative social expectations, isn’t it? Still, the two keep up a very flirtatious banter as they discuss the situation, and Crowley maintains his very-intentionally-unbothered sitting position up until Aziraphale goes too far and thanks him for coming to his rescue.

While Crowley is also flirting with danger in the way he is dressed, he also didn't just pop over for a nibble dressed this way. And whatever he might have been up to was interrupted so he could rescue Aziraphale from the consequences of his own reckless authenticity. After removing the chains, Crowley pushes Aziraphale to reconsider his honest expression of himself in this exact place and time - for the sake of survival.

Aziraphale, willing to risk himself alone, rather quickly adopts a more acceptable appearance when it might impact Crowley. It is only after Aziraphale is safely disguised and returned to his proper place to the right of Crowley, ONLY then does Crowley restart time. They can go enjoy lunch now, with the proper precautions and masks in place.

For these two particular human-coded occult beings, this is also such an honest moment. They both showed up damn authentically - Aziraphale so fabulously ostentatious, focused on chasing down some pleasure (in this crepes) and Crowley wrapped in a clear protest against the current violence. Just as Aziraphale indicated with his "Oh good LORD" as he looked the demon up and down with obvious thirst, Crowley's request to Aziraphale to change his appearance and mask better is done in such a way that affirms that Crowley LIKES who Aziraphale is without the mask.

The scene is so playful on the surface, the body language and dialogue flirtatious. It's something so familiar to the queer experience, making light of the absolute danger that we must sometimes navigate just to exist. The more I watch it, the more obsessed I become.

A Spot of Bodysnatchin'

It is worth remembering that we didn't get this scene in S1.

I am going to go through it soon, because again they dance back and forth beautifully in this minisode, but suffice to say we all know... it didn't end well for Crowley.

No Walk in the Park

The moment in St. James Park is brief, and it wasn't until S2 and the meeting at Edinburgh that we got the full context for this meeting. But even without this, we can clearly see that things are weighing heavily on Crowley. The scene in the Bastille took place in a prison, with the threat of execution over their heads. The juxtaposition of this conversation taking place in a park - a place that is not only NOT inherently dangerous but looks lovely and welcoming - only highlights the change in Crowley's attitude. He still attempts to be playful, but he's afraid. Look at that paper, it's a bit crumpled, he's been carrying it around for a while.

They are firmly entrenched on their assigned sides for the entire conversation, both very stiff. It feels uncomfortable to watch. When Aziraphale refuses his request, and indicates whatever is between them is just "fraternizing" with the enemy, we get a glimpse of how fearful Crowley really is. In none of these flashbacks has Crowley ever spoken to Aziraphale with the anger we see here. When they part in anger, it feels wrong.

Take Me to Church

So there is a long break between meetings now. But then, ah, the church. The place Aziraphale realizes his feelings. (Look, if Michael says this is where Aziraphale realized he'd fallen in love, I am not here to argue.) What I love is that again we see Crowley and Aziraphale swapping sides. Crowley is here to save his wayward angel, AGAIN. Despite feeling the ill effects of walking on consecrated ground, Crowley is here to save his angel and defeat Nazis. It's definitely not remotely evil intentions.

It isn't like the Bastille, but some of the parallels exist - Aziraphale failing to grasp the risks of his actions. And the silliness of his little dance coupled with just how deadly serious this situation is harks back to their flirtations in the prison.

Crowley is to the right of Aziraphale from the time he arrives until the bomb drops. Then in the rubble, with the danger past, we see them on their assigned sides again. UNTIL Crowley hands Aziraphale the books he saved with a "little demonic miracle of my own." He then crosses Aziraphale, and we see the look of absolute adoration as the angel watches him walk away to the right.

Sweeeeeet baby Jesus, baby girl has it BAD.

Always Crashing in the Same Car

This extremely heartbreaking scene has been dissected, chewed over, breaking our little hearts with it's sharp pieces.

But it is purposeful that this scene took place in the Bentley. Being in the car is symbolic because Aziraphale is here making an offering to Crowley, in his space, something that he Aziraphale feels is WRONG which is highlighted by his placement to the left of Crowley. He is scared, acting against all his own desires, but he does it anyway because he cares for Crowley. It's simple, powerful placement. Need to hurt more? Yeah, thought so. Take a deeper look at the dialogue with @zionworkzs.

[shadowxamyweek]

Art piece is by @lambpaca! Happy Leap Year to all you Lovers

Oh I love this. Friend, again, thank you, thank you, thank you

So there's a silly little tradition that was/is still practiced in several different countries. The tradition was, on the 29th of February, women could propose to men. It is still practiced today, more in jest than anything else, but in my own sphere, I have seen the Leap Year Day become a time when 'unconventional' couples of all stripes get together, both cis and queer.

I always liked this unofficial tradition. My partner and I actually made our plans to get married last Leap Year, in 2020, over text during lockdown. Sitting here, now married to my best friend, I still have a copy of this original print on my phone to remind me of the joy in that moment, as this picture was the thing that started that conversation.

So it's got a lot of sentimentality for me

---

The above was drafted before news broke that Tumblr would be partnering with Midjourney and Open Ai. As such, this beautiful art is now protected by the brilliant people of Chicago University and their relentless work to combat scrapping with Glaze and Nightshade.

There is a certain poetics, to me at least, posting this work now. The whole concept of Leap Year engagements was to go against the norm, pushing back against expectations and current reality as we strive for something better. The reason the tradition is no longer mainstream is because many of us have reached a point in our existence where we do not have to wait to be free.

Many, but nowhere near all. The fight is not yet done. As such, we will continue on until it is, in fact, all of us.

This goes for all aspects of personhood, but now, in this specific case, it also means joy in the freedom of art and artistic expression directly in spite of the companies that would seek to try to steal that from us and profit off of its corpse.

In short, fuck the concept that what is happening is normal. Fuck the concept that we are powerless to change it. Love is Love. People are People. Art is Art. Joy cannot be minted in artificial hands, be it those of societal dictation or designed machine. No matter what happens, the human spirit will prevail, and we will break any shit that stands in our way of achieving happiness.

Thank you again, @lambpaca - This means more than words can say.

[immediatebreakfast]

Well, the consequences for Jonathan's disobedience were quite terrifying, on top of destroying an aspect of Jonathan's beliefs as a character.

We already have seen plus noticed how Jonathan identifies with what femininity, and women represented in the 19th century. He is a male character that expresses so much love for the ideas of safety, and comfort that the feminine entails without the narrative trying to paint this in a derogative light anywhere.

So, it's not wonder that the visit from the Weird Sisters (a.k.a. the speculated brides, and housemates of Dracula) left him totally traumatized. Nothing that Dracula has done so far has gained such huge reaction from Jonathan.

Great God! merciful God! Let me be calm, for out of that way lies madness indeed.  ... for now, feeling as though my own brain were unhinged or as if the shock had come which must end in its undoing, I turn to my diary for repose. The habit of entering accurately must help to soothe me.

In his journey as a gothic heroine as he is trapped in the castle, Jonathan has been surviving by employing the same ideas used by fictional heroines he admires and looks up to in dire times, and he has comforted himself with Mina's memory, and his undefying love for her. Everything that Dracula represents regarding masculinity means danger for Jonathan, he is scared how the power that the Count holds over him; not as a man towards another man, but as a man towards a conceptual woman within Jonathan's mind that is part of his being.

All of this concludes in Jonathan taking a nap in the ladies' chamber room, away from Dracula's aggresive masculinity in his tainted designated room, and inside what he now deems a safe space because women lived there.

