#not a care in the fucking world. no classic confused turning back and forth in place because of broken pathfinding

[scp2337]

best thing about Fallout 4 is that, thanks to that classic bethesda polish, the cows in game are big and beautiful and dumb just like real cows but also sometimes they accidentally teleport onto a roof and immediately accept that they just live there now

now THATS realistic gaming

[m0nsterqzzz]

word count: 3k

- Liar Liar - 

Wanda Maximoff x reader

summary - in which, you stumble upon the most beautiful woman you've ever seen while in search of a job you can put your piano skills to use at. The only thing? She's a teacher who thinks you're in search of lessons. All's far in love and music right?

a/n - wanda + music = me fucking dying. lol. haven't updated in a while that's my bad. i love you guuuuyyyyyysss.

⋆˚ఎ ☆ ໒˚⋆ ⋆˚ఎ ☆ ໒˚⋆ ⋆˚ఎ ☆ ໒˚⋆ ⋆˚ఎ ☆ ໒˚⋆ ⋆˚ఎ ☆ ໒˚⋆ ⋆˚ఎ

You hadn’t meant to lie.

You’d went into the slightly shady neighborhood in search of a job, preferably one that let you play piano- your passion- and still had a decent amount of pay so you would be able to afford that apartment you got recently.

It’s a small town though, and no one really has any need for music as they own record players and other forms of listening devices. No one cares about classical music anymore.

Maybe you should have listened when your father told you music would never be a good career.

So you gave up hope, walking downtown to the store to get a simple and cheap frozen dinner that you could watch while sulking in front of the tv. Being an adult is hard, and you often find yourself wondering what you would do if you had just been given one chance to go back in time and not rush growing up.

You heard the familiar and peaceful sound of piano, and just like anytime you hear it, you freeze in the middle of the sidewalk to simply listen. There’s a small store next to all the tall and beautiful ones, one that probably gets lost a lot in the sight of all the other, more important buildings. A young woman is sitting inside near the front, visible through the big glass window that you silently watch her through. Her skilled fingers dance across the keyboard, creating an aura in the world that has you stuck in a magical trance.

The song slowly goes quieter, and you watch her take a deep sigh before turning her head to look out the window- as if knowing you were there. You panic, blushing in embarrassment before you pretend to read the signs taped to the door.

A bright smile graces your face as you actually begin to read them. A few of them just talk about upcoming concerts in town square, but one big one smack dab in the middle catches your eye;

Hiring!

Tutors, managers, cleaners

$16.45 a hour

It’s not a lot of money, but it’s enough and you’d get to do what you love while seemingly getting to hang out with a pretty girl. It’s a win, win, win. For you.

“Sorry. That sign is old. My friend was supposed to take it down.” Someone quietly speaks beside you, and you almost jump in fear when you see that the woman you had previously been looking at through the window is now standing right next to you, staring blankly before she tears the sign off the door. She’s even more pretty in person, from her long auburn hair to her piercing greens eyes that most people would fear as she stares at you silently though all you feel is nervous and giddy.

“Right…well….do you still have any openings?” You ask, placing your hands in your pockets as you rock back and forth on your heels. She watches with curious eyes, crossing her arms over her chest.

She answers quietly, a stark contrast to your happy mood, though she doesn't exactly seem upset. More like calm. “Yes. Lessons are 10 dollars for an hour and a half.”

You frown in confusion. Does she think you’re looking for a teacher? You go to tell her you’re looking to be a teacher, but your eyes fall on the little picture on the door that has a photo of her next to a few others of other people. Under her’s is the title; “owner and teacher”

“Would you be my teacher?” The words fall out of your mouth before you can stop them, so you purse your lips to stop yourself from saying anything else.

The girl’s lips turn upwards in the beginning of a smile. “Yes. I would.”

You practically grin, and it’s like you don’t even remember the several years of college you went through to get a career in music as you say, “Then I’d like to take lessons from you. I like piano. I want to learn how to play.”

