#i hated thus when i wrote it but now i rather like it

[ncsdlr]

Sharing is Not Caring - N.R.

Word Count: 3145

Warnings: being tied up to a chair, degradation, aftercare, spanking, paddle use, restraints, sub!nat, dom!reader

Pairings: Natsha Romanoff x Reader

A/N: This has been rotting in my wattpad drafts fr. It's been I think a year since I wrote this, and I have posted it. I'm trying to clear our my drafts, so you should be expecting a lot of activity from me. Also this is pure smut so....

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A loud slap echoed in the spacious room where Natasha sat tied to a chair in nothing but her undergarments. The woman standing in front of Natasha at the moment is you.

Y/N Y/L/N. Her beloved.

"Y/N, don't you think you're overreacting a little here?"

"Oh, I'm not overreacting." You grinned at her, looking her right in the eye. "You see, this is what happens when you go around town with another woman and act like a fucking prostitute."

You gently reached forward and grabbed a tight hold of Natasha's hair in the back of her head. "You have anything to say for yourself, honey?"

"Y/N, please. This is all just a misunderstanding. Besides, I'm allowed to have fun with my friends and you doing all this stuff just because of it is making you look selfish."

Within the snap of a finger, you smacked Natasha across the face repeatedly, the force of it all strong enough to make you almost lose the grip you had on her hair. Her cheek was heating up rather quickly with the blood rushing to the spot you would repeatedly hit her which, in this case, was on both sides of her beautiful face. Natasha was panting when you stopped hitting her, so she rushed to speak before you got the chance to continue, but you just had to be a quick little shit and beat her to it.

"Don't call me selfish. I hate sharing, and you know that yet you proceeded to whore yourself out to Maria Hill in front of the world. So now, what we're going to do here is punish you. For all the horrible things you've done to my tattered heart."

You walked away from Natasha, moving to a drawer at the far end of the room. You reached inside the drawer and plucked out a variety of instruments you planned to use on your girlfriend. You could have sworn you heard Natasha whimper. You turned back to Natasha, a faint evil grin present on your face. Natasha was squirming in her seat at the vibrator in your hands.

You were now standing in front of her, a wide smirk settled on your face, thus scaring the shit out of Natasha a hell lot more, which caused her to begin her pleading. "Maria's just a friend, please, you don't have to do this."

"You're pathetic." You pulled her hips towards you and placed the vibrator on her wet core, moving up and down her cunt, the woman panting out heavily in surprise.

"Are you sorry, Natasha?" You turned the vibrator up a higher to a higher setting and stopped moving it, now keeping it still on her clit. Natasha could not speak, then you heard the loudest moan slip past her lips when you pressed the vibrator harder on her clit just right. It was always like this when the two of you had sex. Whatever kind of sex you were having, the infamous Black Widow would be dumbed down into nothing all because of you. Natasha can and would swear that you had godly powers with the way you always fucked her dumb.

"You realize this is all your fault, don't you? You could have avoided all of this if you had just acted normally and not the slut you're only allowed to be when you're with me."

When you harshly pulled her hair back to husk in her ear, Natasha's eyes were mid-rolling to the back of her head, thus making the woman gasp aloud. "You're such a stupid whore, Natasha." You knew your words were falling on deaf ears, but you still proceeded to talk just to be able to reprimand the redhead later. "This feels so good for you, doesn't it? Or are you just not as bright as you were earlier, and that's why you're not talking back now?"

All Natasha could do was breathily moan in your face, too high on pleasure to respond to you with even a single nod. Natasha could barely even catch her breath, so the fact that you were expecting so much of her right now was so unfair to her. I mean, how do you even expect her to respond when you know how your words alone affect her?

"You're being very disrespectful, Natasha. I've asked you three questions, yet you haven't answered at least one of them. You don't want me to prolong your punishment, do you?" That caused the woman you loved's eyes to widen, the fear of you going through with your threats shining through her blown-out green eyes.

"No, please. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!" Natasha rushed to speak, albiet sounding drunk, finally getting the least bit of control over her muddled mind.

You grinned, "That's what I thought, little girl, but if you really are sorry, you would answer all my questions." As you spoke, you were very rudely interrupted by the woman of your dreams warning you of the coil in her stomach nearly snapping.

"I'm so close."

"No." You pulled the vibrator away from Natasha's core and listened to her loudly whimper out a 'No'  at the loss of pleasure. "If I were to let you cum, who would you be cumming for? Are you cumming for Maria Hill," You pressed the vibrator back onto Natasha's cunt only to pull it away again upon continuing, "Or me?"

Natasha was whining, panting, and moaning like a bitch in her seat whilst you repeated the action of putting the vibrator directly on her clit and then taking it all away. Your eyes focused on her face, watching as it went through shock, pleasure, then frustration. In your focus and intense eye contact with Natasha, the woman was not able to form a single thought in her head, her mind being clouded by all three of the results your actions gave her.

You would watch her face contort for the 10 seconds where you held the vibrator against her, then listen to her huff angrily at you and your ministrations - but mostly you. You were mesmerized by the beauty of your lover, so much so that you rewarded her beauty by pressing the vibrator on her clit once more, this time not intending to take it all away at the last second. You watched as she gasped, her eyes fluttering close but fighting herself to keep them open, although somewhat futile. "God, you're so pretty, Natty."

Your soft gaze made her melt, and your faint smirk at it told her you were enjoying her little reactions. "Answer my last question, baby. Would you be cumming for me or your beloved Maria Hill?"

"Only you, Y/N. Only you- Oh, please let me cum, Daddy!" Natasha continued to babble out her pleas, not noticing how you had let go of her hair and was now kneeling in between her smooth thighs. Natasha jerked back and moaned, throwing her head back in the process when you started licking at her tasty cunt all whilst still holding the vibrator against her. 

Natasha stuttered in her moans, her fists bleeding white from being clenched so hard behind her back. Her eyes were tightly closed, and her teeth were firmly pressed together, trying her hardest to spit out a warning before she exploded on your face. But through all her hard work, she still could not get a single word out of her mouth, only breathy stuttered moans, gasps, and pathetic whimpered pleas. 

Natasha could hardly breathe, and when your tongue wiggled around that rough spot within her, her tether broke, her juices spilling all over your mouth and your nose, and even the vibrator that was still firmly pressed against her sensitive core. Natasha was breathing heavily, trying to regain control of her senses, only for you to take her breath away again with a bruising kiss. 

Everything was going well during the kiss, excluding the burning feeling Natasha felt in her chest at the lack of much-needed oxygen. It was only when the redhead felt a harsh slap come in contact with her face, thus breaking the kiss, did she suddenly yelped out. "I haven't allowed you to cum yet, have I?"

Natasha was near sobbing when you started undoing her restraints, already preparing to lose her dignity just to beg for your forgiveness, but then you pulled her up suddenly, carrying her nearly limp form over your shoulder, and guided her to lay down on the perfectly made bed you shared with her. Again, Natasha was going to speak up, but just like the last time, you'd interrupted her again with a ball gag in her mouth, and that was the moment she deemed you to be her worst enemy.

"Oh, Natasha. You really should know better." You walked around the bed just for dramatic purposes and collected a few more items to use on your gorgeous lover. "I thought you would be brighter than this, being a trained super spy and all." You were fastening the harness of your large strap around your hips, keeping your eyes locked onto Natasha, watching as she whimpered around her ball gag with tears cascading down her pretty face. 

You truly were in awe of her. The beauty she possessed was, in your opinion, unmatched by every single person you'd ever come across. You collected a variety of restraints and tightly tied her to the bed like the letter 'A'. You secured a lengthy leg spreader around Natasha's ankles and grabbed both of her hands to tie them above her head on the velvety headboard.

Natasha's eyes watched you move around the room, watching on as you thought over what you planned to do to her. The possibilities were endless, and so she feared she would not make it out of this alive. I mean her pussy sure isn't. What Natasha feared the most about you doing to her was edging her. She loved it when you edged her, but only to an extent. The thought of you building her up to where she was about to bust only for you to take it all away terrified her even more than your harsh slaps ever had. 

To say Natasha was shocked at your statement would be a huge understatement. Your soft tone threw her off even more, and when you smiled at her gently, her brows couldn't help but come together and form a crease as they met. "I'm allowing you to cum, Natasha. You can cum whenever you feel like it just remember your safe word."

That couldn't be just it, there had to be a catch, but all her thoughts went back to being mush when you ran the tip of your silicone cock through her slit, collecting the juices that had pooled there. Then when you pushed yourself into her soaking cunt, her mind was further melted into a puddle sloshing around in her skull. Your pace was tough, causing her legs to tighten around you- well, as much as the leg spreader allowed. 

Natasha was moaning wildly beneath you, writhing and nearly trembling at the speed of your hard thrusts. Her hands were sore, but not sore enough for her attention to be on it. Natasha tried speaking, but all that was heard were the jumbled pronunciation of her words

Good thing you were equipped with the skill to translate her muffled words. "You gonna cum, baby? You gonna give me all that this slutty pussy can?"

Natasha nodded furiously, her hips rising from the bed with much restraint. She could barely move, but the high she was chasing was enough of an inspiration for her to try gyrating her hips up to yours.

"Cum whenever you like, my whore. If it gets too much, you can always use your safe words."

If your dirty words were any indication that you were planning something epic, Natasha wouldn't have known thanks to the blinding white light that flooded her field of vision when she came. By god, you could swear that her face when she came was that of goddesses'.

"Oh, my darling, you're so beautiful." Your soft words were very stark contrasts to the continuation of your harsh pounding. Natasha didn't even have a minute to come down from her previous high before you were pushing her over another edge.

"Oh, fuck. Fuck!" You don't understand how that sounded very clear, but you were not complaining whatsoever. You could even say that you were impressed.

You stared into Natasha's shining eyes while you plowed her into the mattress. "You're such a fucking whore, Natasha. No wonder Hill was all over you when you decided to go out with her. You're disgusting. I mean, Look at you, the infamous Black Widow dumbed down to nothing by her meager partner."

Your words were enough to tip her over the edge of sweet release. Her legs shook around you while her moans sounded more stuttered and broken, nearing the kind of moans that sounded like sobbing. You stilled your hips, much to Natasha's relief, and pulled the ball gag out of her mouth.

Natasha gasped and heaved in the air. The woman barely even noticed when you pulled out of her, her brain being a little too fogged up to register anything.

Picking up the discarded vibrator from earlier, you pressed it firmly on Natasha's pussy, sliding it up and down her slit. The sound of her sticky arousal echoed around the room along with the incessant vibrator unleashing hell upon your precious woman's sweet cunt.

"Oh, god, Y/N, that feels so good!" Natasha had her eyes tightly shut with her mouth hanging open in a silent scream. Her next words were whispered pleas before she exploded all over the vibrator you held along with your forearm.

"You're doing so good, my princess." You coo'ed climbing off of Natasha just enough to reach the leg spreader attached to her ankles. You freed her feet, grabbing your woman by the back of her thighs only to flip her over onto her stomach.

"We aren't done yet?" You could've cackled at her question if not for the way her gaping cunt was distracting you. Instead of rudely mocking Natasha, you lightly chuckled through your nose, caressing her plump ass whilst also licking and biting at it.

"No, my darling, I'm not done with you yet." You smirked as you pulled away, moving to grab two paddles of the same size, placing them on top of Natasha's ass, using them to caress her skin. "You ready, baby?"

Natasha was panting into the pillow, writhing against the paddles on her bottom as she furrowed her eyebrows, "For what?"

You lifted one of the paddles and brought it back down harshly, making your lover yelp in surprise, watching how Natasha's ass rippled at the impact. "Oh, Daddy!"

You wanted her to be loud in any way possible. If you weren't known to get everything you wanted before, now you are. You brought the other paddle up and then down again much harder than the last. Then you lifted both paddles, bringing them back down with a force that made Natasha scream louder than she ever had before.

Your onslaught upon Natasha's ass was unrelenting, hitting her ass to sadistically watch her skin ripple at the force you were dealing with. You relished in the screams and moans she released, each one bringing waves of arousal to pool in your underwear.  the woman is now full-on sobbing, the pain and the pleasure blending in with each other deliciously within her. She was enjoying this just as much as you were, if not more. She loved it when you got all sadistic about her. It made her feel like she was living on the edge, and she was enjoying the breeze there. 

At the last strike you gave to Natasha's plump ass, her orgasm embarrassingly tore through her, getting past her holds and slipping through her sex. You could have laughed if you didn't have any self-control, but alas, the goodness in your tattered heart pounded through, causing you to feel the need to protect her. 