Then the Weird Sisters appear in their ethereal, beautiful glory, and as Jonathan recalls the incident in his diary, the feeling of angry loosing sanity is written with an underline tone of pure defeated betrayal. It feels as if Jonathan keeps asking himself "why did they do that to me? Aren't they in the same position as me?"

The feeling of what Jonathan calls repulsion cut through the sexually charged scene like a knife. All of the soft adjectives to describe the Sisters' appearance, Jonathan's attraction to them as he shames himself for thinking like that because of Mina, the emphasis of voluptuos charm laced with danger, all of it gets cut when Jonathan realizes what the Weird Sisters are planning to do.

There was a deliberate voluptuousness which was both thrilling and repulsive, and as she arched her neck she actually licked her lips like an animal.

The ladies that he thought were a dream at first are there to use him the same way that Dracula has been doing... the only difference is that the vampire ladies made very clear that they will kill him. So out it goes the kind language to describe women, and what enters is the language that Jonathan uses to describe the Count.

The femininity that Jonathan felt comfort in to shield himself from the horrors he has seen is now fractured to incorporate the monsterhood of the Weird Sisters. It's a realization that shatters him, not all women are soft, and kind, these women would have killed him if not the Count arriving, and if Jonathan cannot go to the Weird Sisters for safety against Dracula, then it means that the only being who stands between his death and life is the Count himself.

The man who is keeping Jonathan as a prisoner in everything but name is who he has to run to if Jonathan wants to keep living... What a nightmare indeed.

[pepsiconcoction]

The Perfect Tutor | Lee Know x Reader

pairing: CompSci Student! Lee Know x gn!Reader

tags: fluff, no smut, just a little flirting at the end, minor explicit language, partially proofread

You think he might be perfect. And that pisses you off. Surely he can't be, right?

Why did you have to take the comp sci unit? You’re a graphic designer, you don’t need to know how big scary servers work! 

Those have been the thoughts running through your head most recently. Especially at this moment as you try to “install Windows Server 2019” and “set up Active Directory”. Yeah… because those are definitely real words… that you definitely know the meaning of.

To your dismay, at the beginning of the semester, you found out that you had to take the general computing unit, alongside your regular classes, to gain the number of credits you need to get into next year. Being a graphic designer who uses a computer, you thought that ‘general computing’ sounded like something you could do, you spend most of your time on one for god’s sake!

You’ve been staring at a loading screen for the past 10 minutes, and you’re quite honestly beginning to doubt whether it’s going to turn into anything. The Professor speaks up, dismissing the class, signalling it’s the end of the day. 

After choke-holding the computer to death (holding the power button), you slowly gather your things, watching as the other students begin to leave the computer lab. Once most of them have left, you walk up to the front desk.

“Y/n, what can I do for you?” The Professor, looks up from his school-assigned laptop, glasses on the bridge of his nose.

“Hey, Professor. I think I’m falling behind a bit, just a little out of my depth with everything,” You force your sincerest smile, talking quietly. “So I was wondering if you’d be available for extra lessons?”

“I wish I could, but I’m so busy with the department being understaffed. How about you ask one of your classmates?”

You mindlessly turn back to the room where there are a few stragglers left.

“Oh, I don’t-”

“How about Minho?” He gestures behind you.

“Minho?” You turn around making eye contact with the man mentioned. His eyes widen in curiosity at his name.

“Yeah, he is more than capable to tutor you, aren’t you, Minho?” 

Minho’s desk is only a few feet from the front but he takes a few steps towards you, holding a pair of wireless headphones in his hands. He is definitely more than capable to tutor you, and you know this. He’s quiet and keeps to himself, but you’ve seen his grades in passing. You don’t think he’s gotten below 95% on any assignment or test. You’d happily have him as your tutor, it’s just that, well, he might possibly be the most handsome guy you’ve ever met. Okay, the standards in the Comp Sci department aren’t exactly high, you’re lucky if most of them are wearing deodorant, but Minho? He dresses well, styles his hair, has a side profile worthy of painting AND he wears the perfect amount of cologne, not too much that it’s overbearing but just enough that it’s refreshing whenever you walk past him.

“Yeah, I probably could.” Minho looks at you and then back to the Professor.

“Great!” He closes his laptop and stands, gathering his things. “I’ve got to run to my next class, you guys can sort the rest.” 

With that, your Professor is halfway out the door. You look up to Minho who is half chuckling at his bluntness, and he turns to you.

“Are you sure you wanna tutor me? You don’t have to say yes, he's not here anymore.” You say, half-jokingly. 

“If you need help, I’m around. I have some free time this Friday if you want to set something up?” Minho asks.

“Yeah, Friday works great for me!”

“Perfect.” You end up swapping phone numbers to discuss the details, and you leave the classroom feeling partially accomplished. Now you just need to be professional, and not think he’s the hottest guy in the world whenever you catch a glimpse of him. You can do that. You can be normal, right?

You absolutely cannot be normal. Friday came around and he rocked up to the empty computer lab looking gorgeous in fitted black jeans and a denim jacket, coffee in hand. Thankfully you had gotten there slightly earlier to try and get ahead of the game with your notes. The two of you had decided to start with the basics, installing the operating system of the computer. Easy. 

“Remember, you don’t want to partition the hard drive, it’s not worth it on these machines at this level.” Minho explained as you quickly scribbled ‘don’t partition’ down in your notebook.

You had discovered that Minho was not only a sight for sore eyes, but also possibly the nicest, gentlest, calmest person you had met. Of course, he had his moments of energy and you two found yourself easily joking around with each other, but he was such the opposite of the gamer stereotype that you had come to dread.

“So, do you play any video games?” You asked, keeping the conversation going as the two of you were forced to sit through long progress bars.

“Not really, no. Not really my thing.” He says.

“Really? A computing student that doesn’t play games? That’s rare.” You chuckle, almost in disbelief. 

“I mean, I’ve played games. With friends and such, but I’m just not crazy into them.”

“So what are you crazy into? Computers? You seem pretty good with them.” You look towards him. The both of you are sat around a single computer, and yes, you’re very conscious of that fact.

“I guess? I’m only really taking this class for the credits.” He leans back in the chair.

“Wait, so am I!” You laugh. “So why are you so good?”

“I used to take computing in high school, and I was a bit of a nerd back then.” he laughs. 

“So what’s your major then? Mister I-only-need-the credits.”

“Dance.” He smirked.

“Liar.” You rolled your eyes.

“I’m serious. I’m a dancer.” He sat forward, chuckling.

“Show me.”

“I don’t dance for free. You’ll have to come to one of my performances,” he says cockily, crossing his arms.

“Whatever, I’ll believe it when I see it,” You say, turning back to the computer which is now conveniently asking a series of questions. After that, you finish the installation pretty quickly and decide you’re done for the day. You and Minho part ways and you find yourself back in your dorm after a stress-induced power walk through the campus. You immediately call your best friend.

“Hey, Y/n,” she picks up.

“Code Pink.”

“I’ll be there in ten.” She hangs up. Nine minutes later your best friend is letting herself into your dorm room. 

“Tell me everything.” She takes a seat on your bed. You proceed to tell her about Minho: how handsome he is, how nice he is, how funny he is, God! Are you really gushing about a boy you barely know?

“I’m like, mad! I want to hate him,” you say, from your spot on the bed. “He has to have a fatal flaw, right?”

“For sure, maybe he’s homophobic? Transphobic? Misogynistic? He’s a man! He has to be sexist somehow!”