She does smile now, nodding as she opens the door which makes the bell above it ring. “That’s great. Follow me and we’ll get you signed up.” You do follow her inside, taking in the beauty of the hidden shop. There are pianos and other instruments everywhere, ones that look worn out yet still pretty. Open songbook’s litter every open space and she gets to the front desk before digging through a pile of them for the forms you need to sign.

After signing way to many forms and paying a small fee, you shake her hand with the one that isn’t cramping.

“Thank you for choosing Scarlett's Melodies. I’m Wanda Maximoff. I own the shop and tutor most of the students.” You smile, squeezing her hand before you awkwardly place your hand in your pocket and introduce yourself.

Wanda. A pretty name for a pretty girl.

You obviously don’t say that though. Anxiety exists yall.

Instead you leave with a new found pep in your step.

That is until you remember that you just spent a ton of money and don’t even have a job. Wow. What the fuck is Wanda Maximoff doing to you?

— – — – — – — – —

After that, you have to get a job, so you get one at the nice restaurant in town that your friend works at. You spend most of your day serving customers, taking orders, and cleaning, and the only reason you continue to do it is that every other day, you just have to think about the fact that once work is over, you get to go see the beautiful piano teacher.

It’s not hard to play down your skill, but it is a little bit funny every time you slip up and tell her you already know something and then have to make the excuse that you’re doing some studying on your own time as well.

Wanda has a sweet personality, though she is a bit cold and standoffish sometimes. You learn a lot about her over the past few weeks though, like her late brother Pietro, her friends Natasha and Clint who are also workers at the store, and how she came to love music so much as to start up her own store for it.

“You’re late.” She says when you run in six minutes past the time you’re supposed to be there, but her tone is light and teasing as she scans through some notes on her sheet music. She lets you take them home sometimes to study them, but you mostly just study her pretty handwriting and the little doodles she leaves for you to find.

You chuckle, taking off your coat and hanging it up next to her leather jacket near the door. The place is cozy and if not for the workers constantly running in and out, you’d say it feels more like a home than a store.

“Sorry. I was at work.” She nods as you speak, handing you a book she made more notes in before pointing over to a piano set up against a wall. It’s nicely toned and made of a beautiful wood, and once she learned it was probably your favorite, she “teaches” you at that one every single lesson.

You sit on the bench, trying your hardest not to blush when she rubs her hand on your back before sitting closely next to you. It’s one of your favorite parts of the lessons- when she sits close enough that you can smell her perfume. Vanilla with a hint of sage, and it’s quickly become one of your favorite scents.

“We’re gonna work on something a bit harder today alright? I think you can do it, but the notes are in a slightly weird pattern and may be hard to remember.” Wanda says, flipping to a page in the book before setting it up on the music rack. 

It’s one of your favorites and quite easy to play after years of practicing, but you don’t tell her that.

By the end of the almost two hour lesson, you have pretended to learn the first part of the song, purposefully messing it up every once in a while so you don’t expose yourself.

You’re starting to feel a bit guilty about the lying, but then she smiles proudly and showers you in compliments and you forget all about it.

Wanda walks you to the door, leaning on the wall as you put on your coat and grab your stuff. You’re tired, but that feeling doesn’t even begin to compare to the one that comes when she holds your hand and smiles towards you.

“There’s a small event in town this weekend.” She starts, pointing towards the sign up on her big bulletin board. “A few people playing pieces, some nice food. I think you should join. You’re one of my most advanced students.”

You grin, hesitantly nodding. “I’d love to. That sounds like so much fun.”

The redhead nods as well, smiling slightly as she writes your name down on the sign up sheet. You’ll play after a few other students and teachers, and you must tell her what piece you want to play by tomorrow so you can spend the next few lessons practicing it.

With that you say your goodbyes, lingering in a hug with the Maximoff girl before you finally leave, walking home with a love sick smile on your face. Little did you know, the same one is gracing Wanda’s face as she closes up the shop and makes her way home.