Now, with the heat of the moment subsiding, your goal shifted from punishing Natasha by making her feel what you felt when you saw her with Maria to shower her with the softest kisses known to man. You hushed your wailing lover, careful with your hands as you pulled the restraint from her reddened wrists.

"Hush, my darling. It's all over now." You planted a small kiss on the top of her head before moving off of your shared bed. "Let me grab a soothing cream for your butt, baby, don't move."

As you gathered what you needed from the bathroom, Natasha used that small bit of alone time to actually think of what she'd done. She reprimanded herself for completely leaving you alone at the party you came to together and ditching you for some other girl.

Truly, her interaction with Maria was nothing more than friendly. They shared talks of their respective life partners and what they've been up to recently, nothing scandalous at all. But now that she'd been punished, she could see how that may have looked from a non-participant-of-the-conversation's point of view. Now that she'd been punished, she felt bad for what she may have made you feel.

Safe to say, she learned her lesson.

A gasp tore through her throat at the cold sensation that rippled across the bruised skin of her bum. "It's okay, hun, it's just a bit of cream." And as you continued to work on her, wiping her down and all that, you spoke, "You took your punishment so well, baby. Have you learned your lesson? Do you understand why you were punished?"

"Yes, Daddy." Natasha responded.

"Tell me why I punished you." It was a soft command, but natasha shivered at it either way, and she shamed herself for it.

"Because I hurt you at the party. I wasn't paying attention to you." You hummed as she listed what she thought could be part of the reason you punished her, then she followed up with, "I'm sorry."

"Ah, it's okay, honey. It's a lesson learned." With a kiss to her now exposed collarbone, you finished up with cleaning and getting Natasha ready for bed. "You're all done now. Get some rest, Natty, we can talk about this more in the morning over some breakfast."

With a content smile and a warm feeling spreading through her chest, Natasha laid her head on your shoulder right as you settled in next to her. She seemed your warmth just as you did hers, wrapping each other up in comfortable embraces and even stealing a few kisses here and there.

[kasagia]

Can you give us a little sneak peak for the next part

My twodear anonymous and @hanadays1234, thank you so much! 😊🖤🩵

Yes, I can. And since I wrote all my exams, I only focus on writing. 🖤🩵🖤🩵🖤🩵🖤🩵

Nope 🤭🙈 🩵🖤🖤🩵

24.05 Friday or 27.05 Monday. (I have nothing written except what I will give you right now)

Also, who binge watched Bridgerton season 3 and now get inspiration for the new series (for Feyd, I showed you once) instead on focus on the Right Hand? 🤡🙈

Anyway... sneak peak:

Feyd rarely felt pain he didn't like. The years spent on Giedi Prime—or rather, years of enduring his uncle's methods of making him a true Harkonnen, his worthy successor—made Feyd love pain. He found pleasure in it—something he had to learn if he wanted to survive.

But it didn't bring him any satisfaction or pleasure when you pierced his chest with one of his swords. He feels pure pain. Anger, betrayal, and hurt.

He hates the way he falls limply to his knees in front of you. He hates that he still looks at you like you're a saint. He hates that he hopes you'll at least look him in the eyes, as if that would bring him some kind of salvation. He hates how lost he feels now and how he's slowly losing awareness of his surroundings. He hates that even though you stabbed him, all he can do is stare at you, clinging to the sight of you more than to his life.

"This will be the beginning of a wonderful alliance, Lady Y/N."

He feels you unhook your poisoned dagger from his arm. Feyd thinks you're doing it to finish him off. Poetically kill him with the weapon he gave you. He closes his eyes and waits for the final stab or throat slit. But nothing like that happens. He doesn't have the strength to turn around and see exactly what you're doing, but your words alone are enough for him to imagine the scene that is happening behind him.

"I may not be a Harkonnen, but I've picked up a few of their habits. If you want an agreement between us, show me your hand." After your words, he can hear a hiss from Atreides when you plunge the dagger into your joined hands, piercing them both through.

Feyd would have laughed mockingly if he hadn't spent all his energy on breathing slowly. He remembered explaining to you how contracts, such as arranged marriages, were sealed on Giedi Prime. The Harkonnens shook hands and pierced them with swords, thus signing a blood pact. This also applied to marriages and other such things. Blood bound them stronger than any words or signatures on paper. He cursed himself for the fact that, seeing your scared face at his words, he withdrew from this idea and decided to make a verbal agreement between you. He should be the one to bind you with his blood, not Atreides.

The steel in his body rubs against his lower ribs, but it does not damage any major organs. He tries to keep the sword in the exact same position you stuck it in, but he feels like he's going to faint from all the pain, the blood, and the fear for you that he feels now.

You made him so weak that even after you stabbed him, all he could think about was your safety and your well-being. Every shaky breath he took, every slow beat of his heart as he fought to stay conscious—it was all for you.

He just hoped like hell that you weren't lying a few moments ago, that this would all turn out to be just one of your games, and that you would soon end Atreides' life. But it's not like that.

"Let this blood be a symbol of our union." Your sweet, dangerous whisper reaches Feyd's ears.

He's raging with powerlessness and anger. That Atreides dog didn't deserve to mix his blood with yours. Only Feyd should be able to do this. Only his black blood should merge with your crimson, staining your joined hands as you swore allegiance to each other. His heart hurts more than the wound you gave him as he imagine how you and this desert rat are now echanging each other's blood.

If he hadn't been placed in such a vulnerable state by you, he would have ripped Atreides' heart out with his bare hands for daring to mix his blood with yours. A cold shiver runs down his spine at the thought of Atreides connecting with you in yet another way. A way Feyd was robbed too many times.

He tries to get up, but he doesn't have enough strength. All he can do is place his hands on the floor, trying to take the weight off his torso. The blade scratching his flesh bothers him much less than the fact that Atreides has the nerve to touch you or that you're blatantly ignoring him while playing whatever game you're playing right now.

"Leave him to me. I want… to repay him for all these years of fulfilling his wishes."

(...)

[crushedbyhyperbole]

Before I Met Angels - Pt 2 - Now...

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus!Fem!Reader

Summary: Dean came for the hunt, but he stayed for you. He shows you exactly why you don't need to be insecure about the thicc juicy parts of you he can't get enough of.

Words: 2.2k

A/N: Thank you for your request, Nonny! You wanted insecure reader who was worried that Dean didn't like her fabulous Goddess body, but he does, and shows her just how much he does by devouring her. I hope this hits the spot.

I actually wrote the back story for this which is Before I Met Angels Pt 1 - Then..., but this is part 2 - now... Enjoy 😘

Warnings: Smut, oral - mainly F receiving, insecurities/comfort, bit of fluff, bit of cheesiness. Surprisingly not much by way of profanity.

***MINORS DO NOT ENTER OR INTERACT***

The sound of the TV blends into the background, secondary to the steady thu-thump of your heartbeat and the whoosh of your pulse in your ears.  The sofa is soft beneath you, perfectly contrasting the firmness of the man you are partially wrapped around.

Dean Winchester had been with you for almost three months, and what months they had been.

You first met when Dean showed up on your doorstep after the ghost of your long dead boyfriend had started killing off your love interests all over town.  Dean had posed as your newest suitor in order to lure the ghost out and your connection had developed from there.

The weeks of pretending to be attracted to each other had resulted in undeniable chemistry and, once your ghost problem had been resolved, you had asked him to stay the night.  Months later, he was still staying the night.

Dean’s hands stroke your waist and hip as you snuggle up against him, his laugh is like poetry, even if it’s born from the most recent episode of Dr Sexy.  He inches your baggy sweater up until he finds bare skin, glancing at you when you tense slightly as his fingers slip under the waistband of your leggings.

You don’t like a lot of things about your body, such as your stomach and ‘thunder thighs’ as you call them, because they aren’t what people think of as attractive.  Dean has never said these things to you, but for someone with a sex drive like his, how can he prefer how you look over some of the women you have seen hitting on him since you’ve known him?

When you look up at Dean he is staring down at you, reading the anxiety on your face with a light frown, but rather than draw attention to it and make you explain what he already knows, he simply sits and adjusts himself so your legs are across his lap rather than you being lay against each other.

Just so arranged, he begins to give you a foot rub, gradually working his way up your calves while he glances less and less frequently at the TV.  When he slides his hands up the tops of your thighs, you close your eyes but he doesn’t stop.  Dean strokes and kneads your thighs before teasing with his fingertips over your clothes, feather-light touches causing a delightful tingling sensation to creep up to your core.

When his hand dips between your legs and gently glances over your covered mound you inhale sharply, earning a sly smirk from him.  That bastard knows exactly what he’s doing.  He strokes there again with the pads of his fingers circling until you clamp your thighs around his hand, trapping him.

“Just where I wanna be,” he flashes you a wicked grin as he continues to apply pressure and motion right over your most sensitive spot.  “I love it even more when you grip my hips like this… or my head.”

“Dean…”  You admonish half-heartedly.  You don’t want him to stop.  You never want him to stop.  “Please…”

“You want something, baby girl?” 

Of course you do, and he knows it.  Dean always knows what you want, it’s shameful how easily he reads the signs your body displays for him.

You nod, reaching for him.  “Just you.”

You want to pull him down onto the couch with you again and have him kiss you and make you forget all the hateful things your traitorous brain tells you about yourself and about how he feels about you.  How can someone as perfect as he is really be attracted so someone like you?

“Oh, you’ll have me, but I got something I wanna do first,” he says, reaching under your ass for the waistband of your leggings.  “Now lift,” he commands.

Dean slides your leggings down over your ass and up your raised legs until you are bare; he has brought your panties off with your leggings, exposing you to him completely.

Your instinct is to pull your sweater down over your stomach but he stops you with a kind but firm grip on your hands.  Releasing you, he bites his lip as he strokes the bare skin of your legs, abdomen and hips.  Embarrassed at being so exposed, you look away from him.

“Hey,” his finger under your chin stops you and turns your gaze back to him.  “Eyes on me, understand?”

You nod nervously, and he gets up to strip himself down to his jockey shorts before kneeling on the floor.

He’s half hard already – the firm shape of his arousal visible underneath the straining grey of his shorts – and he’s getting harder every second he looks at you with that hunger in his eyes.

Dean Winchester has never has ever taken anything from you he hasn’t given in return ten-fold, and he’s not about to break that habit now.  He tugs you towards him, his hands under your knees, and turns you to access your exposed heat.  Glistening with your need for him, you feel his breaths as a rhythmic cooling breeze.

“This,” he says lifting one of your legs up and bringing his lips to your ankle where he lays a kiss, “is sexy.”

You blush and look away, earning you a nip with his teeth right were he had kissed before, making your eyes snap back to where his eyes burn into you with heat and a warning not to look away again.  Soothing his bite afterwards with his tongue, he makes a wet meandering trail up your calf where he lays yet more kisses.

“And this,” he says, holding your gaze while his lips and short beard leave your skin sensitive and hot.  “This is gorgeous.”

Your face is aflame as he moves steadily higher, stroking his hands and lips up your inner thigh.

“But this,” he sucks a light mark into the delicate skin of your thigh, causing you to moan and pull away from the slight aching reminder of his mouth.  “This is divine.”

Dean slides his hand right up to the apex of your thighs where he blows a more cooling breath against the moisture pooling between your lips, laying kisses around where you want him most, but never actually touching you there.  He hums with satisfaction as you squirm when he pulls away.

“Patience is a virtue.”  The cheeky bastard says with a smugness he tries to hide behind a coy smile.  It doesn’t work and he looks devilishly amused as he raises your other leg to start the process again.

All you can do is watch him as he lavishes the skin of your legs with his kisses and the occasional scrape of his stubble.  When you flinch, he soothes you with obscene tongue-work that you know is going to ruin you when he finally reaches his goal.  All the while, his eyes hold yours as he does to you the things he knows you deserve.

Stroking his hand up the undersides of your calf, he guides your leg over his shoulder and slides his other up the inside of your other thigh.  He meets your gaze once more when he leans in with his lips a deeper pink from his kisses and the green of his eyes a mere sliver against the black of his pupils.  If there is any doubt that Dean Winchester is into you, this is your sign to throw that doubt away.

He places a gentle sucking kiss over your sensitive spot.  The tightly wound anticipation of this contact makes your thighs twitch, and you see his eyes crinkle with a smile as he does it again, sucking a little firmer this time, and again, until you moan his name.