“Yeah, you’re probably right…” You trail off in thought (and partial disappointment). “Okay, now I gotta just get it out of him, so I can justify my disliking of him, and then boom! Crush gone!” You finally say.

“Easy, now, you wanna watch a movie?” your best friend grins up at you.

Okay. Get evidence he is a shitty guy. Surely this can’t be hard. You can do this.

Except the next time the two of you are studying, he comes in wearing a white t-shirt. Plastered on the front of it are the words “trans rights are human rights” in a bold, italicised font. Okay, not transphobic. You find yourself staring at it, coincidentally staring at his chest. He definitely notices.

“Y/n?” he questions as he sits down next to you.

“Oh, sorry, I was just looking at your t-shirt.”

“Ah, yeah I got it for the pride parade a few months back.” He starts looking through his bag, taking out his notebook.

“Nice, the one in town, on Main Street?”

“Yeah. My best friend is gay, so I went with him and his boyfriend, and a few of our other friends.” He explained. Probably not homophobic either.

“That’s great, I went too, with my friends as well.” You smiled.

The two of you got to work, tackling “ADDS” and “DHCP”. You probably weren’t going to remember what those acronyms stood for in a few hours but for now, it was going well enough. Minho had been scrolling through his phone for the past few minutes as the two of you relaxed, taking a quick break, when he spoke up.

“Damn, have you seen this?” he turns his phone screen to you. “Scotland has made free sanitary products a legal requirement in all public government buildings.”

“I heard about it a few days ago. It’s sick.” You responded. He locked his phone, putting it down on the table. Okay, not actively a misogynist either. Fuck. 

You left that study lesson slightly more frustrated at your slightly bigger crush on Lee Minho.

At the third tutoring session with Minho, you were so sure you were going to nip your little crush in the bud. From down the hall, you spot him standing outside the classroom on the phone. As you get closer you seem to realise that he’s mad? Frustrated? You’re not sure.

“I don’t care if it’s a stupid idea, I’m getting him. I’ll pay for everything.” You hear him say, beginning to feel bad for eavesdropping. He must sense your presence as he turns around and shoots you a smile. 

“Alright, I have to go, I’ll talk later, love you.” He hangs up and shoves his phone into his pocket.

“Sorry, that was my mom, her and I are disagreeing.” he fake smiles.

“Oh? What about?” you ask.

“I want a cat. Another cat, I already have two. But I just saw a cat on one of those re-homing websites and my heart is screaming at me to get him. So I’m currently trying to convince my mom.” He explains, sheepishly.

“Are you serious?” you deadpan.

“Uh, yes? His name is going to be Dori and I-”

“For god’s sake,” you sigh, admitting defeat.

“Uh, sorry?”

“Why do you have to be so perfect?” You sigh. His eyes widen a little.

“Like seriously,” you continue. “You’re such a nice person, you’re funny, you’re not shitty, you like cats, you have two of them, for Christ’s sake! And if that wasn’t enough, you’re possibly the most attractive man I’ve ever met. Please just tell me what is wrong with you.”

There are a few seconds of silence. A smile begins to grow on his face. You realise what you’ve done.

“You think I’m perfect?” He grins, cockily.

“Great, and now I’m an idiot.”

“You think I’m attractive.” he beams.

“Oh, shut up, surely you must know what you look like,” you sigh, rolling your eyes.

“Well, yes, but there’s a difference between knowing I’m conventionally good-looking and you finding me attractive.” 

“And you’re smart,” you groan. He begins to laugh and when you look back towards him, you notice he’s blushing a little. You begin to laugh as well, hoping to break any potentially awkward tension.

“Okay, since I’m so smart, I have a great idea.” He smirks down at you, taking a step forward.

“Oh god,” you begin to dread. Your breath definitely doesn't catch in your throat.

“Let’s skip on the tutoring and I take you out for lunch, how does that sound?”

Your eyes widen as you take in his offer, he may be giving you his best flirtatious look, but under all that pink on his cheeks, you know he’s being serious.

“I’d like that.” You smile.

“So would I.” He responds, eyes shifting nervously down the hallway. 

“Do I get to see you dance?” You giggle.

“We’ll see.”

[1ightsen]

Maxie Infodump #1 - Little known character details from official media

I promised to post some of my maxie infodumps and headcannons, and I think I'll start it off with something simple. His official character bio that was hosted originally on the first release of ORAS (this will be ORAS Maxie focused)

here is a transcript for easy reading: "Maxie is the leader of Team Magma, the team seeking a world ideal for humanity. He pays attention to even the smallest of details, and is quite sensitive in some regards. He has a habit of describing situations in numerical terms. He possesses a cool-headed outlook, thinking that some sacrifices cannot be avoided if he is to achieve his goals." Okay, so first, after looking at the original japanese version of this page,

小さいことまで細かく気にする、神経質なところがあり、さまざまなことを数字を交えてあらわすのが口癖。 目的を果たすためなら、犠牲が出ても仕方ないと考える冷徹な思想の持ち主でもある。 The one word in here I wanted to be sure of was 'sensitive' since it can have many meanings, and the original japanese gives us some possibilities with:

Personally I think (being) highly strung is the most likely option here, but either way its an interesting character trait. And we all know he certainly builds up frustration and tension and explodes a bit like a volcano. Even if he does manage to correct himself afterwards.

~ ANYWAYS ~

Now that we have the bio, let's break it down a little and look at some fun examples of it in action! Maxie has a habit of describing situations in numerical terms. This typically comes out more when he is nervous or stressed. Here are some examples: Ill just take ORAS as an example here since this is already getting pretty long... In ORAS after fighting him at mt chimney, he lets you know in a specific numerical way, how much he fell behind:

And then again, when you battle with him and lose in the Battle Resort where he just has to let you know the situation in numerical terms by giving you the exact lose chance according to his own calculations of course:

"So the great Maxie has fallen, even when battling alongside your team... I shall commit this curious phenomenon to memory. It had less than a 1 percent probability of occurring, you know."

this culminates in a really interesting interaction between him and courtney after the delta episode. While It's pretty clear that Maxie cares for his team and especially his admins, he definitely struggles when faced with his crying admin, and being unsure of what to say, he settles with a numerical quantifier again.

He assesses the situation, and decides to comment on how MUCH courtney is crying. His "paying attention to even the smallest details" trait also ties into this habit of his, and is probably why he jumps to conclusions a little too early because of small things he's noticed. Accusing Tabitha of wanting his spot as leader, just because he disagreed with him is one of those situations.

Pokemon Masters EX has a lot of new scenes with Maxie, and I would love to talk all day about them, but I'll just pick out one here, and that's from the "A pasio Spectacle" event. In this event, Maxie overhears team break members simply say the word 'glasses' and instantly jumps to the conclusion that not only did they want to talk to him, but that they noticed his "magnificent mega glasses" and would like to hear a lecture on how they were scientifically made.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rZmmaf9bhD8&t=144s here's a link to watch it, its worth it :D He certainly picks up on small details, but tends to miss the bigger picture sometimes, which is fun because I believe archie tends to do the opposite. Perhaps his mega glasses are actually designed to reflect this, because they work like horse blinders, and keep maxie looking straight ahead (trust me, I've made a pair of these, and you cannot see someone standing to your immediate side). Looking straight ahead is also relevant to his life goal, of ensuring the bright future of humanity, and as he says: "propel humanity to greater heights of progress and evolution." And that concludes my infodump regarding this one little bio that is no longer available without the wayback machine, and I just wanted to share it with any other Maxie fans out there :D Next I think I might tackle the bigger topic of how Archie and Maxie have so many fun contrasts in personality and more. and then maaayyybe I'll feel comfortable enough sharing my headcannons and theories. But only if people want more lol, I am not good at writing big posts :>

[doukeshi-kun]

𝙙𝙖𝙙!𝙣𝙞𝙠𝙤𝙡𝙖𝙞 + 𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙤𝙤

featuring ⨳ dad!nikolai gogol x fem!reader

content ⨳ fluff, a bit suggestive, tattooed!nikolai, oc kids (yuri, mari, karol)

notes ⨳ this has been marinated for a while... i finally did something with it :D i'm proud of myself

Something very attractive appears when your husband is sitting at the dining table, without a shirt, with his tattooed arms on display. You cannot take your eyes off Nikolai at all. He doesn't seem to notice you are staring at him as he is munching on his rice, eyes on the television.