— – — – — – — – —

When the day of the concert comes around, you’re nervous.

You don’t know why. You could play this piece in your sleep, but for some reason, the same nerves that were with you during your first performance as a child are now fluttering around in your stomach as you sit on a piano bench in the town square.

Wanda is talking with some of the other students, and you try and distract yourself by looking at her with adoration in your eyes, but it all comes back at a higher level when she notices you and winks your way.

She’s so pretty, and you fight the urge to slam your head on the instrument as she finishes up her conversation and begins walking towards you.

“Hey hon. How you feeling?” Wanda stands behind you, rubbing your shoulders reassuringly as she reads over the notes on your sheet music. You shrug, blushing brightly at her touch as you pretend to be focusing on smoothing out your shirt of non-existent wrinkles.

“I’m okay. Kinda nervous.” You say, and the blush only deepens when she hums in understanding and places a kiss on the top of your head.

“Don’t be. You’re going to be great.” Her words make you grin, and you lean your head back to rest on her stomach as she gently runs her fingers through your hair. Someone calls her name, so she gently caresses your face before patting your back and walking away.

Oh the things that Wanda Maximoff does to you.

While you’re waiting for your turn on stage, you get bored, so you sit back on the bench and begin to quickly play through one of the hardest songs you know. It took forever to learn and you still mess up every once and a while, but it still would sound beautiful to anyone and by the end of it, you do hear someone slightly chuckle in shock.

It isn't a happy laugh or happy shock though. That much you can tell.

“I didn’t teach you that.” A slightly bitter tone speaks, and you slowly turn around to come face to face with Wanda, fists clenched at her sides and a curious but slightly annoyed expression on her face.

You want to continue to lie, to tell her you’ve been working hard and her lessons are paying off, but no one who’s only been playing for a few months would be able to play that and she obviously knows the truth now.

“You wasted my time.” She says coldly, crossing her arms over her chest. She’s no longer the bubbly girl you’ve come to have the pleasure of knowing, instead going back to the closed off woman you first met. It’s all your fault.

You look down in shame, letting the bouquet rest by your side. “I’m so sorry Wanda.”

Wanda scoffs, glaring at you before she storms out of the room. She’s pissed, but a warm feeling settles in her chest at the knowledge you went through all of this to hang out with her, even with the thought that you don’t have a chance with her. You still wasted her time though, and you lied to her for weeks, almost months. How can she trust that you truly aren’t just some psycho?

You stay in the middle of town square, tears forming in your eyes as more and more people gather to listen to the other pianists. You’re falling in love with Wanda Maximoff, and up until this point, it’s only ever been clear and sunny skies. What are you supposed to do now that your first cloud has appeared?

— – — – — – — – —

After that, you stop going to your lessons.

Wanda finds herself missing you every time 6 o’clock comes around and you don’t come sprinting into the shop with your work uniform still on, rambling about something a stupid customer did like you’ve known Wanda forever. It feels like that, that’s for sure.

You spend every day in an endless cycle. Get up, go to work, walk the long way so you don’t risk running into Wanda outside of her music store, work a nine hour shift, and return to your quiet apartment where you sit in silence and mourn for someone that still lives. 

Maybe you should adopt a dog.

One especially rough day, you wake up late, your alarm clock having turned off during a storm last night and reset itself all while you were asleep. Because of this, you wake up with five minutes to get ready and even less time to sprint to work, so you can’t take the long way like you usually do.

It’s lightly sprinkinly outside, so you don’t bother taking a jacket in the midst of chaos. That was clearly the wrong decision, as only a few minutes into your walk there, it starts absolutely pouring, and just like that, your uniform is soaked and you’re shivering. You don’t have any time to go back though, so you fight on, staying right next to the buildings for a bit of protection and you don’t even notice the person carefully watching you as you fastly walk down the sidewalk.