Dean has tasted you before, on his fingers or on yours, but never had full access to the buffet table, so to speak.  Your sweet muskiness is alluring, and he devours you like a messy burger, his slurps obscene, his moans erotic.  He brings you so close to the edge multiple times, teasing you with the orgasm he knows you want but denying you at the last second.

You beg him to finish you but he smirks and pulls back, his beard dark with your slick and his lips red and swollen.

He leans his head on your plush thigh as he keeps your pleasure alive with his suckling kisses and the flat swipe of his tongue.  You’re practically pulsating with need when he finally speaks.

“God damn beautiful.”  His voice cracks with desire as he takes the sight of you in; burning with pent up need, twitching and writhing with desperation.  “Think it’s time I give you what you need, baby girl.”

You sigh with relief, though the white-hot tension in your core still consumes you, just the promise of release is enough to relax your frenzied senses.

Dean buries his face in your wet heat once more with renewed fervour, reigniting the fuse within you and causing you to crest the mountain of pleasure he had built for you. It bursts within you like a dam, cascading forth in waves of intensity far sharper than anything you have felt before, even with him.  The guttural cry that escapes your throat makes him moan against your flesh.

Just when you think it is starting to fade, Dean slides his fingers into you, changing the sensation altogether, making it deeper and more well-rounded, and you don’t stop coming – or at least you feel like you don’t stop.  When another climax crests you sink below the surface of the surging force he’s creating within you.

You reach out, fisting your fingers in his hair, not to draw him closer but to pull him away as his ministrations on your clit become too intense.  He chuckles as he rises, looking down at you with a devout reverence you had never seen from him before.  It shakes you but it doesn’t last long, his grip changes and so does his expression, becoming more focused and hungrier.

He looms over you, his arousal making a mount Everest-like peak in the topography of his underwear and abdomen, its dark peak a sign of just how hungry he is for you.

“I need you, Dean.”  You reach for him and gasp out as he curls his fingers more ruthlessly inside you.  Tears form in your eyes.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”  He groans when you bear down around his fingers.  “So sweet, so tight, so… sexy.”

You go to protest, to tell him you’re none of those things but he doubles his pace, working his hand in and against you more frantically, bringing forth an explosion of pleasure that wipes the words from your brain.

“That’s my girl,” he praises when you spasm around his fingers once more, your slick coating more of his hand.  “Show me how you’re gonna wreck me when I finally put my cock in you.”

When you come this time, your back arches and you’re forced to close your eyes tight.  You shake and wimper in the aftershocks and Dean withdraws his hand, smoothing soft caresses up and down your thighs and you are overwhelmed by the sheer power of it.  He has never taken you like this before, never reduced you to a speechless mess.

Dean sits on the couch and pulls you to him, stroking your hip and back, your arm and thigh and then, when the shaking subsides, your face.  He brushes back your hair, tilting your chin up so he can lay a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Don’t you ever question how beautiful you are,” he says firmly.  “I’m not the kind of guy who hangs around if he don’t want to, you know that.”

You nod, “I know but-”

“Ain't no buts,” he takes your had and lowers it to his straining hard cock.  “I want you too, always have. See?”

You smile deviously, the idea of edging him like he did to you is becoming more and more appealing.  You stroke him firmly, sitting up to flash him sultry smile, licking your lips as you lower yourself towards him.

The way you kiss the tip has his head falling back against the couch, the slow swirl of your tongue makes fists of his hands in the cushions.

“You, know,” he says breathily, “before I met angels, I would have said you were one – jesusmaryandjoseph -” he moans low and throaty.

“Mmm-hmmm.”  You mumble with him in your mouth, sucking him in deeper, goading him to continue.

“But now…,” he swallows hard, licking his suddenly dry lips, “now I think you’re the devil.”

You chuckle deeply at the idea that you’re more of a tease than he is.  After what he just did to you, no less.  The notion that Dean Winchester, of all people, wants you is something you still don’t fully accept but every day he keeps showing you it’s true.  Every day he’s there with you is one more day you’re thankful that he showed up on your doorstep with his cheap suit and the promise of a different future.

[elusivecagedmockingbird]

Bleach

[yoongi x reader] [1.3k+ of tolerable angst and fluff if you squint; nothing much going on but feelings are there]

A/N: I wrote this when I was missing Yoongi and weeks have passed and I'm still missing him. My bad on the late publish! Work and life got to me. :/ I hope you still remember me.

-

Yoongi hadn't moved since the moment he entered the shop and sat himself at your usual table at the corner of the artisan cafe. The spot hides you from everyone else, but you get a pretty view of passers-by. And while most patrons would avoid getting seated at the table, for you and Yoongi, it was a haven and you were just glad you didn’t have a lot of competition over the seats.

Thus, Yoongi thinks it's cruel, how, in a matter of minutes, the corner that once felt like a safe place for you and him, suddenly feels too claustrophobic for him alone. He wants nothing but to leave the place.

Your quick departure was a contrast to his static posture at the wooden seat—ruminating, processing everything. You left as quickly as you came.

He estimates you had only stayed for half an hour, and in those gone minutes, it was only you who talked while he was shocked and blindsided by what was happening that he was rendered speechless.

"Yoongi, let's break up."

No hello kiss on the cheek, or not even a curt Hi. You dived straight to the point. Your candor is a trait he appreciates, but today, he feels otherwise.

His brain struggled to comprehend what your words meant. He heard you, but somehow he didn't understand the words and all that followed. Yoongi is a man of few words—never one to talk nonstop or hold the mic at get-togethers; rather, Yoongi is a listener.

But just for today of all days, he hoped he was more vocal; articulate.

Yoongi heaves a dry rueful chuckle.

How unbelievable, he sighs.

Was this a fever dream? Did he accidentally fall asleep while waiting for you and if he wakes up now, will he find you still seated in your chair taking pictures of him as you muffle your giggles.

He finds himself bargaining to whoever was listening to let this be a dream.

The café starts to fill up, he notices.

For years, Yoongi sat on the very same chair his ass is at right now and across from him is where you should be… still—that's how it always was. He doesn't see the point of staying and saving the other chair now.

He looks around one last time. Yoongi holds on to the chance that you're still in the café pulling a mean trick on him and yet, as his eyes land on his pitiful reflection on the glass, he loses heart.

He lets a few seconds pass before he takes the cup of coffee he ordered for you, albeit it's too sweet and creamy for this taste, he'd rather not have it thrown away.

At least, he'd get to save something that shouldn't go to waste today.

-

People say when you do something in repetition, it dulls the emotion that it carries. He wonders how many more sad desperate voicemails must he leave before he stops the aching in his heart. He hates the yearning and anger that races within him.

"Y/N. It's Yoongi. Please answer my calls. I just... I need to talk to you. This can't be it—the end of us."

He isn't sure if he despises you for summoning these odd feelings out of him or it's himself he dislikes for acting this way.

Yoongi had been recalling the days you spent with and without each other before the day you broke up with him. He has been desperately searching for a reason—he needs to know why.

Was it something he said or did? Or was it something he DID NOT say or do? Or did you just wake up that day and decided you no longer loved him?

It's driving him insanely frustrated. He doesn't pray, but lately, he has been whispering pleas and promises.

One phone call—just this once. That's all he asked for.

His phone pings and on the screen pops up a notification from you—Meet me at Hakdong Park, 7PM.

-

Yoongi fidgets by the swings. His habit of biting his nails resurfacing and he faintly tastes blood as he nibbles on his thumb. He peeps at his phone to check the time and it's not long before it's 7PM. Just a few more minutes...

"Yoongi," you called, voice demure. He wouldn't have heard you if it wasn't so quiet in the park, aside from the cicadas chirping in the background.

Yoongi quickly stands up, but before he could run towards you for a hug, he holds himself back and roots his feet on the sand. Instead, he waits for you to walk towards him. And as you approach him, he wishes you would hold him.

Just this once, he pleads once again.

But unlike his last request, this falls on deaf ears.

You sat down on the swing beside Yoongi. He copies you and sits next to you—mindful that his knees won't touch yours.

He hears you let out a defeated sigh and he was ready to lead the conversation this time, but you speak first.

"I miss you." You turn your head towards him and smile bashfully. As if what left your mouth was something that shouldn't have been let out.

Yoongi can hear his heart beating, melting the bitter feeling you poured on his heart not long ago. "Then why didn't you answer my calls?" He wanted the words he spewed to be pointed, accusing. But that was never him, both of you knew that, unfortunately.

You hum as you scratch your nails in your jeans—a nervous tick of yours that Yoongi learned over the years. He also knows how to quell those nerves and his own hand starts to fidget as he lingers to reach for yours.

"I was afraid of what you would say." There were long spaces of breath between your words, as if unsure.

"You were afraid...of me?" Yoongi confirms. He's left more confused than the last time. He tilts his head to peek at you, but the darkness and shadows cover your face.

"Not exactly. I guess it's more of your words. I had to keep away from you because I was afraid you would change my mind...about the break up."

Yoongi hums and nods. "At first that's why I called you." He wouldn't deny it, because his first thought was to do just that. But as emotions settled and he found himself in a better headspace, he realized he wanted more to understand why you wanted to end things with him. "But now, I just need to know why. At least make me understand where you're coming from."

Keeping his crawling limbs to him, Yoongi clenches and unclenches his hands. He glances at you as you nod and visibly gulp air. He catches the shift in your eyes, and he knows how your mind works overtime. He wonders if you're thinking of an amicable reason to shoo him away or were there just too many reasons to consider that you had to take time and sort your thoughts?

The former has to be it. He always knew he was difficult to love—always lacking. Not enough of this, not enough of that. He thinks he's got your answer, and he thinks he might not be able to take it if he hears it from you—so he prepares to leave.

"I loved you too much," you murmur. Seeming afraid of your confession. Disregarding his earlier doubts, Yoongi stands from the wooden plank. He kneels in front of you and takes your freezing hands between his, bloodied thumb circling your knuckles.

It wasn't a reason he expected nor considered. His confusion must have shone through his face that made you let out a sad smile.

"You really should stop biting your nails." Yoongi watches in slow motion as you take his hand in your palms and lift them to your lips for a soft peck.

-

[onceuponapuffin]

Fanatic Intervention Part 5!!

Hiya! Sorry about the delay! Life got in the way there for a bit ^_^" But I am here! With Part 5!!

Beginning || Previous || Next

*************

Crowley had liked Hozier (although Take Me To Church, predictably, wasn’t his favourite), and after whining at Aziraphale that it’s nooooooot ‘bebop,’ you finally managed to get an admission that all right, it wasn’t all that terrible. You took the win.

But the dance party couldn’t last forever. There’s still a world to save, after all.

And so, all of you sat, thumbing through Revelations. Well, Aziraphale and Muriel were. You and Crowley had given up on the fancy Bible-ness of it and googled the Cliff Notes version.

“Ugh,” You say, “John really hated the Romans.”

“Well, yes,” says Aziraphale, “He had decent enough reason, though, as far as humans go.”

“What, he hated indoor plumbing and heated floors?”

“Actually, he hated people of the Christian faith being arrested, tortured, and killed for their beliefs.”

“Oh….yeah that makes sense,” You say, and after a moment you add “...Sorry.”

“That’s quite alright,” Aziraphale replies kindly, “He wrote Revelation as a way to reassure Christians that all of their suffering would mean something in the end. That it must be part of the Great Plan.”

“The Ineffable Plan, you mean,” chimes in Crowley with a smirk. Aziraphale rolls his eyes.

“Yes, that one,” he replies. You notice the microscopic-Michael-Sheen-ian smile on his face as he says it. Honestly, the resemblance is uncanny. Aziraphale continues. “He wanted Christians to feel heard, and to encourage them to hold fast to their faith.”

You pause for a minute before saying anything. Then you remember a tumblr post or something from forever ago.

“Santa Claus,” You finally say. Crowley spurts wine from his nose, and begins to laugh. Aziraphale is confused.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s like Santa Claus,” You say again, “Like ‘be good, and you’ll get presents! it’s almost Christmas Eve! Santa’s watching!’ You know?” You look at Aziraphale imploringly. Crowley is still laughing. Aziraphale doesn’t look impressed.

“I think that’s rather an over-simplification.”

“Am I wrong?”

“…..It’s...it’s not...That’s not how it works!”

“Oh, okay, so I’m wrong then.”

“Sounds about right to me!” Crowley calls with glee from the other side of the room. Aziraphale looks all flustered, his face beginning to go red. Crowley hands him a glass of wine and Aziraphale downs it in one go.