“What's wrong, love?” Nikolai suddenly asks, turning his head to you and you quickly avert your gaze away, flustered.

“No! Nothing, nothing.” you laugh awkwardly as you continue to chop the bananas to drizzle them with chocolate sauce for Yuri who is sitting beside you.

“Really? Hey, Yurochka. Did mama stare at me or something?” Nikolai grins teasingly. Yuri seems surprised by his question and he looks at you before he looks at his dad.

He nods. “Yes, for three minutes."

“Yuri…! You are supposed to be lying!” you screech but Yuri pouts.

“You said it's not good to lie,”

“Well, that's because your dad—” you glare at Nikolai. “—gave you the wrong advice about lying.” you huff, embarrassed. You finish chopping the bananas and drizzle them with chocolate sauce before you give the small bowl to Yuri. Yuri takes it, wanting to eat it right away but he seems to realise an incoming, so he quickly hugs the bowl, dashing to the living room.

“Wah! Yurochka! Banana!” Karol is waddling to the dining area with a colouring book in hand. Mari is running towards him, whining and almost crying.

Nikolai frowns, seeing Mari is tearing up and Karol is now waddling towards you to demand a bowl of banana for himself. He figures that Karol probably bothers her again and while he doesn't really mind them bantering, it does make him uneasy when he sees Mari crying.

“Mama! Mam! Banana please! Banana for Karol!” Karol is trying to climb up your chair. You try to keep him on the ground, worried that he might get hurt.

“Karol.”

A stern voice from Nikolai is enough for Karol to stand straight and look at his dad. “Give back Mari's book and then you can get your banana chocolate.”

You are used to Nikolai's happy voice and jokester persona. Years of being in a relationship with him do reveal more layers of himself to you. But there's always something about Nikolai being stern (mostly to Karol) and authoritative.

God, it actually makes you flustered and all giddy inside.

Karol coos sadly as Mari approaches him. Nikolai pats her head as Karol reluctantly returns the book to her. “Say sorry, Karol,” Nikolai says and Karol pouts.

“Karol sorry…”

Mari huffs, seeming to be sulky still. Nikolai gently reassures her and she softens quickly. She then silently sits on a chair beside him and starts colouring in her book, focused on an unfinished drawing because she got interrupted by Karol.

“Mama, make him some banana chocolate. Karol, come here.” Nikolai says to you before he pats his lap and Karol waddles to him. Nikolai bends a bit to get him up his lap and takes one of Mari's glittered markers before giving it to Karol. He puts his arm which is tattooed with some geometrical design in front of Karol. Karol gasps happily before he tries his hardest to take off the lid of the marker. He hovers over Nikolai's arm and starts colouring and filling in the lines of his tattoos.

“He likes to colour a lot. I think he wants to be an artist. Don't you see the vision?”

“Huh?”

Nikolai chuckles, seeing your flabbergasted face. He knows you have been staring with something in your gaze. He repeats his words and you nod with an agreement ‘Ooh’.

“Yeah, he definitely likes colouring. Mari is still at her second colouring book and Karol already coloured five books by now… well… he probably can be a future tattoo artist.” you look at how focused Karol is while trying to fill the lines of Nikolai's tattoo carefully. Even his little tongue is sticking out, showing how focused he is.

“Awh, that's cute.” Nikolai cackles before he pats Karol's head, kissing it. “You're gonna give me free tattoos every Saturday right?”

“Waoh? No! No free! Papa give me… uh… uh… one bili dollars!”

You giggle at Nikolai's snort. Karol is just happy returning to his little artist moment. Nikolai turns to you, smiling slyly.

“Whatcha looking at now? Didn't I tell you to make him some banana chocolate?” he says, voice deep and teasing. You grumble but your hand reaches a banana from the table anyway.

He should give you more commands, maybe.

©doukeshi-kun 2023 — do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, more @/cherikolya

if you like my works, consider buy me a ko-fi!

[stagefoureddiediaz]

Costume Meta 7x02

We are short on the costumes to look at this week as we continue this multi episode arc, so this meta is going to be a pretty short one! I’ve had a pretty busy weekend, so things have worked out for me and its also the reason why I'm only posting this on a Tuesday evening!!!!

There are a few things to point out before I get to the main costumes - we have more bright pink in play here - on the Mom in the car that got hit by the drunk driver. I still have no idea what its trying to tell us a this point, but I have my eyes peeled for more bright pink to appear in the next couple of episodes and see if I can unravel its use.

On the non costume front, on the ship - its a yellow cable that leads to the bomb that ensures communication cannot be restored to the ship when nit explodes - the fact the communications engineer also dies, just re-emphaises the point. Communication is a key theme in this episode.

Back to costumes an in the same vein as the cable, we see Captain O’s deputy in his yellow rain coat when she gives the abandon ship order, and the yellow wire is prominent on the radio when she tells him to do so. He is now the one responsible for communicating her order to the rest of the ship and getting everyone onto the life boats. This is good and effective communication and we see the results of it as we are shown the ship being evacuated. 

Hen and Karen are the only ones we get in a new costume this week.

Lets start with Karen - its an interesting choice - we have her in this navy blue shirt and trousers combo with a brown belt. the top has blue and green Richelieu (cutwork) design on the sleeves and the trousers are also decorated with Richelieu. There are two things at play with this costume choice - the almost entirely navy outfit places her in the same category as Chim, Buck and Eddie. this is very very intentional - Karen mirroring/paralleling them places her in the same position they hold - Karen is meant to be there to show that Hens thought process is flawed and as an outsider to proceedings thats really important for the audience - we need to see that Hen isn't this flawless captain that we've been shown up to this point. The other thing it's designed to do is maintain Hen as separate from everyone else. This visual device helps the script re-enforce things so that when she is then spurred into trying to get hold of Bobby and Athena we are focused on her because of her 'otherness' visually she stands out and we obviously need her to to help drive the narrative forward.

The other thing with Karens costume is the green and blue Richelieu which creates this visual representation of storm clouds swirling and moving in - a subtle reference, not only to Hen's currently cloudy viewpoint on things, but also to the impending storm brewing out in the ocean around the cruise ship. I really love it when they can drop subtle hints like this in set and costuming!

THen we have Hen!