“Hey!” Someone calls out, grabbing your wrist and pulling you into a familiar building. It’s calm and quiet music is playing somewhere, but all you can focus on is that Wanda is standing in front of you, holding out a dry towel for you to grab.

You hesitate, grabbing it and holding it closely around your body in hopes of stopping the cold feeling in your bones. It’s much warmer in here and the only rain is tapping against the window from outside, but Wanda is here and she looks at you with a type of distaste you’ve never seen before.

“I need to get to work. I’m late.” You mumble eventually after a few minutes of silence, but she just puts her hands on your shoulders and rubs them to bring you more warmth as she replies calmly, “No. I don’t want you to catch a cold.”

You go to argue, but she simply shakes her head and sits down at your piano on the other end of the room. She begins to play a simple but calm song, and she watches in the corner of her eye as you sink down on the couch next to the fireplace and slowly close your eyes. You’re still awake though, that much she can tell by the way your fingers tap along to the pattern of the music.

Finally she slowly stops the song, letting her hands fall to rest on her thighs as she stares at the keyboard with her eyebrows furrowed.

“Why would you lie to me?”

You open your eyes, watching with a guilty but sincere look as she chews on her lower lip and gently presses a few of the keys. “I’m truly sorry Wanda. I figured if we spent that time together, I would be able to learn more about you…in hopes of eventually asking you out. It was stupid, and wrong, and I’m sorry.”

She sighs, closing the keyboard cover and turning to face you. “If you had asked, I would have said yes.”

Your eyes widen in shock. Is she messing with you?

Wanda continues, “If you had just told me all of that when we first met, we could have gone out and gotten dinner or- or lunch or on a picnic like normal people.” You nod along, silently fidgeting with the bottom of your shirt. “So go ahead.”

You’re silent for a second, looking around as if wondering if she’s talking to you to which she giggles and nods. That laugh could fix all your issues.

“Wanda Maximoff, I’d really like to get to know you. The right way this time. Will you go out with me?” You ask nervously after clearing your throat and sitting up in your seat.

Wanda smirks, rubbing her chin as if in deep thought. “I don’t know…”

You laugh a bit when she does, though you’re too busy smiling brightly as she nods. “I’d love to go out with you. No lying to me this time though. And you have to teach me that song you were playing at the recital.”

“No way. A magician never reveals their secrets.” You tease, sitting next to her on the bench as she laces your hands together and says with her own smile, “Oh really? So I just agreed to a date for nothing? You’re mean.”

 All is fair in love and music though.

⋆˚ఎ ☆ ໒˚⋆ ⋆˚ఎ ☆ ໒˚⋆ ⋆˚ఎ ☆ ໒˚⋆ ⋆˚ఎ ☆ ໒˚⋆ ⋆˚ఎ ☆ ໒˚⋆ ⋆˚ఎ

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

15x20

Spoilers for Season 15x20 finale

Summary: This is a semi-rewrite of episode 15x20...

Pairing: Dean x reader (reader is treated more like an OC than a typical reader)

Word Count: 2,000ish

Warnings: language, major 15x20 spoilers

A/N: I wrote this for myself honestly. I know it is idealistic and was never going to happen. Again, I’m sharing simply if you’re interested but please feel free to ignore. This picks up from a very obvious point in the episode...

______

Dean POV

“Fuck,” said Dean, his hand over his chest. Something big was stabbing into his back. This felt wrong though. A dull, achy pain trickled up and down his spine and across his chest. His heart was racing up and slowing down when it wanted and Dean shut his eyes as he recognized the feeling in his bones.

He was dying. The kind of dying a doctor can’t fix.

“Jack!” shouted Sam, Dean peeling open his eyes as he realized Sam was besides him, hand covered in blood. A few seconds later Jack appeared in front of them eating a bar of nougat. “Jack fix him. Please.”