Okay, winding him up is a great deal of fun, and so easy, but I’m guessing, dear Reader, that you love Aziraphale just as much as I do. You don’t actually want to hurt his feelings. Thus you decide to concede the point.

“So,” You say, “He said he had a dream about things getting really bad and then Jesus coming back and saving everyone.”

“In a nutshell, yes,” Aziraphale sighs, clearly relieved to be back on topic. You think back to old interviews with Neil and Terry about their back-then-hypothetical sequel would look like.

“Okay, well the only thing I know about it was something about it taking place in America. I read in an old interview somewhere that Jesus was meant to descend from the heavens in a private jet with a bunch of like...bodyguard angels or something.”

“America? Again? I mean really.”

You shrug. “Neil Gaiman really likes America.”

“But it doesn’t have to be,” says Muriel now, flipping back through their notes, “You said that the sequel was never written, and the third...season?was still being written too when you left. And you said that book isn’t the same as what happened in the tv show, or the radio show, or the musical. So how do we know it would be the same here?”

They make a good point.

“Maybe ask that author of yours,” says Crowley, looking over from his drink, “You said he answers questions sometimes. Who would he be to deny,” he swishes his glass around with what you suppose is meant to be grandeur, “The Famous Crowley and Aziraphale?” He empties his glass.

“Anathema might be able to find him,” You say after a while, “Jesus, I mean. She did a good job finding everything in Armageddon Part 1. Or Adam. I mean, Jesus is supposed to be all about love, right? Maybe we can convince him not to, you know, end the world.”

Aziraphale hums to himself. “Revelations states that Armageddon is meant to be started by the seven angels of the church, bringing together seven keys. I mean, John could be wrong of course, but I wonder...Could one of you find me a map and search these names? I might have an idea why Mr. Gaiman wanted to set The Second Coming in America.”

Good Reader, guess which country contains cities named after 5 of these 7 angels. I’ll give you three guesses, but you’ll only need one.

And so now we have three directions we can take this story in.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

Beginning || Previous || Next

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Rollo was having a stroll in the City Of Flowers and he encounters a certain fox beastman and a certain cat beastman who each been baffled by NRC students alike Rollo! What if those sinister 3 team up to have revenge the NRC students? That could be troublesome!

Oh, I recently wrote a fic about Rollo meeting Fellow and Gidel! It’s just a brief meeting, so they don’t really bond or get to know each other beyond how they initially present (because who opens up about their entire backstory to someone they ran into on the street??), but still paints a picture of what I feel their interactions would be like.

I actually don’t think (if they ever did share their experiences with the NRC students with one another good luck getting Rollo to emotionally open up) those 3 would plot revenge together?? Rollo is still hostile toward NRC, but Fellow and Gidel aren’t. If anything, they sort of declare a friendly rivalry with them at the end of the event??? And then they set off to work toward their own goals while suggesting that maybe they’ll run into the NRC students again someday. I definitely don’t get the sense that Fellow and Gidel are vengeful, they’re just looking out for themselves at this point.

I also feel like Rollo and Fellow just… wouldn’t get along? Rollo dislikes noisy, cheery people (which Fellow is) who use their magic for amoral or frivolous things (which Fellow does). Fellow might find Rollo’s uptight and neurotic attitude annoying to deal with. Not only that, but I feel as though their ideologies would clash with one another. Rollo thinks that magic should be extinguished altogether, but Fellow sees magic as a symbol of power. The latter might not see eliminating magic as a way to equalize social status, but rather getting rid of one way the less privileged like him could rise out of poverty. It’s not magic that Fellow hates, but the system tied to it that gatekeeps education and opportunities to those blessed with a plethora of it. Fellow might have a bone to pick with the elite who abuse their power, but he’s just as quick to use his magic for his own needs (like getting back at his employer) when it suits him.

Things get even more complicated when you consider how Gidel fits into all of this. He’s Fellow’s “brother” (not blood related), so Gidel is very important to him. Gidel also seems to be a child, so perhaps Rollo would have a soft spot for him due to his own fondness for his late younger brother. Fellow is canonically protective of Gidel and resents magic schools for denying Gidel and education due to his lack of magic, thus condemning him to poverty. Rollo, meanwhile, loathes his own magic and eagerly wants to be rid of it. He might see Gidel’s lack of magic as a blessing (as it was magic that claimed the life of his own brother). He wouldn’t understand why Fellow wants to subject Gidel to an environment with mages, to potential danger. On the other side of the aisle, Fellow wouldn’t understand why Rollo wants to deny Gidel a chance to study among mages. He would think that Rollo’s all up on his high horse since Rollo himself is a gifted mage and student council president of his NBC, while Fellow and Gidel have almost no magic nor fancy titles to their names. He would be mad that Rollo is rejecting Gidel from what Fellow sees as a chance at a better future—a chance Fellow was denied due to his own lack of magic.

It would be one big hot mess 😭 and honestly, now I want to write a follow-up to that initial fic where Fellow and Rollo go for each other’s throats—

[letters-from-dekarios]

{written on pub stationary, stained with aclohol. The hand writing is messy, obviously written in a less than sober state. The paper is creased and crumpled, as though it’s original destination was to be the trash bin. Multiple words are misspelled or crudely scribbled out.}

~

Dear Dekarriose Dekarios,

I guess youre actual title now is the Wizard of Waterdeep, it may be inappropriate to still simply call you ‘Dekarios’ or ‘Gale’. I still will, change all you want, detest me all you want for it, I cannot change that image I still have of you from our youths.

A cocky bastard smug young man who probably had a good reason for being smug. A learned young wizard who, despite his inherent talents, buried his nose in a million books a second to learn more. I hated you for it back then. I think I hate you for it now.

I don’t know. I’ve never understood it. I never figured out how you could be more with so much inherent magical talent, but not enough to make you a sorcerer. I never understood how you could be more in control of your magic than a sorcerer. I never understood how we could be the same age, and yet when I first started my academic career at Blackstaff you were already finishing yours. I admired you for it, I hated you for it.

I thought you hated me too.

Not hate, that’s not right. I thought you abdhorred disliked me. I thought in some way, it was okay, we were rivals. We had our fun, I cursed you a few times (if you never knew that was me doing it. Sorry.), you explained every spell you knew in such detail I assumed you were being condescending on purpose. I casted spells with ease without trying but I could never learn a new spell. You learned a million new spells but took great effort in casting them. I hated you for your succeeding where I failed. I thought you felt the same.

I question that recently. I have people who hate me now. It’s not the same. If you did hate me, I guess I liked the way you hated me, it was more fun than how I’m hated now. But did you hate me? Were you being condescending, or did you just like to talk about things you found interesting? Do you even remember a word I’m writing down? Do you remember me? I can’t bame blame you if you don’t. It’s been so many years, even I only remember once I’ve reached the bottom of a bottle, but I remember a lot.

I’m reaching the end of the page. I feel I’ve written a lot about nothing, so I guess it’s time I cut to the chase. I do miss our rivalry, our misadventures, our friendship, whatever you’d call it. I miss Gale Dekarios, the smug little bastard that once tried to tutor me. I miss you.

I wish you the best,

Irisa

-~•~-

{set before the events of the game, written by my tiefling Tav, Irisa, a wild magic sorceress who briefly did not know she was a sorceress, thus she briefly tried to learn Wizardry at Blackstaff. It did not go well. In her time there she had a rivalrous relationship with Gale, because the two of them were young and immature, and eventually she was expelled from the academy. Years down the line her life is not great, she’s drunk a lot, misses petty arguments with our favorite wizard, reflects on their time together, and wrote this letter and sent it out when drunk and probably forgot all about it come morning.}

Dearest Irisa,

Your letter, though quite barely decipherable, comes as a bit of a shock for me. I did not expect to receive word from you after so many years, and though I can tell you’re not doing exactly the greatest at the time of writing, I hope you’re well otherwise.

It may shock you to know that, despite how many years it’s been, I do remember you. For all it’s worth, I remember the rivalry between us. Who puts a Wizard and a Sorcerer in the same fold? I’ll never understand how that came to be, but it was an enjoyable few years with you there.

I do get that a lot, the admiration and the hatred all mixed in one. It may do well to understand that I am, or, rather, was one of Mystra’s chosen. Though my abilities as a child were to be challenged, it was all because of her. It’s not every day you have an eight-year-old human practicing magic, and Mystra knew that of me. She’s the only reason why I had such control and understanding, though it helped being quite studious.

Despite it all, I can say I never did hate you. You pushed me to countless new limits, helped me see my oddities and how to work through them, and showed me the intensity of magic on a grander scale than reading books ever could. You brought out the best in me, regardless of our differences.

While I didn’t hate you, I can confidently say I did envy your ease in casting spells. If only I could whisk a spell together that easily! Concentration gets the best of me nowadays, perhaps I should have practiced more of that while at the Academy.

I do sincerely apologize for any condescension you may have felt. I tend to do that at times apparently! It was a genuine interest on my part to have someone who shared a similar understanding with me, and I wanted to tell you of all the worlds we could both accomplish. My mother has quipped it as “Galesplaining”, whatever she intends that to mean.

I remember you completely. All the glory, the joy, the hurt, the failure. It’s ingrained in my mind and I doubt I can ever sand it away. I wouldn’t want to, either. You made my time at the Academy more enjoyable than it had been for years. You changed me, in some of the best ways imaginable.

I can’t deny finding myself at the bottom of a bottle stirring over the past, much like yourself, wondering what I could have changed or done differently. Maybe we could’ve stayed friends, that’s a nice alternate reality to think of.

I miss you, too, Irisa, even if you were the cause of all my misdemeanors and failures when my day started on the wrong foot. I have to know, were you the one who caused my portal home to get so out of shape?

When you’re sober, I implore you to visit my tower in Waterdeep. I’d like to catch up with you, it’s been far too long since we’ve spoken.

From the desk of,

𝑮𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝑫𝒆𝒌𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒔

And, for reference, I sort of liked the way you hated me, too.

text reads: gale dekarios

[softguarnere]

Like A Girl (Like A Man)

Shifty Powers x OFC

Chapter 39 - Epilogue: Donadagohvi

Summary: She studies her husband’s face. It’s lined with age, but still as beautiful and as bright as the day she met him. A/N: Alright, y'all - we've made it! But before we get started, I've got some things I have to say. This fic was started during a very strange era. I hated what was going on in my life but didn't know how to fix any of it. Long story short, but I decided to run away one day, and ended up in Toccoa. While standing in the military museum there, I started thinking about Deborah Sampson (a childhood hero of mine), and wondered what would happen if a story like hers happened during WW2 - specifically, if she was a paratrooper. Thus, Zenie appeared in my brain, and this epilogue wrote itself in my mind as I went through the museum. I was never sure if I would share this fic until the second that I hit "post." Zenie was just a way for me to blow off steam, to escape - to fulfill my desire to be someone else for a bit. (Coincidentally, all themes throughout the fic.) I didn't know how people would respond to this story, or to this character, and I only ever had the courage to start uploading chapters because of friends like @latibvles and @liebgotts-lovergirl who showed enthusiasm for it. So I couldn't upload this chapter without a massive sgi (thank you) to them, as well as to everyone else who has read this fic and been so kind to it, and to me. Thank you for welcoming me into this fandom. Thank you for allowing me to share the Cherokee language with you. Thank you for all the support you've given me for both my writing, and as friends. Whether you knew it or not, all that kindness came at a time when I really needed it, and I appreciate you all. Without further ado, here's the last laglam update, in which the fic's title finally makes sense. Much love 💖 Warnings: language, alcohol Taglist: @latibvles @liebgotts-lovergirl @lady-cheeky @dcyllom @mads-weasley @ithinkabouttzu @mrs-murder-daddy @lieutenant-speirs

Eugene looks just the same as he did when Zenie first met him. So do all the other men on this side of the reunion. For her part, she also looks the way she did when she first met all of them – albeit like a girl rather than like a man. For now, her hair is long, and her chest unbound.

No one seems to have figured out why they all look young again, and it has only been mentioned in passing during the reunions. There are better things to do, like visit with those they can, and pass between the ones they left behind, feeling their hearts swell with love as they watch them laugh, watch them remember – watch them live.

Another thing that no one has figured out is why they seem able to come back to this world at certain times. David Webster says he once read that the veil between their worlds thins during certain times of the year, and that maybe this is true of the Easy Company reunions. Zenie, however, likes to believe that it’s the love of the people still living who allow them to come back. All that love with nowhere to go. Love so strong that remembering the people you felt it for brings them back.