Putting her into her white tee, jeans, green sneakers and this printed silk jacket, and not showing her changing out of her uniform into said outfit while the rest of the firearm are still in uniform helps to separate her from the ‘three Judases’ its a really loud and obvious visual way of separating her from the not only the three boys, but also from the firehouse as a whole. The way the scene is set up helps with this as well -she is on the same side of the bench and room as Chim, Buck and Eddie, until they question her version of events (Eddie is the one to actually ask the question and he is the one dressed differently to Chim and Buck - this isn't about putting him in opposition to them, more just visually signalling that he's the one to ask the important question that we as viewers should be ready for) and then she moves away from them and becomes visually in opposition to them. Its the perfect example of costume, set and direction working in perfect harmony to tell the story visually - we don't actually need to hear whats been said, we can tell it all from the way its shown to us visually.

Hens jacket is a fascinating choice - it plays into a couple of themes we’ve seen in action over the two episodes we’ve had thus far. I did write a little bit about it when we got the first stills of it (which I now cannot find - stupid tumblr search!) but essentially it is a jacket that has various places around California - the golden gate bridge, the redwood trees in Yosemite, Lake Tahoe, etc. as well as the victorian style rose pattern running along the cuffs and edges of the jacket.

The pink roses are a really lovely touch - and one I picked up on specifically because Hen is not a flowery kind of person, so seeing them on her means they are important. Pink roses are generally considered to signify a strong friendship or family bond - something that is ultimately at the heart of matters - the fire family are just that - a family and they might have argument's etc, but they still love each other as a family and will go all out to be there for each other. Its a low key piece of

then we have all that water - do we even need to talk about its meaning?!! Its a literal visual play on the entire them of this arc - water! We all know that water is a really key theme that 911 uses a lot in its storytelling, whether thats big water based events such at the Tsunami or this cruise ship disaster, or smaller low key water theming such as the rain being present at so many of the disasters we see. I'm interested that we now have it appearing on Hen - because it hasn't really been connected to her in many of her personal story arcs (by this I mean arcs such as her deciding and training to be a doctor, Henren's journey through parenthood, the ambulance crash or even Karens lab blowing up last season) so its interesting that we're now seeing her pulled into the water theming in a visual way like this. It is also a play on the two aspects of this episode - there is the loud water theming of the Cruise ship, but there is also the fact Hen has landed in hot water/ deep water.

Hen is also wearing her 'H' necklace, not her 'K' one. This is important because her necklaces tend to be a visual indicator of what her arc is about - the 'H' is worn when it's about her specifically and not her marriage/ family, which is when we tend to see the 'K' heart pendant being worn.

Thats all from me this week! Thank you as always for reading and I hope you enjoyed the shortness of this post - I doubt many of the others will be this short 😂

Tagged peeps below!

@theladyyavilee @mistmarauder @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @mandzuking17 @spotsandsocks @loveyou2thecore @rogerzsteven @wanderingwomanwondering @oneawkwardcookie @leothil @copyninjabuckley @shammers86 @crazyfangirlallert @missmagooglie @katyobsesses @radiation-run @gayandbifiremenofmine @bi-moonlight @crazyaboutotps @princesschez75 @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @sherlocking-out-loud @evanbuckleysarms @satashiiwrites

[sysakiddo]

Some diplomatic shenanigans before my exam on wednesday. The feedback I get from you guys is truly overwhelming and I cannot thank you enough 😭🥺 Next up, first maxiel meeting? Hmm?

1,2,3,4

When Daniel finally emerges from the bedroom, the villa seems completely abandoned but the door to the terrace is open. When he gets out, he sees Seb standing by the grill. He is humming a quiet tune, the sizzling from the grill almost like a beat to it. 

“Oi, where are the twinks?” he asks loudly. 

Seb chuckles as he turns around. “Out there, twinking somewhere.” He hands Daniel a bottle of chilled beer, waiting for him to stop laughing. “They went to Nice to pick the others up.” 

Daniel nods and doesn't ask why Sebastian stayed behind. He plays it safe, attacking before Seb even has the chance to admit he is his designated babysitter. 

“So,” Danny starts, the condensation on his hand making him squirm. “Did you, finally?” 

Seb looks away immediately, clicking the grilling tweezers in his hand loudly. Mute, he shakes his head no.

Daniel moans, even though he expected the answer. “Oh my god, Sebastian. This is pitiful.”

Sebastian is glaring now, flipping the zucchini on the grill like his life depended on it. “You managed to kiss the kid a month after meeting him. Sorry that I’m not like you!” 

Daniel hip-checks Seb, “Max wasn’t a kid, come on. He was an ambassador in the US-“

“I remember you called him a jailbait several times-”  

This certainly isn't the first time Sebastian has tried this tactic. Like the other times, it isn't working. “Charles wasn’t a kid either, and he certainly isn’t a kid now. Come on, Seb. All these years?” 

Daniel imagines Max had the same conversation with Charles in the morning somewhere on an old racetrack. He feels hollow pain at realising he probably won’t find out: he doubts Max will be sharing anything with him after the fight. Even after three years of marriage, he still uses the silent treatment as the punishment of his choice.  

“Isn't he dating the Spanish model?” 

Sebastian's hair looks almost golden in the afternoon sun. Daniel doesn't get it. He doesn't know if the thought of the ethics of his feelings for Charles or the doubt of the authenticity of Charles' feelings makes him like this. 

“I don't know how to tell you this, Sebastian. You're not together, that's true. But it's not because of the lack of trying from his side.” 

Sebastian turns around, a macabre grimace on his face. “I can't- Because of me- I won’t let him waste it-“

“He’s already wasting it, Sebastian! Max told me he is thinking of working for UNESCO!” he spits the word out like a curse. 

Sebastian opens his mouth to retort something but is cut off by the noise of people entering the villa. Suddenly, the terrace fills with laughter and loud voices, and Daniel turns to the grill so he doesn't have to see the way Max's eyes skip him over.

Daniel yanks out the grilling tweezers from Seb's hands, and he gives him a weird look. He turns around a few of the zucchinis to distract himself. He has to admit - Seb is onto something. 

He suddenly feels arms wrapping around his torso. He flinches so hard that the tweezers almost fall out of his hand. The hands grip him tighter, feeling the ribs sticking out underneath his pastel green shirt. Max said it complimented his skin tone when they were packing. He looks down, the simple wedding band glimmering in the light on the left hand, now gripping his hip. If it wasn't for the smell and the touch he knows better than anything else, the Audemars on his wrist would give him away. Daniel tenses, expecting a comment about his weight. All he gets is a sigh and the weight of Max's head on his shoulder. 

Max kisses Daniel's neck right at the spot where it meets his shoulder, where it turned slightly red from being in the sun the whole day yesterday. “I missed you, schatje,” he murmurs and Daniel is so shocked he doesn't react in any way.

“I know- I know it's hard for you, sometimes. I will try to make it easier, okay? We will talk later. We're alright.” Max speaks quietly and confidently. Dizzily, Daniel wonders if Max connected his phone to Daniel’s McLaren to call the therapist on the way to Nice. 

Daniel's mouth is open and he blinks a few times. Max thinks he looks a bit like a fish. 

In the weeks following The Catastrophe, the fights would escalate on the next day, Daniel not being able to suffer through the silent treatment. He would always say something that would eventually make the whole situation even worse. Max had his line prepared, “it's the same shit with you every time, you fucking asshole” or a similar equivalent, looking sick of everything, looking sick of Daniel. He would usually wait for Daniel to start crying before storming out, though. That, he couldn't handle. 

Sebastian says something in rapid German aimed at both of them. It snaps Daniel out of his thoughts and as Max answers, a small smile forms on Daniel's face. They are alright. 

Seb obviously expects a contribution from Daniel's part as well, waiting a second after Max finishes speaking. “Really?” Seb looks at Max exasperatedly, shaking his head disapprovingly. “All this time and you still haven't taught him German? That's humiliating.” 