“He said he was hands off,” said Dean with a wince, his whole body shaking. Jack cocked his head and walked over, touching Dean’s forehead. The next thing he knew, Dean was sat on the ground and taking a deep breath, the pain gone as he looked up. “You said you were hands off.”

“You’re my dads. Why wouldn’t I help you?” he asked, a confused look on his face. Dean chuckled and nodded, still holding onto his chest. “You seem upset. I’ll pop you guys home.”

“Kid there’s-”

“Those boys are okay,” said Jack, snapping his fingers. Dean was suddenly sat on the steps up into the library, Jack mentioning something about taking some nougat from the pantry before he headed out. 

“You alright?” asked Sam. Dean shook his head and he took a seat. Dean rubbed the heel of his palm against his chest and shuddered. “Jack got there in time.”

“If he hadn’t-”

“Dean-”

“If he hadn’t...because it was bad, Sammy. If he hadn’t...I’m so proud of you and I love you, so fucking much. I couldn’t have asked for a better baby brother, a better best friend. You just gotta tell me something. When the time comes, you’ll be okay without me. Tell me Sam. Please.”

“I’ll be okay,” said Sam quietly. Dean nodded and moved his hand to his lap, Sam scooting closer. “Let’s get out of here.”

“What?”

“Let’s get a house. We can get a big yard for Miracle. Run an operation like Bobby did, do the occasional case. Let’s go live more,” said Sam. Dean paused but rubbed his chest again and smiled.

“Dibs on the master bedroom,” said Dean. Sam chuckled and nodded. “Yeah. This place is home but I wouldn’t mind an upgrade.”

Two Months Later

“Miracle!” called Dean when he ignored the ball Dean had just thrown across the yard and ran around the corner of the house. “Miracle!”

“I think your daddy’s looking for you,” Dean heard a voice giggle. He walked around the house and saw a woman knelt down and ruffling the dog. “You’re so cute. You’re so cute.”

“Yes, I am,” smirked Dean as the woman popped her head up. “So, how can I help you and why are you parked in my driveway?”

“I’m Y/N. Y/N-”

“I heard of you. Hunter out of Alaska right?” he asked as she nodded. “You work a lot of Canada cases.”

“I did,” she said with a shrug. “I was thinking of retiring down south. Wondering if you got any tips on how to adjust.”

“A dog helps,” he said and she smiled, Dean looking her up and down. “You do realize this is Austin, Texas right?”

“This is south to me,” she said. “I know Donna through a friend of a friend. She said it’d be cool if I came and talked to you?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” said Dean, Miracle running over to the ball and rushing back with it. He nudged Dean’s hand and Y/N smiled. “You mind chatting while we do some fetch?”

“Not at all, Winchester.”

“Kinda funny how Eileen and Y/N know each other,” said Sam, Dean looking out the back window to where the girls and Miracle were sat on the back deck after dinner drinking a beer. Dean hummed and dried a plate, Sam nudging his arm. “You like her, don’t you.”

“You like her.”

“Dean.”

“Yeah, I like her. What’s the big deal?”

“Oh, I don’t know. A gorgeous, former hunter with your kind of humor, love for pie, muscle cars and classic rock that’s single just happens to have stuck around long after she got done talking to you.”

“I invited her to dinner.”

“She understands the life Dean. All the shit we carry. You’ve never tried with a hunter. Give her a chance.”

“Tried what?” said Dean, putting the plate in the cupboard. 

“You can have a relationship Dean. I’m pretty sure she likes you too,” said Sam.

“Hello, Dean,” said Castiel, both guys jumping as they spun around. They stared at the angel as Cas looked around. “I enjoy your home. The air is fragrant.”

“It’s a candle,” said Sam, pointing to the flickering light on the countertop. He blew it out and Dean walked around the island, shaking his head. 

“Where the fuck have you been?” said Dean, giving Cas a hug. Sam joined them and Castiel shrugged.