No time to wonder now, though. Gene is already smiling at her in greeting.

“Hello again,” he greets as she joins him.

“Gene,” she teases him with an affectionate poke to his ribs. “You haven’t aged a day since I met you in forty-two!”

“Eh, I don’t know about that, Tommy Boy,” Luz’s confident drawl digresses as the radioman swaggers up beside her. “You look a little taller. What, did you finally hit puberty or something?”

Zenie rolls her eyes, but there’s no malice to it. She did, after all, keep him in the dark about her secret until her very last day in Europe. Instead of leading him on, she asks, “How does everyone look?”

“Us? The same as ever. Them? – “ Luz gestures towards the reunion that can’t see them. “ – Well, I guess they’re aging with grace.”

“Have you seen – “

“Bill and Babe are at the bar, as per usual. And your darling husband is somewhere around the middle.”

Zenie takes a step forward before turning quickly to face her friends. “Do y’all mind if I . . . ?”

Gene smiles. “Go ahead. That’s why we’re here.”

Grateful, Zenie takes off through the crowd. Visiting her friends like this is something she always looks forward to, but visiting those she left behind is a rarer treat, and she would like to check up on them. Especially Shifty. 

Bill and Babe – to no one’s surprise – are the easiest to find. They’ve got the bartender in stitches with their jokes, and their own accented guffaws are like a lighthouse cutting through the crowd that makes them easy to navigate towards.

“Siyo, boys!” Though they can’t see or hear her, Zenie takes a seat beside them at the bar. “What’s new with y’all?”  

“They’re drinking everyone under the table, as usual,” a familiar voice beside her announces as none other than Joe Toye takes a seat beside her. His expression is just as relaxed and confident as when they were young, but as he watches their living friends, something like longing flickers behind his eyes. “Too bad that we can’t show them who the real champs are anymore.”

“At least we can visit them.”

Joe nods, smiling sadly. “You made your rounds yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, we got time,” her friend assures her. They have nothing but time, actually. And they use it to sit with their friends, laughing along with their jokes and making their own, even though Bill and Babe can’t hear them.

As their jokes turn to remembrances, Zenie finds herself swept up in Babe’s retelling of the time she chucked an apple at Cobb’s head back in Holland. She barely remembers the scene, able to recall only a flash of anger and a split-second decision. Babe’s version is far better – he paints her out to be some sort of knight in shining armor coming to defend the honor of her friends.

Bill shakes his head and chuckles into his drink. “Goddamn. Zee sure could make a scene.”

“You weren’t even there when her secret got out,” Babe notes. “Now that was a scene!”

“No one ever brings it up,” Bill marvels, his eyes roaming over the crowd, searching for something. “You would think everyone would talk about it all the time. I mean – shit! A woman disguised herself as a man and made it from Toccoa to the bitter end before she got found out, and no one at the reunions brings it up.”

Zenie can’t help but smile at that. It’s true – her secret got out, she had to leave in a state of semi-disgrace, but at the Easy reunions, she was usually only acknowledged as Shifty’s wife. Sure, every now and then someone would tell a funny story about Sergeant Driver before throwing a knowing wink in her direction, but after all this time, it’s like they’re still keeping her secret for her. For her own part, she never brings up her service, except to mention in passing that she met her husband during the war. Even her own children seem to be under the impression that she must have been a nurse or a WAC, using that explanation to fill in the story’s blanks. Zenie never confirmed or denied their suspicions.

“Wish she were here,” Babe sighs. He orders another round of drinks, three this time, before placing one in front of the seemingly empty bar stool beside him – unknowingly, right in front of Zenie. He raises his own glass as he offers the last one to Bill. “To Zenie.”

Bill clinks his glass against Babe’s in a toast. “To Zenie.”

“To the best friends I ever had,” Zenie adds. During her last reunion – and even during the last year or so of her life – she could sometimes swear that she could feel a presence that she couldn’t explain. An unshakable feeling that those she loved who were already gone were somehow watching her would wash over her, though she could never explain why she felt that way. Now, she wonders if her friends feel that way about her. Just in case they do, she channels all her love into those words, hoping and praying that they can feel it.

As if on cue, the bittersweet moment ends when a woman with sleek, dark hair approaches the bar, smiling. “Uncle Babe! Are you ready?”

“Luna.” Zenie watches as her daughter throws an arm around each of the men at the bar, her smile just as bright as her father’s, outshining the sun itself.

“The real question is, are you?” Bill teases his goddaughter, cocking an eyebrow. “Don’t forget, kid, that your uncle is a champion jitterbug dancer.”

Luna sizes up the man in question. “Well, I’ve been practicing.”

“Don’t worry about her.” Babe takes one last sip of his drink and waves off Bill’s concerns. “Her mom could have been a champ, too. It’s in her genes; she’ll be fine.”

“The DJ said it’ll be the next song . . .” Luna begins explaining as she hooks her arm through her uncle’s and leads him towards the small dance floor.

Bill watches them go, chuckling to himself. “Real firecracker.” He glances at the drink set out in honor of Zenie. “God, I wish you were here, little brother. It’s not the same without you.”

“I am,” Zenie assures him. She’s only been gone for two years, but things have changed. That might have scared her once. Not anymore. “I have to go find Shifty. You don’t mind, do you?”

Bill doesn’t answer, of course, but it’s polite to ask all the same. Granny didn’t teach her to mind her manners for nothing.

Zenie weaves her way through the crowd of both the living and the dead. She greets several people, stops to exchange a handshake and a kind word, and sends a nod to those who she catches lurking at the edges of the room – people like Liebgott and Captain Speirs, who only show up in the margins of the reunions, watching, but never joining in. She needs to thank those two specifically at some point. But it’s like Joe said – they’ve got time.

As Luz promised, Shifty is seated at a table in the middle of the room. Their sons, Wayne and Willie, sit on either side of him, laughing along with some story that he, McClung, and Popeye are in the middle of telling. Zenie finds a space to stand behind her husband, being as present as she can. She places one hand on Wayne’s shoulder, and the other on Shifty’s.

At the moment of contact, Shifty’s posture stiffens, and his head turns slightly. Zenie freezes, like she’s just disrupted something. Has she? Can he feel her here?

Shifty only listens to the story being told halfheartedly now. He smiles and laughs in all the right places, but it’s obvious that he’s distracted. These reunions are supposed to be fun. Sure, they can get a little emotional at times, but she doesn’t want her husband missing out on her account. He’s still got a life to live. He needs to be in the present moment and enjoy it.

Zenie bends slightly so that she’s close to Shifty’s ear. She doubts anyone else at the table knows that she’s here, but she wants this to be a private moment for the two of them.

“Shifty,” she whispers. “I’m here. I just wanted to make sure that you’re okay.” She has to pause for a moment to think about what she wants to say. It’s one thing to plan what you’re going to tell somebody, and another thing entirely to deliver the message. Sometimes things get lost in translation. She learned that during their break back in the war.

She studies her husband’s face. It’s lined with age, but still as beautiful and as bright as the day she met him. God, she misses him. She misses all of them.

“The boys look well,” she continues, looking between their sons. “I hope they’re taking care of you for me. They’ve always adored you.” She pats Shifty’s shoulder. She shouldn’t take up his attention too much longer. “Take your time. Enjoy it. I’ll be waiting for you, okay? I’ll see you soon, Shifty.”

Not sure if it will work, she plants a kiss on his cheek. When she pulls away, she watches as Shifty’s hand comes up to touch the place where they made contact. Maybe he really can feel her here.

“Gvgeyui,” Zenie says. I love you.

Gene is waiting at the edge of the crowd when she finds him again.

“How’d it go?” He asks.

Zenie nods. “Good. You?”

“Good.” Gene’s dark eyes flick over the crowd. “It’s nice we get to do this.”

It is nice. Bittersweet, mostly, but it’s good to see their loved ones again, even for a short time before they have to go back. But returning isn’t bad, either. The weather is always warm. And there are people she loves waiting for her there.

In fact, she should get going for exactly that reason. Granny wants to dig ramps soon, and Mama informed her that there would be a pie waiting upon her return. No matter which side of the gauzy veil she’s on, there is always someone waiting for her, and always a place that she belongs.

For strength, Zenie takes Gene’s hand and gives it a squeeze. He returns the gesture, and they begin to walk away from the crowd. But before they go, Zenie can’t help but glance back at Easy Company one last time. Her eyes, as always, land on Shifty. She’ll see him again. She’ll see them all again, in one way or another.

“Until we meet again,” Zenie informs them all, whether they can hear her or not. “Donadagohvi.”

[primofate]

Hey Primo! This is only my opinion so please don't take it to heart. I remember reading your post about how bad the interaction (at the time) was with one of your posts. I felt a bit odd about it considering it was only 1 day apart and notes etc normally pick up over the span of a few days/weeks. I think that when writers reach to a point where they crave to hear what others think of their work, is when writing no longer becomes a fun pastime if that is what it originally intended to be. There was also someone that made a comment stating that alot of writers can't take criticism though they ask for it which is completely true. It's a constant back n' forth where at the end of the day we'll never truly be able to satisfy everyone. You'll just drive yourself mad (case in point, you're someone that normally gets thousands of notes but this time merely 1 day of little interaction seemed to have gotten to you which is extremely unhealthy.)

You're an amazing writer and overall genuine person. Don't let things like this eat away at you.

I quote from your post

You'll just drive yourself mad (case in point, you're someone that normally gets thousands of notes but this time merely 1 day of little interaction seemed to have gotten to you which is extremely unhealthy.)

Which is extremely true and it is very unhealthy that I expected so much out of that post when in truth I should know that not all of my posts is going to have thousands of notes. Some will reach further some will not, and that's something I should understand and accept.

Though I do agree with you that posts pick up over a couple of days... sometimes, for me who has a few thousand followers, if it doesn't pick up the first few hours and doesn't get reblogged the first few hours, it actually won't pick up anymore. At the moment it has 2,000 or so notes, unless someone revives it, it will actually remain stagnant and will even have difficulty climbing to 3,000. (This is the reason why you see some authors reblog their own post and caption it "in case you missed it #icymi "because it actually won't move anymore if they don't do that)

But here's the thing, the notes is not what really got to me. Yes that was part of it, but what really bugged me is that I spent so much time on that one post and I realized that I shouldn't have. Realizing that my TIME is now more precious than it was a year ago. Which ties in to what you said about it being unhealthy. Tumblr is not something I should spend my time on, to be quite frank. I love doing this, but I hate so much that I forgo something when I do it (e.g. Time with my family).

Thus my 10 minute quick writes was born, after realizing this fact. In that way I don't spend so much time in front of the computer, mulling over my writing, re-reading it, wondering how I can make the words flow better. Wondering how to make the words and story clearer in my mind and everyone else's. With the 10 minute quick writes, I don't really give a freak who read it, who interacts with it, who likes it...because it only took 10 minutes of my life (I actually put a 10 minute timer on whenever I feel like writing now) and some day when I have more time, then maybe I can write something longer but honestly, right now, I would rather not.

Thank you so much for your message! It has cemented me back to Earth, cause even with my 10 minute quick write I had felt guilty that I only wrote such a short thing...but reading your message has told me there's nothing to feel guilty about, specially when I MYSELF am already happy with doing 10 minutes of writing, regardless of what tumblr thinks.

<3

With love,

primofate

[magpiefngrl]

20 Questions for Writers

Thank you for the tag @hoko-onchi-writes! Great way to spend a lazy Sunday morning :)

Username: magpie_fngrl

1. How many works do you have on A03? 54

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count? 392,045

3. What fandoms do you write for? I've mostly written drarry. I'd started as a pynch writer (TRC) and lately I've written a bunch in other fandoms.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos? all drarry:

dirtynumbangelboy

The Miseducation of Draco Malfoy

The Full Monty

Through the Looking Glass and What Draco Found There,

9 ½ Days

5. Do you respond to comments? I do my best. I made a decision back when I posted a lot of stuff and got more comments than I could handle that I would only reply to the comments on the last chapter of a multi-chapter fic. Other than that, I try my best to reply to everyone.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? I wrote a Major Character Death fic (The Death You Carry). Can't get angstier than that.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Most of my fics end happy, but now that I think of it they're mostly HFN in romance-genre speak. Happy For Now aka the fic ends with them as a couple, kissing or touching for example, the Ever After is implied but not explicit. Two fics which end with H/D living together, and thus more committed to each other, are Hush, darling and The Boy Who Died. These are also angstier than my other fics, which makes the happy ending sweeter imo.