Max yelps. “How is that my fault?!” 

It's not only the three of them anymore, Alex wandering by and looking at the grill with loving expression. He smirks in Daniel's direction, messing up his curls with a hand currently not poking around the steaks Seb put aside. “I think the conjugation might be too much for his pretty little head anyway,” 

“I told you, Max, Australians are basically glorified Americans,” Seb adds in, laughing gleefully at Daniel's expression. 

Daniel finally finds his footing. “How is knowing four languages not enough?”

Max smirks, a glint in his eyes. “Doing Russian lessons on Duolingo doesn't count as knowing a fourth language, cowboy,” 

“You are a freaky bunch, yet I'm the one ostracised here!” Daniel splutters, undignified. 

“Oh, oh, oh! Ostracised, that's how he's trying to show us he's excellent in his mother tongue.” Daniel glares at Alex while everybody else laughs. “Come, come, Georgie! You two can have a rap battle or a spelling bee competition.”

George is just entering through the main doors, carrying three travelling bags in one hand. He looks taller than usual. Anne and Charles enter next, so deep in their conversation that they don't notice the weird exchange between Alex and George as he tries to beckon him over. 

Charles is talking so fast that his words get all tangled up in each other. Daniel thinks he always looks the happiest when speaking French. Anne looks equally excited, only if a bit pale. 

“Anne! Hey, nice to see you again!” he rudely interrupts Charles mid-sentence, and Anne smiles brightly at him, accepting the kiss on the cheek he gives her. “You look a bit pale, everything okay?” 

“Well, the ride-” she shrugs, smiling bashfully, unwilling to finish her sentence. 

Sebastian groans. “Weren't you racing in the morning? Guys, this is not nice to our guest-” 

Charles points his finger at Max without losing even a second. “He started it!” 

“How do you even race on that kind of road? The airport is literally thirty minutes away.” Seb is shaking his head, but the keen smile on his face gives him away. 

Max is sitting on the lounger now, peeling an orange. “I won, Daniel,” he says, matter of factly, like he didn't hear anything Sebastian said. He is expecting praise and gets it, Daniel smiling at him with a thumbs up. 

Half of the things he does are done to impress Daniel. Always will be, probably. He hands the other half of the peeled orange to Daniel. 

Sebastian turns his attention to Anne and introduces himself even though she very clearly knows who he is. 

“I'm Anne Mayhew,” Her eyes are bright. “It's such an honour, Mr. Vettel. I used your proposed analysis operationalisation of a conflict resolution in my dissertation and thought it spectacular.” 

Sebastian looks taken aback by the words. “Oh,” he sounds giddy, like always when someone asks him about his research. “Well, now I'm intrigued. I didn't think someone would be willing to go through all that, especially because Weber's operationalisation is far easier to do right-” Seb cuts himself off. “Mayhew, you said? Like-” 

Charles turns from where he is sorting through the food from the grill that needs to be served on the table. “Yeah, Seb, just like that. Give me a hand here, would you? You can talk about your analysis guide later.” 

Daniel watches them without blinking, sure that he is missing something. 

Seb huffs. “It's not really an analysis guide-” 

|

Pierre turns up only when they all sit down, the food almost gone. He is leading a petite girl by hand. “Y'all look like you came out of the lifestyle magazine,” he says, his accent more pronounced than usual. He slaps the girl's ass lightly before she sits down, and she giggles. She doesn't acknowledge the rest of the people around the table. 

Daniel kicks Max's foot under the table. Max's eye twitches. It's even worse than last year. 

Charles coughs, trying to conceal the laugh that threatens to bubble over. “So,” he says, leaning his elbows on the table. “As a defending champion, I think it's only right if I choose the partner for the quiz first.” 

Max shakes his head no immediately. “Defending champion,” he scoffs. “You cheated.” 

Alex is ready to intervene, “I choose George. Max, you choose next.” 

Max smirks at Charles. He is ready to win. “Anne.” 

“I thought I was your good luck charm!” Daniel gasps and puts his hand over his heart theatrically. 

“Shut up, do you think I forgot how you helped Charles last year? Fucking snake.” he scrunches his nose at the memory and Daniel laughs brightly, winking at Charles. 

Charles looks smug, happy with the situation. “I'm choosing Daniel, then. Seb is the taskmaster. Pierre, do you want to join?” 

Pierre is whispering something to the girl's ear and doesn't react in any way. 

“Ehm,” Anne says hesitantly. “What are you guys talking about?” 

“Pop quiz! Nothing to be worried about.” Max assures her but doesn't mention how he threw Daniel in the pool last year for helping the enemy. It was the first time they didn't win. With Max's geography and history knowledge and Daniel’s weird-facts obsession and solid pop culture perception, they always decimated their opponents. 

“The winners get one favour from each player,” Charles adds, putting away the plates and filling their glasses with more wine.

Sebastian makes a show of scrolling through his phone, finding the questions from the last year that he didn't get to ask. They all settle down, wondering who would be the first to lose their nerves this year. 

“First question for Galex.” George is sitting ramrod straight. Alex already looks done with the game. “Which two artists came up with the number one hit song called WAP?” Sebastian asks in the most serious voice he can master. 

“WAP? What does that even stand for?” George's shoulders sag. Anne can't help it, she bursts out laughing at the situation’s absurdity. 

“Oh, I know, I know! It was the rapper, right?” Alex snaps his fingers a few times. “Cardi B!” he yells out, and Seb makes a beeping noise with his mouth. 

“I said two artists, Alex.” he sighs, turning to the next couple. Alex doesn't even have time to defend himself. “Daniel, question for you. What's the highest Polish mountain range?” 

Charles tsks. “That's a trick! It's the Tatras, for sure. Not really theirs, though, right?” 

Daniel shrugs. 

“One point for you.” Seb winks at Charles. “Fine, Max- Kiribati consists of how many atolls?” 

Max looks up to the sky as if counting in his head. Daniel rolls his eyes at the theatrics. He knows Max doesn't need to count anything. 

“32 atolls, that's for sure,” he says, and Anne interrupts him, voice firm. “Don't forget about one coral island.” Max nods, smiling warmly at her. “Yeah, we're going with that. 32 plus one coral.” 

Seb nods, showing them a thumbs up. He turns to George again, “The capital of Mongolia.” 

“Ulaanbaatar,” Alex answers and Sebastian continues with the next question. “Who is Taylor Swift dating now?” 

Daniel looks unsure when he looks at Charles, who doesn't hesitate to answer. 

“Man of culture, I see,” Sebastian smirks and Charles just shrugs, refusing to be ashamed. A point is a point. “Who made the decision to carry out the first French nuclear test?” 

“Why are you giving us the tricky ones?” Max grumbles. 

Sebastian brushes a frustrated hand through his hair. “I am not! I don't skip questions, no cheating.” 

“Must be Gaillard, right?” Anne quips and Sebastian nods. He doesn't have enough patience for Max's antics. 

They get on with it for a while, but it's painfully obvious Max and Anne are an even stronger team than Max and Daniel. Charles' face falls with every question they answer correctly.

“Aand, the last question: What is the name of the latest Kendrick Lamar's album?” Sebastian asks Max, who looks at him blankly. Anne doesn't let him despair for long, answering correctly. 

“Okay, that's 25 to 19, guys. 12 for Galex, you really need to work on this,” Seb is chuckling, reclining in his seat. 

Everyone is waiting for Charles to start grumbling. “You suck, Daniel. How come you didn't know who got the Grammy for the album of the year? You like music!” 