“Rebuilding heaven is labor intensive process,” said Cas before turning to Dean. “I felt you would be coming there soon a few months ago.”

“Why didn’t you pop down when you knew he was dying?” asked Sam.

“You are humans,” said Cas with a pout. “You will die someday. It’s an inevitable fact. Time is very strange in heaven in its relation to earth. I assumed you were an old man.”

“No, not old,” said Dean.

“Would you two like for me to prevent your deaths until a certain age?” asked Cas. 

“No,” they both said, Dean smiling. 

“But if we ask for help, you will help?” asked Dean.

“Always,” said Castiel. He tilted his head and looked out the back window. “Who is the woman with Eileen?”

“Y/N. Hunter from the Yukon area. Dean has a crush,” said Sam. He smirked when Dean whacked his arm, Cas still cocking his head. “You know her?”

“She’s quite drawn to Dean. Metaphysically speaking.”

“Yes cause whatever you just said was very clear. Like I’m five Cas,” said Dean. Cas sighed and pursed his lips.

“Jack has given me some extra power to help assist him better. I can see more of a person now,” said Cas. “Their energy, soul, things of that nature.”

“Okay...so what does that mean?” asked Dean.

“Oh your souls are quite intertwined. She’s your soulmate,” said Cas.

“Really?” said Dean, allowing a brief smile to cross his face.

“She also has a growing inoperable mass in her head that will kill her in the next few years. She suffers from headaches quite frequently,” said Cas. Dean sat down at the counter and stared out the back door, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Why can’t I be happy?” he breathed out. “For a fucking minute I can’t even be happy before the rug gets pulled out.”

“...Did you not want me to heal her?” asked Cas. Dean rolled his eyes and Cas’ glowed blue for a moment. “She’s fine now. You seem...emotional.”

“Well I am Cas,” said Dean. 

“You’ve been off since that hunt and the barn,” said Sam.

“Sam I shouldn’t be alive,” said Dean. “I got lucky.”

“You have sacrificed your entire life for others, Dean,” said Cas, Sam taking a seat next to Dean. “You should take advantage of your powerful friends. Let others care for you now. I will speak to Jack about the remaining monsters and their relocation to somewhere better suited for them, perhaps a new world.”

“Everything alright?” asked Y/N, slipping in through the back door with an empty beer bottle. 

“Yeah, we’re all good,” said Sam.

“Liar,” she said, smiling at Dean. “I’ll be right back.”

She excused herself to the bathroom, Sam and Cas going outside. Dean got another set of beers out just in time for Y/N to return. 

“Can I ask you a question?” she said.

“Shoot,” said Dean, handing her the drink.

“Your friend, the angel, did he just heal me? I’ve had constant headaches for awhile now. Brain tumor. I feel different. You guys wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with that would you?”

“You deserve to enjoy your retirement,” he said. “A very long retirement. You’re fine now.”

“I won’t be mad about that,” she said, leaning against the counter by him. She took a long sip and smiled. “I like you, Dean.”

“I like you,” he said.

“I’m gonna stick around town for a bit, see if things work out,” she said. He nodded and smiled, watching her smirk. “So there’s really no more monsters?”

“Uh, what?”

“I overheard Castiel when I walked in. Guess we’re really out of jobs now,” you said.

“I got an offer for a construction manager,” he said. 

“You gonna take it?” she asked.

“I think so. What do you think?” he asked.

“I think it’s a great idea,” she said. “Gotta keep busy somehow.”

“What’s your retirement look like?” he asked. She shrugged and smiled. “Now that death isn’t imminent.”

“Maybe I’ll find a guy, try the domestic thing,” she said, a soft smile staying on her lips. “Know anyone who might be interested?”

“I’m sure I can think of someone, sweetheart.”

One Year Later

“So what do you think?” asked Sam as he spun around in his suit in the family room.

“What do we think junior?” asked Dean, the baby on his lap clapping his hands. “He says dad’s gonna score tonight.”