8. Do you get hate on fics? Not hate per se. I've received demanding comments ("Can you write more? Another sex scene? And make it mpreg?") or comments like "I like your story but I can't read on because you have X topping". Not hate. There was a time, though, that I got several comments about how stupid/annoying/an arsehole Harry is, which reflect an attitude I used to see in fandom, where Draco is perfect and Harry is a bumbling fool and the minute he says something sharp to Draco he becomes an arsehole and should be screamed at. Needless to say, I hate this kind of interpretation. I deleted a couple of these comments, I just couldn't have them on my page. It was the reason I de-activated comments on all my fics for some time.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? The sexy kind, I hope LOL

Serious answer: I have written explicit sex scenes, although I tend to be more vague rather than write a play-by-play description of what is happening. I mean, there is some of that, but not as detailed as it can be. I don't know how to explain it better in English, sorry. Anyhow, I love sex scenes, I love reading them, I enjoy the challenge of writing them, and I think what I like best in what I read (and thus I try to emulate) is when a sex scene reveals the emotional state of these two people rather than just say whose dick does what.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? I haven't! A couple of years ago I got a few asks about wangxian and drarry meeting up and although it was fun to reply to the asks and imagine how it would take place, I don't think I'll ever write it.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Someone screenshot dnab and posted it on instagram. The whole 40k fic. If there have been others, I don't know.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes, a few.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? I haven't and I'm not sure I could. I don't think my writing process would lead to successful collaborations. If I were to imagine it, the easiest for me would be that each writer has their own POV (I'd write Draco, the other person Harry, for instance) and we'd have a general idea but not a strict outline and we'd write it like a relay race: I'd post something, they'd write the next part, then me etc.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? I tend to move on from fandoms, so it used to be pynch, then drarry, now wangxian. I don't have a lot of time for fandom these days so I'm not as obsessed with a ship as I used to be. I love all my babies equally.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? I started a fic with a magical university of sorts, or rather 8th year but they'd be more like uni students than normal school students, and Draco was a Veela whose mate was Astoria. Not sure where it would all go, but well--it won't go anywhere now, because I have so many other WIPs that take precedent.

16. What are your writing strengths? I'm decent at dialogue and I've been told my fics have great atmosphere. Occasionally I write an unusual turn of phrase and people comment on that. My fics are fairly short, but I've been told that they have a lot more story than the reader expected because of the word count, and I think that's because I edit ruthlessly.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Plotting is my main problem. I pants my stories and it takes me forever to figure out what happens next. I also lack confidence and doubt everything while writing, which isn't a writing weakness exactly, but it does affect my writing.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? It's cool. I like it.

19. First fandom you wrote for? The Raven Cycle. I was mad about pynch.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written? Currently 9 ½ Days but I have a very, very soft spot for The Boy Who Died.

Tagging: @lettersbyelise @lucifergraced @coriesocks @wolfpants @julcheninred @nerdherderette @lqtraintracks if they wanna!

[vote-gaara]

Why didn't you like Gaara Hiden?

My feelings for Gaara Hiden are complicated.

Oh, and if you haven't read the English Translations here they are. Someone formatted it from the Tumblr post that was originally on Cacatua's blog.

Now what was I saying?

Oh yes, my feelings for Gaara Hiden...Complicated. Very, very very complicated. I don't hate the story, but I don't really like it either.

Now before I absolutely lampoon this novel, here are some things I do liked about it:

Gaara content in which he stayed in character!

The story was more or less unnecessary (more on this later).

Gaara's fixation on how Naruto saved him took a back seat to other things going on, which was a breath of fresh air as it allowed the story to focus on other aspects of Gaara's life.

Sand sibling interactions are always welcome :)

Socially awkward Gaara is amazing, especially around romantic themes. Also, we love when Gaara can go off about his hobbies.

Strong things I dislike about the novel:

Gaara came across as really cold which irritated me, but also didn't surprise me. Gaara is a really complex character to write. He's simultaneously sassy, pessimistic and a bit of a meanie while turning around and being the most genuine, wholesome and inspirational character you would ever get to know. I'm not even saying Gaara was out of character, because they did a really good job of keeping him pretty true to who he is, but I wished the novel would have forced him to interact with other people as a normal person, rather than as Kazekage, which the entire book proceeded to do and thus we lost out on seeing Gaara's true personality. Like the book handled him floundering with Hakuto really well, but how he treated Shijima in comparison was just...Not good. It was boring. BORING! It was like watching a coworker talking to their boss the entire time, which just did not make for good reading and Shijima ended up coming across as very flat as a result. And I KNOW this is because they were on a mission, I KNOW they were just being "shinobi" but...like....I just wanted more of the genuine, good and wholesome "Gaara trying to interact with people" rather than "Gaara being Kazekage and acting like Kazekage and everyone treats him like he's the Kazekage."

We learned that Temari and Kankuro took a backseat in Gaara's life - The book did Kankuro dirty more than Temari. After I read the scene when Gaara and Kankuro are talking (which was like half a page long), and it said something like "this was the longest conversation Gaara had had with his brother in 6 months" I could not describe the amount of anger I felt. I know the sand siblings are busy, but 6 MONTHS???? WHAT??

Kazekage Clan - Crap. Crap, crap, crap and utter garbage. I think I wrote about this in a different post (on one of my other blogs, maybe? I don't remember now) but the "Kazekage clan" pretty much vetoed any meaning behind Gaara's speech to Kankuro when Gaara was like "I want to become Kazekage one day." In the beginning of the series, a person could've figured that becoming Kazekage would operate a lot like becoming Hokage, where only the strongest, smartest and most hardworking individual was selected, and that working towards that title was something not to be taken lightly. Assuming this, when you look at Gaara's speech to Kankuro, where he's professing that he wants to become special to others, to repair and heal the damage and pain he caused, and to connect to others, you imagine that Gaara has nothing but this treacherous, mountainous, up-hill battle to fight...Not only is it difficult to become Kazekage, but as Kankuro put it "the jonin don't think highly of you and people are as scared of you as ever." It had meaning to it. It meant that there was a lot at stake. And because of that, it meant so much when you discovered that Gaara did become Kazekage....But then oops, they just ruined that by making the position a family title. It just cheapened the whole thing, and it made no sense as to why Gaara tried so hard in the first place if it was just gonna be passed down to him anyways, since his siblings weren't interested in the title....Idk, just felt like it ruined any meaning behind Gaara's character development which just gutted me cause WHY WOULD THEY DO THAT???

The story was pointless - Okay, so I'm kinda thankful the story was pointless because I was hoping Gaara would remain single. (I know, I know, I KNOW and I'm sorry. Gaara deserves that romantic love, but also it's kind nice to have him be an ace/aro icon too). I just think it was realistic for him to just be by himself and to find happiness doing whatever Gaara does. HOWEVER, I also have a thing where I'm like...."Why tell a story that serves no purpose?" Which sounds so mean, and maybe it is, because I love any and all Gaara content, but also I don't know if I really got anything from this novel, either? Like it didn't develop Gaara's character and he was pretty much...stagnant the whole time, which is an interesting way to write a story. They could have gone in so many directions that would've had Gaara learn how to interact with people and to connect with others on a more personal level....Small changes that wouldn't have even been very hard to disprove in canon, but instead Gaara just....didn't change the whole time. He didn't learn anything and he just....was.

All the "gotcha" moments - Plot twists are only clever when there's proper foreshadowing (in my opinion). A lot of the "And then Gaara revealed that he knew about the person following him/the betrayal/the setup/the motive the whole time!!" was just....so....um...not good. It just felt like I was the constant victim of an ass-pull the whole time. In fact, the only plot twist/reveal the novel did well was unveiling that Gaara and Kankuro were in cahoots the whole time about Kankuro trying to take over being Kazekage, and believe it or not, that was because the novel took the time to set that up. They made you pay attention to it with relevant details. Meanwhile, in the end scene where Gaara stabs that dude that had apparently been following them the whole time just was a giant wtf to me, honestly lol. I was halfway expecting a T-Rex to burst from the earth crust and Santa clause to rain down from the sky just randomly, because why not at that point if we're just gonna make stuff up willy nilly? IDK maybe I'm wrong and maybe I missed some clever writing in it, but mostly I was just kinda underwhelmed.

That being said, Gaara content is Gaara content, so I am obligated to like Gaara hiden.

[mesillusionssousecstasy]

Demon 79

This mini movie / episode was quite nice actually. 

Apparently, Demon 79 was originally supposed to be released on a sister series called Red Mirror which would deal with more supernatural things rather than having it all technology based. According to Brooker they might end up doing more Red Mirror episodes depending on the success of this.

Now there’s several nods to horror classics in this entry with the score of the shining being used as the title comes up. We also have the poster for the entry itself which looks like it’s playing on the one for that film along with it’s latter sequel Doctor Sleep. Made to evoke 70′s horrors this entry also tackles themes like race, politics and the incoming apocalypse. Centred around a woman named Nida Huq I couldn’t help think that this might be a reference to Brookers real life wife Connie Huq who has co-wrote several episode of the show in the past. 

After the title reveal we come across Nida and can hear bright eyes in the background by Art Garfunkel. This was written for the 1978 movie Watership down and the song itself is about a dreamlike state where someone goes on a journey. This is similar to Nida in the entry and they give a lot of focus to her eyes being wide open at several points. 

Now this episode is packed with a number of different easter eggs and ties back to other black mirror episodes from the off and throughout. There’s a shoe brand called Wolfies Footwear which might be building off the back of the last episode Mazey Day. We see the newspaper clipping talking about how a tipley publican named Robert Daly has died. Robert Daly is a name that has appeared in the series before and this was the character that Jesse Plemons played in USS Callister. This is probably director Tobey Haynes giving a bit of a shoutout to himself as he directed not only this but also that episode as well.  The talisman used to summon the demon also seems like a thinner version of the white bear symbol which actually appears later on in the flashes of Michael Smarts future.

The fictional UKN broadcaster from the universe announces his Britannia party and we learn that Smart actually took power from Michael Callow from National Anthem. However the flash here shows that he was kicked out for Racist remarks and a clipping in Loch Henry showed that he’d rebuke this. It then announced he’d start a new party which leads to the Britannia one which has the union jack in the white bear symbol. There’s also a shot of facial recognition at an eye level being taken out. This could indicated that the ADIs from hated in the Nation came from Smart and we see that they’re used on a black man showing that they have a racial angle to them. We also end up seeing one of dogs from Metal Head. A news ticker in Loch Henry confirmed that they were introduced by Smart and they of course caused a lot of issues in the country. 

It’s funny how Dog is thought to be the titular demon of the episode, when I definitively see it as Smart and hell doesn’t even want him dead because of all the evil he could do. Smart represents the control of the weak minded people who are easily swayed by politicians and he almost somewhat hypnotises Nida’s co-worker into voting for him.

Gaap is also a real life demon from the infernal dictionary who has shape shifting abilities and can show people a past. He states that he’s a misophape which is a lower class demon. 

At one point Nida reads the book Creative Visualisation which is about using the power of imagination to create what you want in life. 

Turns out that murderers can’t count as people who are killed due to them already being damned and thus she has to go after smart. 

Nevertheless the book is a major clue and we have the history with her mother adding to it as well. We know from the other entries that Michael Smart survived and benefits from this attack. 

The episode have the similarities to the son of Sam killings which too took place in the 70s. David Berkowitz said that a demon in the form of a dog told him to do it which though he’s admitted was a hoax could be the basis for this episode itself. 

The morality behind it is : Is it ok to kill someone when he’s a bad person or when he will do despicable things in the future. 

Can someone good and innocent do something terrible and bad for the greater good?

The actors playing the principal roles were perfect, especially the one playing the dancer in Bobby M. 

Why 79? 

Also the prime minister Michael Smart is finally in this entire episode from present to future.

Some good quotes: “- So don’t just hope for a better future. Vote for one!”

“- Cast out into a boundless, cosmic void. And doomed to spend eternity in a vaccum of infinite nothingness. Absence of matter, of time, of space, light, and sound. I would endure a profound, palpable, and ever-present lack of existence, alone in perpetuity, forever more.  - Sound like my life.”

“- My whole life, I never wished harm on anyone. I didn’t. - Uh... You couldn’t have summoned me for my trial if you hadn’t. Well, you had to be corruptible, not beyond corruption. You know what? You must have had some dark force inside you when you touched the talisman. There’s no shame in it.”