Daniel scoffs, finishing his wine in one big gulp. Max turns to Anne before the fight can break out. He doesn't feel like saving Daniel from the devil that is Charles when he loses. 

“Okay, this is your first time, so you must be very mindful about the favours you will ask for. Everyone owes you now. Don't waste it.” he advises in a grave manner, then turns to the other end of the table. “George, I want you to call Toto Wolff and ask him for his upper-body workout routine. Tell him you've always admired his chest and biceps and dream of having a body like his one day. Now, please. Thank you.” 

Anne looks at them in shock and gasps when everyone starts snickering as George pulls out his phone. 

|

Daniel corners Charles in kitchen under the pretence of helping him with the cleanup. 

“You know her? Anne?” 

Charles has his hands in the bubbly water in the sink, up his elbows. “No,” he shakes his head. Daniel doesn't say anything, choosing to wait him out. “I know her mother. And you know her too. Geertruida Mayhew, UNHCR?” 

Daniel feels his jaw tick in surprise. The sun had just started to set, and the orange rays coming through the window made Charles look angelic. 

“Mean Gertie is Anne's mom?” 

Charles nods, an almost painful grimace on his face. 

“But she's like-” Daniel takes a washed plate from Charles' hands, mechanically drying it up with a tea towel. “Ginna told me her husband accused her of abuse during the divorce. That's why she couldn't run for the high commissioner.” 

Charles nods again, a little more stiffly. 

“That's why he chose her, right? Max? Is that why he chose Anne?” Daniel whispers, scared that the people filtering into the villa will hear him. 

This time, the other man doesn't react. “Listen, Daniel, what are you asking me for? You know him better than anyone in the world. Better than he knows himself, even.” And that's about the only confirmation Daniel needs. 

[hermajestyimher]

One of the things I've been pondering often on lately has been the overt level of infantilization of adults in our societies, not just Western but across many areas of the world.

This intrigue led me to read this amazing peace on the matter which I wholeheartedly agree with.

Throughout my life, I've often been referred to as "very mature for my age". That characterization may have been accurate and perhaps flattering during my early childhood and teens. Underneath it, there was a sea of trauma that forced me to grow faster than my peers. However, now at 24 years of age, I continue to get the same sort of comments, with many people being amazed at my intelligence or perspective of life at my age. I don't find those comments flattering but rather amusing at best and uncomfortable at worst. After much consideration, I've come to realize that as an adult entering my mid-20's I am not in any way "very mature for my age", instead, I simply do not behave in ways that are childish and inappropriate. That should be the standard and not the exception.

I often see around me how people, mostly men, in their mid 30's and 40's behaving like absolute children with no understanding of boundaries, wholly attached to unhealthy vices showcasing a total lack of self-control or discipline, with no regard at all for their physical appearance, with no ambition to grow as a person or getting educated by consuming truly edifying content. They resent many women for not giving them the time of day and the world around them for their shortcomings. They have no sense of accountability and self-awareness. They remain in this never-ending limbo of mediocrity and child-like ways that upon close observation ends up being extremely depressing.

I've also noticed similar patterns among some similarly aged peers of mine, and this time including women. It's genuinely shocking to see grown people derive their entire personality out of TikTok or Twitter trends, being unable to think about things critically and instead parroting the popular talking points they see having the most retweets and engagements, thus joining a hive mind as if they were still in high school following what is popular and requires little effort and independent thought.

Even our popular music is becoming more and more immature with lyrics and beat patterns designed to be consumed in numb and almost irrational ways. The kind of music we listen to dictates a lot of how we view the world.

Our politics have become a soap opera that drive with them hoards of cult-like followers behind the most stupid and caricaturesque ideas that lack the sophistication politicians used to have in the past. All while the decisions of the inept clowns the immature, and dumbed-down masses end up putting in power end up having negative consequences in our general lives. See people like Trump, Matt Gaetz, or Geroge Santos being elected to high positions in the most influential government in the world.

My belief is that if you know you are someone who strives for excellence and greatness in your life, you cannot succumb to the ways of the masses. You cannot emulate the trends and habits that are popular around you because those same habits are designed to keep you in a toxic loop of immaturity and stupidity. If you know you are destined for greatness, don't fall short of your potential by wanting to be like the rest. Those who stand out do so because they are different. Keep improving yourself, hitting your goals, continuing to grow and evolve, and rejecting stagnation and regressivism. You are above that.

[rileyslibrary]

Living With Ghosts: 4. Pretty Broken

His body stands straight, but his mind betrays him. He still wears his gun around his left shoulder. It looks too heavy for him now, just like his conscience.

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Word Count: 1,150

Notes:

Warnings: Mentions of blood and war

As much as I like Ghost’s demeanor throughout the game, I cannot help but wonder what he would be like suffering the aftereffects of war.

Entire work on AO3

Table of Contents

———————————————————————

It’s been days since you last talked to him.

His inattentiveness, however, was not the outcome of your petty little brawl—not the direct consequence, at least. If you had to venture a guess, it’s because he was busy with other matters at the moment—far more important ones.

The Russian Mafia appears to have increased its presence in the region over the past week, raising suspicions of a potential terrorist attack. As a result, the CIA has requested high readiness from the Special Forces operators deployed in the area.

That’s where he is, you fool. It doesn’t matter how abandoned, lonely, or insecure you feel, for he had a job to do. He was right there, at the front line, risking his life for the nation’s—and probably the world’s—safety. You were the last thing on his mind right now; if you ever were anything to him but a mild inconvenience.

Let’s not forget that you also had a part to play in this operation; to actively scan land, air, and sea for irregular traffic and report to the CIA.

Well, not actively, per se—the safe house has a well-equipped wine cellar for that specific purpose.

“Surveillance Control Center,” they call it—SCC for short.

What was once used to store ruby-red Chianti Classico Riserva bottles can now be confused with the cockpit of a spaceship. The CIA engineers have outdone themselves with this one—you give them that.

The SCC is part of a computer network connecting every CIA safe house in the Mediterranean. It incorporates CCTV monitors, cameras, radars, and motion sensors designed to detect unusual movements in the region. Live-streaming feeds are processed using highly sophisticated software, which, upon catching unusual traffic, alerts the SCC’s terminal. The wine cellar also houses an arsenal of weapons and ammunition, just in case the shit hits the fan.

Your job, for now, is to oversee the SCC’s flawless operation and inform Laswell of any findings.

Boring; that’s what your job was. Boring.

“Christmas is coming,” Laswell’s voice sounded over the telephone, “You guys should do something to celebrate.”

“Do what, exactly, Kate? Go from house to house and sing carols on behalf of the CIA?” You reply, leaning forward as if you were trying to physically get your point across.

“If you’d stop being a sarcastic shit, then perhaps you could think a little better.” Her irritation rasped in her voice. “Do something together; think of it as a team-building event.”

He said he’d fix that attitude of yours; when was that team-building event going to take place?

She was right, though—as much as you’d hate to admit it. Christmas does bring people together.

You begin to reminisce about the good times back home when your family used to celebrate every year. You used to cook together, sing along to festive songs, watch Mr. Bean on television, and exchange gifts.

You remember your mother, who refrained from buying ornaments from the shops. She used to bake them instead—yes, bake them. She used to roll out the dough, give shape to it with cookie cutters and bake the ornaments so you would all decorate the Christmas tree with them. The entire house smelled divine with these four little ingredients she used in her recipe—cinnamon, salt, flour, and water.