“- Then I choose Michael Smart. He’s the one. That’s that.  - Honestly, they are not gonna like it.  - But it’s within the rules, so they can lump it.”

“- So, I mean, you could come with. - Into eternal oblivion?  - Oh no, it’s much worse than that. It’s with me.”

[ch0c0-cake]

Five With an S/O Scared of Fireworks

five hargreeves x male!reader

decided to write this because i hate fireworks and couldn’t find any comfort fics, thus i wrote this little thing myself. so this is kind of a self insert. my bad-

this is set in a nice little AU where they stopped the apocalypse the first time with no problems

warnings - cursing

No one in the Umbrella Academy celebrated 4th of July much, but many people around did. Especially in a large city.

There were MANY fireworks.

Luther, Diego, Allison, Klaus, Five, and Viktor sat outside just watching calmly until Klaus spoke up.

“Has anyone seen dear (Y/n) anywhere?” He hummed out, leaning forward in his chair and glancing around.

“Haven’t seen him.” Luther shrugged.

“I saw him in the kitchen, but didn’t see him come outside.” Allison spoke, rubbing her thighs a bit.

“Should we check on him..?” Viktor spoke softly, glancing to the rest of his family.

“Someone should, duh.” Diego flipped a knife up in the air and caught it. “He’s family and shit. Shouldn’t you know where he is, Five?”

The group looked around and Five stood up. “I’ll look for him. I don’t think he’s a fan of fireworks.” He went inside without another word. Five didn’t know the extent of your fear, or else he would have already been at your side.

Upon realizing you weren’t in your room, he went to his own instead. That’s really the only other place you’d be. He knocked softly on the door.

“(Y/n)? You in there? Everyone’s asking about you.” He waited a couple seconds for some kind of response, frowning when he didn’t get one. He almost knocked again, but stopped when a loud whimper came from the room after a rather loud firework went off somewhere outside. “Hey, I’m coming in.” He said, determination now in his tone. He opened the door quickly and his heart dropped at what he saw.

There, curled up in his bed, lay you. Your face peered out from a large pile of blankets, and you held two pillows against either sides of your head. You were shaking so bad the mountain of blankets were quivering as well. Another firework boomed and you flinched with another soft cry.

“Oh shit.” Five whispered, swiftly going over to where you were curled. Your knuckles were white as you gripped the pillows against your ears, trying to block out the sound as best you could. Your breath was fast, bursting in and out quickly. Your lip quivered like a baby about to start bawling.

“Come here, I’ve got you.” He got onto the bed next to you and instantly pulled you into his arms. You dropped the pillows and clung to Five like a baby clinging to its mother. Your body jerked as another firework boomed, sobs wracking your body as multiple went off at once. He held you tightly against him in an attempt to ground you, pressing kisses to the top of your head.

“Hey hey hey, look at me.” He whispered, taking your face in one of his hands and looking into your teary eyes. Your eyes shut tightly at the sound of more fireworks. “Just look at me, sweetheart. Breathe.” He kept his voice low, not wanting to scare you anymore. You opened your eyes and looked at him, and he could tell you were trying hard to stop crying. “I know you’re scared, I know it’s loud. Just focus on me.” He kept his voice tender and gentle.

“I-I-I ca-can’t-”

“Shhhh…yes you can. You’ve faced much worse than fireworks. I’m right here. I’m here to take care of you.” His voice was soft yet firm. You began to attempt to talk to him, trying to convey what you wanted from him. His eyes never left yours, being patient while you tried to get your words out.

“C-C-Can we-” you paused to let out another sob. “Sn-Snuggle?”

Five offered a small smile. “Of course we can snuggle if it makes you feel better.” He held you close with one arm and used his free hand to adjust the pillows back on the bed. Stopping to comfort you every time a firework went off, he laid down with you in his arms and pulled the blankets over the best he could. He brought your face into his neck, trying to cover your ears the best he could.

He whispered sweet nothings into your ears, kissing your forehead and temples whenever you flinched due to the loud booming of the fireworks. Overtime, he felt you gradually relax into his body.

“That’s it. Just relax, darling. I’m right here. Not going anywhere, understand? I love you so so much.” Five cooed, playing with your hair and then going to rub your back.

Once you stopped responding to him and the fireworks, he carefully adjusted so he could see your face. He smiled once he saw your eyes closed, lip no longer quivering. You were sleeping like a baby.

“There we go…” Five kept his voice quiet, not daring risking waking you. He allowed himself to relax as well, holding you protectively and falling asleep to the sound of your soft breathing and the fireworks going off outside.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~☂️~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

note - hey so, i sort of need to make an official tag list? i know some of you want to be tagged for the ‘let go’ series, but im not certain if the same people want to be tagged for other works. thus! if you would like to be on my tag list, please just send me a message or an ask, it would be much appreciated !

tags 🏷 - @ay4kshalatus

[ro-written]

Don't Wanna Fall In Love pt. 2 - C.Y

A/N: Listen..I know. It’s been a hot minute lmao. I gotta say, when I first wrote this part, I hated it and literally left it to sit for a while. I finally came back to it and now I don’t mind it! Go figure that lmaoooo, but anywhosies! I’m not gonna promise when the next part will be out, but thank yall for sticking with me thus far. 

Tags/Warnings: gn!reader (I used they/them pronouns at one point), Yeonjun Has Feelings (™), reader slips on wet bricks and busts their ass, nothing crazy happens honestly

Word Count: 3.2k

Playlist:

“Clouds” by BØRNS “Tek It” by Cafuné

Next Part (Coming Soon!)

Winter break gave you a month to forget about Choi Yeonjun.

Somewhat.

You attempted to stay busy by visiting some friends and some family. You picked up some extra hours at your job to make a little extra cash for Christmas gifts. You started a new book AND a new series on TV. 

Yet there were moments when your brain would flit back to his face when you closed the door on him. Like now, how you had scanned over this sentence in the book at least 7 times now and all you could think about were his eyes. How they watched you as you shut it. How his lips seemed to frown when you looked away from him, looking like he wanted to say something more. All you could think about was the small exchange between you two.

“I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah, Yeonjun…I’ll definitely see you around.”

You would smack your head lightly when you thought of that moment to try and refocus.

What bothered you the most was the fact that you couldn’t remember the night with him. All you could remember was that you invited him in. Nothing else. You wanted to ask him what he remembered, to see what exactly happened last night. But ultimately, you’d rather steer clear of him. The least amount of contact to keep from drawing any attention.

—

It annoyed him. All of it.

He couldn’t stop thinking of you. How you looked that night, the sound of your voice, how you smelled. He kept replaying all of it in his head.

Especially the moment you rushed him out of your apartment.

He remembered how panicked your face looked, and it bothered him. He tried looking for you around campus before he went home for the break, but any time he caught a glimpse of you, it seemed as if you were in a hurry to get somewhere else. 

He even found you on social media, something he really only used when he remembered it existed. When he found your account, he immediately followed you so he could message you. But you never followed back, and he didn’t want to seem weird reaching out to you. Bad enough he stalked your handle out without asking you for it.

He wasn’t winning himself any brownie points.

And for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why he was acting this way. Why he wanted so badly to talk to you about that night. He typically would immediately forget about his temporary companions within a few days. But he supposes you aren’t his typical companion.

Hell, you didn’t even sleep with him, to begin with.

He remembered quite a bit of the night. He walked you back home, you brought him inside to help sober up a bit, and you both sat on the couch talking about various things. Unlike what he was expecting, where most people immediately dragged him to the bedroom, you sat and talked. Both his and your words were messy and jumbled up, a bit slurred from the drinks you had, but you talked with him. 

You listened to him talk about his interest in music, his favorite artists, and his passion for dancing. He spoke about his interest in fashion, and how he loved expressing his identity and personality through his clothes. He talked about his love for his best friends, and how they were the brothers that he never had. You cared about what he had to say, even while tipsy.

Just thinking about it made his face burn a bit, the corners of his lips twitching a bit. He could remember how your tired eyes kept their attention on him, nodding along with what he said. Even as they drooped, you would respond to everything.

“Yeonjun,” Taehyun kicked his foot, bringing him out of his thoughts. Yeonjun’s face looked up from where he was staring at the floor, seeing all four of his best friends’ eyes looking at him. 

“You’ve been spaced out for the past ten minutes,” Hyuka filled in. 

Yeonjun nodded, giving them all an apologetic smile, and scratched the back of his head. “Sorry guys, just been out of it recently.”

“You’ve been out of it since after the end-of-semester party.” Soobin pointed out. Yeonjun raised an eyebrow, not realizing that his restlessness had been so noticeable all this time. “Something happen?” Soobin’s smirk suggested something else underlying his “innocent” question. Yeonjun just rolled his eyes and tried to refocus on the book he had been reading.

They went to Beomgyu’s uncle’s cabin for a few days before school started back up, wanting to get away from the ever-alive city. They had all agreed that they needed some bonding time together (even though they considered themselves brothers) and needed to be disconnected from the rest of the world before school pulled them back into the depths of studying. It was nice to just be near his friends and be himself, not having to be “The Fabulous Five” for a minute. Stupid name.

“Didn’t you leave out with someone?” Beomgyu piped up, tilting his head and causing the black hair he was growing out the fall in his face. “I thought I saw you head out, but I couldn’t see who you left with. Must have done a real number on you.” He snickered, turning to laugh with the others. 

Yeonjun clenched his jaw at his friends’ remarks. Typically he would laugh along with them, even if they were picking on him and his bedroom tendencies. But this time around, with him feeling so conflicted about his emotions towards you, it caused him to just grow agitated.

“I didn’t sleep with anyone that night,” he bluntly remarked back without looking up.

Actually, he hasn’t slept with anyone after that night either. But until they pieced that together, he was not freely offering that information up.

“But you left with someone, didn’t you?” Soobin’s voice piped back up, and Yeonjun rolled his eyes before finally looking at his friends spread around the room. He saw the looks they were all giving him. Ones that told him they were not planning on leaving him alone until he told them the details. He let out an exasperated sigh before setting his book down and marking the page he was on.

“Yes, I left out with someone that night. No, we did not have sex. We simply…talked. And we ended up falling asleep. I left out in the morning. That’s all there is to it.”

Except he knew that he was lying. There was undoubtedly more to it that he wasn’t letting on, given his recent habit of spacing out so much that his friends picked up on.

“Hyung,” Hyuka finally spoke up from his seated position on the floor across the coffee table. “You know you can tell us if something happened. It’s obviously bothering you.” He offered Jjun a sweet smile, one the older knew he would have trouble saying no to. He took yet another sigh, sitting up from his spread position on the couch.

“It’s just…” he slightly trailed off, not knowing what exactly he wanted to say. He hadn’t had feelings like these, whatever these were, in a few years.

“We just talked, you know? It was the first time someone outside of you all actually had an interest in what I had to say rather than just my body. Someone was interested in getting to know me beyond the surface level and…and then I was just pushed out in the morning. I was told it was all a ‘mistake.’ But what’s even worse is that I don’t even know how I feel about this person.”

Yeonjun stared down at where he was picking at his nails, slightly nervous at looking at his friends’ faces. He knows that they all remember the last relationship, and he doesn’t quite want to hear them remind him of it.

“That’s…” Taehyun reached out and put a hand on Yeonjun’s knee, offering some comfort. “It makes sense. Do you know why this other person rushed you out? Have you tried to reach out at all?”

“I have but it just seems like they don’t want anything to do with me. And, I don’t know, I just felt like we had kind of connected that night.” Taehyun looked at Soobin while Yeonjun’s head was still down, giving a look that was hard to decipher.

“If you’re really into them,” Beomgyu piped up. “I say it doesn’t hurt to maybe go to them in person when we get back to campus. See what their deal is. Maybe they don’t know how to approach you.” He shrugged his shoulders and looked at his friend with sympathetic eyes.

“Yeah, 'cause you’re the least approachable out of us,” Hyuka smirked and Beomgyu lightly shoved him, causing Yeonjun to smile, finally relaxing a bit.

Jjun nodded and looked around at his brothers. “I’m definitely going to try.”

—

First day of the Spring semester…and you completely embarrassed yourself in front of your classroom building. Of course, the rain was pouring heavily as you walked down the sidewalk, making you slide across the bricks. You didn’t have your rain boots anymore after someone (read: Jung Wooyoung) put them in the washer and dryer. So now you were stuck with your sneakers trying to watch where you trekked. It took carefully placed steps and really thinking about your walking for you to almost make it to your class without busting your ass. 