Ingredients you already had in your pantry.

“Laswell, when’s my shift ending?” you asked in anticipation.

“It ended thirty-seven minutes ago. Tired of me?”

“I thought of something.” You announce, sitting on the edge of your seat.

“Wha-”

“I have to go. Over and out.” You report as you close the comms and head upstairs to the infamous pantry.

Cinnamon, salt, flour, and water.

You were determined to make it work, right here, in this safe house—with or without Ghost.

You hurried outside, scanning the area for the tree branches he trimmed a few weeks ago. If you tie them together, you could create something resembling a Christmas tree.

When was the last time he felt the Christmas spirit? Does he have a Christmas tree at his house? A family to sing together next to the fireplace? A warm, festive meal?

You moved frantically—part Christmas elf rolling out dough and baking ornaments, part Frankenstein trying to assemble a Christmas tree monstrosity.

Time flew by; hours passed like minutes as you worked hard, your creativity unleashed, putting forth your best effort to create something out of nothing.

To create festive decor out of raw ingredients.

To construct a tree out of stray branches.

To form a connection out of two peoples’ broken pieces.

“What’s that smell?”

You were so focused that you didn’t notice him standing behind you.

You turn around to see a wreck, the fragments of a man who has probably seen terrible things and done far worse.

“I—is everything all right?” You hesitate.

“Out of trouble, for now.” He replies.

His body stands straight, but his mind betrays him. He still wears his gun around his left shoulder. It looks too heavy for him now, just like his conscience.

“Yes, I know. I spoke with Laswell. I mean, are you all right?”

“Been better.”

His uniform is dusty, and his boots are covered in mud. There is a slight rip on his balaclava, teasing you with a subtle view of his jawline, like a Geisha exposing her nape.

“It’s over, for now.” you try to comfort him.

There’s blood on his left sleeve—a lot of blood. He just became aware of it as well.

“Not mine.” He announces and hides it behind his back. “What’s that smell?” He repeats, trying to avoid the conversation.

“Cinnamon.”

“Ya bakin’?” He seems shocked.

“Sort of; They’re ornaments for the Christmas tree,” you say, pointing in the direction of your most recent creation.

“A Christmas tree.” He stutters, glazed eyes darting left and right, assessing the new environment.

You want to tell him that there are no booby traps here, nothing dangerous to be careful of. You want to console him that there is no need to be alerted for an ambush here, for this is a safe space. No more killing, no more death, for now. Just you two, a hideous Christmas tree, and badly shaped cinnamon-baked ornaments.

“Do you like them?” You ask reluctantly, trying to divert his attention from this week’s horrors. “I couldn’t find any cookie cutters, so I shaped them with a knife instead. I tried to make them look pretty, but some came out broken.”

“Aren’t we all?” he mumbles as he walks towards the Christmas tree.

“Aren’t we all exactly what, lieutenant—pretty or broken?” you ask, attempting to lighten the mood.

“Pretty broken, kid,” he whispers as he picks up a shattered ornament. “Pretty damn broken.”

———————————————————————

Next ->

[bonny-kookoo]

Them taking tongue tied mc swimming because she used to love it but also being like very careful just in case the muscle memory is gone. No angst just sweet fluff. ❤️

You're a bit (very) wary as you look at the big pool, Jungkook already standing in it, showing you that no, you technically cannot drown- at least not in the shallow part where he's standing in. "Come, it's fine, I promise!" He says, walking closer to the edge, tapping your ankles. "I won't let you get hurt." He promises, and you slowly nod, sitting down to drop your legs in the water, before you hold out your arms- reaching for him.

And he doesn't waste a second to hold your waist securely as you slowly drop down the side into the water, immediately panicking a little when you slip a bit and end up dropping a lot quicker than anticipated. But Jungkook simply holds you, lets you cling onto him while staying calm so you can feel at least a bit more relaxed.

Namjoon walks a little closer, some staff now interested as well as Jungkook's designated cameraman starts to record from the sidelines.

"Is it cold?" Jungkook wonders as you tremble in the water, pupils blown wide.

"I think it's just because she got a little spooked, right?" Namjoon wonders, and slowly, it seems as if you become aware of where you are again, looking around as you break free from your fear induced paralysis. "There we go."

"See? Everything's fine." Jungkook offers with a bright grin, walking slowly away from the edge- and you follow, your tail almost instinctively moving to keep balance, something Namjoon notices with interest. Jungkook simply giggles to himself as he watches you bounce a little in your step, getting used to the water around you it seems like, and slowly, his hands leave your waist.

Though you still make sure to keep a hold of his hands, not that he's complaining.

"You wanna float a little?" He wonders, and you look up at him, torn. You do kind of want to, but you're also a little worried. What if you panic, and drown?

But Jungkook promised he wouldn't let you get hurt. So you nod.

"Turn around then, pup." He chuckles, before he places his hands under your arms. "Lean against me." He instructs, and you do as he says, resting your back against his chest before you gently kick your legs up. "There we go- see? You can do it." Jungkook grins, before he slowly helps you float on your back, head dipping into the water while your face stays outside-

looking at his brightly grinning face, upside-down.

"You wanna know something cool?" He wonders, and you just look at him, scared to nod. "No hands." He teases, holding up his hands on either side of you- and at that, you move to stand up again, whining loudly before splashing water at him. But he just laughs.

"See? You don't need any help!" He laughs- and you notice it too, suddenly.

When, out of nowhere, a purple ball falls into the pool, hypnotizing you. And it's the look you share with Jungkook that suddenly makes you both dash out to catch it, both Jimin and Taehyung joining in, quickly joined by the rest of them- even Yoongi, who however stays more or less on the sidelines while watching fondly.

By now, over the course of time, something had happened that management did not foresee at all. Not the fans becoming fond of you, or the band itself-

but staff.

A few makeup artists prepare some towels for when you come out of the water later- eight, to be exact, and others such as a camera director, brings some snacks from the leftover food over with the words 'she's probably gonna be starving later'.

You're becoming a fixed part of not only the group- but your surroundings as well. And considering the fact that they just know both Jungkook and Namjoon would file in for ownership the minute your foster care contract was to end, there's really.. nothing they could do about it.

It frustrates them to no ends.

But for the band, and the staff, and the fans who later on watch the whole game of.. it's not really clear if its fetch, or toss, or volleyball- but whatever you're playing, it crashes through the internet like a raging wildfire, many fans making clear references to your past as a competitive swimmer in the junior hybrid team. They've found out some of your old past- currently on a witch hunt for your past owner after the company had to respond to rumors surrounding past violence in your life.

They want justice. They want to see someone held accountable for what they found had happened to you- the loudest being hybrid activists and hybrid fans themselves.

But today, as everyone plays in the pool, there's only happiness, and the occasional roughhousing between Jungkook and the other two youngest's- having to be pulled apart by Namjoon every now and then.

"They're behaving like dogs." A manager says, disgruntled.

"Well, they're wolves, apart from her." A hair stylist snaps back amused. "So, not far off."

"Still." He huffs.

"Oh come on, let them be for a moment." She sighs, placing your towel near a plastic chair. "I myself think they look a lot happier these days." She shrugs, not staying to hear the answer she might get as everyone slowly emerges from the pool again, Jungkook carrying your yawning self towards the chairs and towels where he sits you down on one, an older staff member playfully wrapping the towel around you, laughing when you let her happily dry your ears for you.

And Yoongi can't help but watch in personal satisfaction as the manager present is forced to walk away from the scene-

well aware that you've won.