Almost.

Because, just as you were only a few steps from the door, you made the worst mistake of your life, and stepped on the wrong brick. Your foot slipped from under you, and your umbrella went up into the air as you put your hands down to catch yourself from completely bruising your behind. 

“Mother fucker,” you hissed out, placing a hand on your lower back as a shot of pain went through your body.

“Are you okay?” A voice asked from behind you called out over the heavy rain. Awesome.

A firm hand grabs at your bicep, gently helping you up as you slightly limped over to where your umbrella fell, pulling it over your head so you could keep yourself from getting any more drenched.

“Sorry, yeah I’m good, just didn’t–” You turned around to face the person who helped you up, only for the rest of your words to get caught in your throat.

Choi. Yeonjun. Of fucking course.

“Oh, hey.” It was all you could muster in your surprised state, and you were sure your voice gave away your shock. You hadn’t expected to run into him on your first day back, but here you were anyways. In fact, thinking over it, you were surprised to see him on this side of campus. He was a fashion and music double major…so what was he doing at the math building?

“How ha–”

“Sorry, I gotta…gotta get to class.” You interrupted him and gripping your umbrella tightly in your one hand, rushed to the front door to pull it open. You don’t typically consider yourself to be a rude person, not normally interrupting someone in the middle of their sentences and rushing off like that. But every time you had spotted Yeonjun since that night in your apartment, you would hurry off or hide. Simply put, you just didn’t want to deal with those feelings, nor draw any attention that came with interacting with him. And if dodging and ducking him was what you had to do for the rest of your time at the school, then so be it.

You hurriedly found your class, opening the door and finding a seat towards the farthest side of the room away from the door, somewhere in the middle. You took a deep breath, trying to slow your beating heart from everything that had happened in the past 10 minutes. You shifted a bit, thankful that these seats were cloth rather than the colder plastic the other buildings tended to have. It helped considering the backside of your jeans was still very wet and cold. 

Sitting for a second, you took a moment to recollect yourself. All you had to do was make it through this semester, and then it would be summertime. He would forget all about you over the summer with his summer flings, and the rest of your time here would be fine. No dodging or diving. Your only job now was to focus on classes and made sure you finished off the year strong. Not only did you have schoolwork, but you had your friends, family, and job to worry about. As well as the future, of course. That would take your mind off Yeonjun.

Pulling out your laptop and a notebook, you heard the door to the room open up, letting out a loud groan from its age. A small gasp came from behind you, and some murmurs filled the room. Quirking an eyebrow, you looked up from your laptop. 

Your eyes widened, meeting the last person you wanted to see.

Choi. Yeon. Jun.

—

Every class, you could feel his eyes boring into the back of your head, and it would cause you to lose focus. The first few times you tried to shrug it off. You figured that, eventually, he would have to give up. He would have to get tired of chasing you around. To your dismay, you’d come to find out that Choi Yeonjun was a very persistent man, and as the staring didn’t stop, you ultimately got irritated by it.

A few times you would turn your head around, attempting to not bring too much attention, and try to give him a glare, telling him to knock it off. However, this time, as soon as you turned your head around, he would be the one to look away, a small smirk playing on his lips. It would make you clench your jaw in frustration, but you would have to learn how to block it out.

Another routine that persisted in your shared class was that, after each session, he would quickly pack up and start making his way over to you. And you in turn, seeing him approach you out of the corner of your eye, would pack your things faster and borderline sprint to the door, knowing the last thing you needed now was him talking to you in front of the class.

He couldn’t understand it. He knew now that you were trying to avoid him, seeing you walk quicker every time you noticed him. But he didn’t understand why. You seemed so interested in him that night. You both talked about everything, talked about who you were as people. Who you both hoped to become in the future.

So why were you being so cold now?

—

“Why are you avoiding me?

“Huh?”

You had been leaving your last class to catch the bus to get to your apartment. However, when a hand grabbed at your arm and dragged you into an empty classroom, you couldn’t help but let out a small yelp of surprise, your other hand coming up ready to stat hitting at whoever it was.

Only, when you saw who it was, you lowered your arm, despite still having half a mind to hit him for scaring you. His question didn’t quite fully register in your brain due to the sizzy nature of everything happening so fast.

His eyes narrowed at you, jaw tensed. “You’re avoiding me. Why?”

You moved so his hand would let go of your bicep, shifting around your bag in order to keep your hands busy. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do, (Y/N). You know exactly what I’m talking about. You always run the opposite way when you see me, you respond to everything I say in less than three words, and you’re looking at me right now like I’ve grown two heads. So why are you avoiding me?”

Your eyes rolled and you planted your feet down, standing your ground as you looked him in the eye. “God, Yeonjun, I told you that night was a mis–” 

“I know. You said that, and I know that’s what you think.” His teeth gritted.

“Look all we did was sleep together and that’s it, I don’t understand why I am so different from all your other conquests.”

His brain felt like it just did tripped over itself, and it took him a second to thoroughly process the words you said to him.

“Wh–...So…Wait you’ve been avoiding me because you think we fucked?” His eyebrows shot up in shock and you slowly nodded your head, confused at what he was trying to say. He let out a scoff before a chuckle, turning his head to the door that he had pushed you through.

“God, if I had realized…” he trailed off, and your eyebrows pulled taut at where he was going. He finally leveled with your eyes and let out a deep sigh. “(Y/N), we didn’t have sex that night.”

He may as well have splashed ice-cold water on you with the way you froze. Your eyes went wide at his admission and you felt - and probably looked - like a deer in headlights. Your eyes went unfocused and fuzzy. Your cheeks burned in embarrassment at the fact that you had been dodging him the entire time for something that never actually happened.

“That night,” he continued, looking down at where his hands started to fidget. “We went back to your apartment, and you asked me to come inside so I could sober up. I did think at first that you were about to lead me into your bedroom. I mean, that’s what I’m used to. But you told me to sit on the couch and you went to get us both some water.”

A flash of a blurry memory played in your head, remembering how your head was slightly spinning filling the cups and walking back to the living room.

“And then we just started to talk. That was really all it was. Us talking about…well, everything. We talked about school and then that led to us talking about what we wanted to do in the future and our hobbies–”

“You really like J.Cole.” You interrupted him and watched as his eyes shot up to meet yours. “And…and you want to wear skirts more because you enjoy the feminine look it adds to your style.” 

A smile graced his face, his eyes lighting up at the small details you happened to remember. You wouldn’t admit it aloud, but it made your heart flutter in the tiniest bit. “Exactly.” 

His hand twitched, and he looked as if he was considering something, before he shook his head and continued to play with the skin around his nails.

“It’s just,” he continued as he stared at his hands once more. “I really enjoyed our talk. It felt as if…it felt like someone saw me. And…I don’t know, I was just wondering that, since you know all that now…” He clenched his fists, trying to find his words. Jesus christ, it shouldn’t be this hard. 

Finally, he sputtered out his question. “I was wondering if it would be okay if we hung out a little?”

Once again, your body froze up.

“No.”

And you left the classroom.

This was written by @/ro-written and is not to be plagiarized, translated, or distributed anywhere else. Copyright Ro-Written 2023.

All comments, reblogs, and likes are always welcome!

[beevean]

Agree to disagree with you on forces vs Frontiers, I feel Frontiers was an improvement however I hope your opinion in it is sincere cause sometimes I see a lot of " WOW forces is way better then Frontiers actually "" and it mostly seems to just people hating it more because Flynn is involved, rather then a honest opinion about both games. Also not gonna convince me Infinite's theme is better then Vandalize, that one slams :P

Funny that you mention it, because I was actually accused of this. And, to be fair, I did groan when they revealed that Flynn would have written the game's story, so I understand why the assumption is that I'm unfairly biased 😂

But the thing is that we don't fully know what was his role in the writing: from what I got, he wrote the script for an already established plot. And if that's true, I can blame him for things like the constant references or Sonic's buffy speak, but I can't blame him for much more substantial issues like the general emptiness of the story or Eggman's role. I'm also taking the game's rushed, crunched development into account, which obviously isn't anyone's fault but SEGA. And ofc the flat voice direction kills the writing even more, and that is not the writers' fault. It's a mix of things, and Flynn is not the scapegoat here.

The little minority that is defending Forces mostly comes from a place of backlash against years of the Sonic community treating it like the worst thing that has happened in the franchise, replacing '06 with it as the acceptable punching bag (esp now that '06 is approaching its 20th anniversary and thus getting the "actually it was underrated" treatment), even going so far as insult the few fans of it implying that they're stupid or children (ah, Sonic Stadium is a wonderful place). It is tangentially related to Flynn because IDW came out a little after Forces did, and it was taken as proof that he's a near perfect writer that can do no wrong and oh wow it's so much better than the stupid pontaff games, sega hire this man asap. After six years, almost seven, it's safe to say that Forces, while far from being perfect and surely with a ton of flaws in its plot and execution of it, is not the absolute disaster that it was painted to be... and I personally think that Frontiers, a game that really comes off as wanting to be praised for being "a step in the right direction", and a game whose story was immensely praised and that praise put squarely on Flynn, really isn't in the things that matter.

(story wise, I mean. The gameplay is another matter, and I can't judge it. I have mixed opinions on the "open zone" style.)

And hey, Vandalize is cool! I never said anything of the contrary :P I'm only perplexed as to why it was associated with Sonic in the first place, since it's a song about a crumbling toxic relationship (lmao at the fans who thought it would be about Sonamy). But most songs from Frontiers are complete slappers, and I found myself singing Vandalize and Undefeatable for months :P I like both OSTs, they're different and they both have their highs and downs.

[merakiui]

For the ask game :3

1. My favorite fic of yours

Must be clingy codependent Azul! I've read so many yandere fics but this one really made my skin crawl as Azul slowly descends into madness :0 (I do enjoy emotionally invoking stories very much :>)

10. A character/ship I didn't enjoy/think about as much before you wrote about them

Octatrio (mostly Azul, but all three of them). I simply never think much of them (if I see them irl I'd run for my life lol) but you are so creative with your ideas that you offer new perspectives for me ❤️

11. Something I wish/hope you write

Any characters that are not as regularly featured (because I love your writing and I just want to hear more thoughts on them from you, even as chitchats) but mostly Vil and Lilia my beloved 🫶

As for concepts, may I raise back otome game au 🥺 (I love to hear more of your rambles on the endless possibilities of this au)

(ask game)

:D I'm so glad you like clingy, codependent bf Azul!!!! He's so terrifying. I'm relieved those unsettling feelings could be felt because I felt so when typing it. I had actually just finished watching a true crime series when I was writing it. It frightened me to such a degree that I had to put that anxiety into writing and thus clingy, codependent bf Azul was born. <3

Thank you so much for enjoying the trio in my writings!!! I never gave them much thought in the very beginning. They've grown on me. Like pesky barnacles on a whale's back, they are forever stuck. I wouldn't have it any other way hehe.

I will definitely write more for other characters! Actually, when twst got its English release I made a tier list to show my friend how I felt about the characters. Since then, my opinions and tastes have changed. There was a category called "we can get dinner, but that's it" and I put Trey there. It's an inaccurate portrayal now because he has moved up into my favorites, as have many of the others on the list. I want to write more for Vil (starting with the omegaverse fic hehe) and I definitely want to write for Lilia more often!!!! He has a lot of potential... >:)

Aaaaa otome au my beloved!!! I would love to ramble more and brain rot on it! There are so many routes it could go. >w< I hope to make it my next big project after DRU is complete. I just love the idea of a reader who is trying to survive romance rather than fall into it. Reader tries so hard to avoid every situation that may lead to blossoming feelings, hoping to be unlikable and boring enough to avoid raising the affection meters of the main cast. But seeing as Reader is the main character, that's just impossible. orz if Reader encounters more than three romantic events in a single day, they're shuddering and thinking it's an omen for something much worse (the inevitable confession or those horribly cliché moments where they're destined to accidentally kabedon a character or fall into his chest or (worst of all) have a heartfelt, touching moment that establishes a deeper connection).

I have so many ideas for comedic interactions and jokes. I want to make a meta joke at some point in my outline, in which Idia and Reader are talking about video games and reality and Idia says, "Wouldn't it be easier if everyone had likability meters? Then you could just avoid getting caught up in useless quick-time events if you know the people around you hate you." And Reader, without missing a beat, very bluntly says, "Trust me on this. You don't want that. It sucks." On paper, the idea sounds great. In execution... ;;;;; not so much.