“I fear for you teaching my son things when he’s a teenager,” chuckled Sam.

“That’s what Uncles are for,” said Dean as Y/N got up from the couch and started fixing Sam’s tie.

“And what Aunt’s are for to rein them in,” she said, smoothing it out. 

“Thank you,” said Sam. “Hey, when you two gonna have a kid?”

“Who says we aren’t?” smirked Dean. Sam went wide eyed and she rolled hers.

“We’re trying just recently. You will literally be the first to know once we do,” she said. She winked and Sam narrowed his eyes, looking back and forth between them then down to her stomach. 

“You’re so pregnant.”

“Ugh, we were gonna surprise you guys. Let us surprise, Eileen at least,” she said.

“You guys are pregnant!” said Eileen from over the balcony upstairs. Y/N laughed and headed up, Sam taking a seat next to Dean and plucking his son into his arms.

“You’re gonna be a real good dad. You got a lot of practice,” said Sam. Dean shrugged and Sam gave him a side hug. “I’m really happy he gets to know his Uncle, Dean. You’re gonna do great.”

“I’m really happy I get to be here too,” said Dean. He sat back and shut his eyes. “I owe you one.”

“For what?”

“The barn. I thought Jack wouldn’t come. I didn’t even bother. I thought that was gonna be it,” said Dean. “I didn’t want to go yet.”

“You don’t owe me for that,” said Sam, handing the baby back when he heard feet on the stairs. “Be good for Uncle Dean, baby boy.”

“Go have fun on your date, Sammy,” said Dean.

“You have fun on your stay at home date,” chuckled Sam. “See ya later, De.”

“Later, Sammy.”

_________

[queenborhapreaderships]

Would you be okay with doing a Sherlock thing where reader is really really close to him, could be romantic but doesn’t need to be if you don’t want to, and perhaps they get kidnapped (and tortured if you’re up for it??? Perhaps Sherlock can watch from a livestream the kidnapper is doing?) could be a happy ending if you wanna! I’m just here for that gud angst 😈

Uhh, so this kinda got out of hand. It's 3.6k words and I was barely able to stop myself. Thank you for this prompt!!! Nothing too graphic, but there are mild torture scenes, so if that makes anyone uncomfortable, skip this one! ***Particularly HumanYou’re startled awake by the sound of a gunshot, your unplanned nap in John’s old chair ending abruptly. You groan and shift your position, knowing better than to worry. Sherlock is just being Sherlock. He’s been particularly antsy lately, as a case has been getting under his skin. “What? Did I interrupt your beauty sleep? Sorry, there’s only people dying,” he spits at you, pacing back and forth the flat the two of you have been sharing for a while now. You roll your eyes at him, scoffing at his nerve. You’re used to it at this point, and know not to take him seriously when he’s acting particularly venomous, he’s just externalizing his frustration towards himself for being unable to immediately figure out who is blackmailing his brother's coworkers. Of course he’s good, he’s better than good, but you’ve been seeing a particularly human side of him lately. It’s not that he’s slipping, he’s actually been solving cases at lightning speed, this is the first one to trip him up in a while. It’s just that now he trusts you? You almost can’t believe it, given his fiery exterior, but you know him. You know Sherlock Holmes. “Yeah, because giving poor Mrs. Hudson a heart attack is going to help you solve the damn case,” you finally say after staring at him for a few seconds. He squirms under your glare before you notice his demeanor change. His eyes light up and that classic shit-eating grin grows across his face. “That’s it,” he mutters, turning with bravado and gathering his things in a hurry. “Get ready, we have a plane to catch!” “Goddamnit, Sherlock,” is all you manage before he grabs your hand and drags you downstairs in a flurry. He never seems to tell you all of the details surrounding cases he deems especially dangerous, and it makes you mad sometimes. You want to be able to help, but you can’t if he won’t let you. Sometimes, you’ll figure it out on your own and save the day, but this one is more bureaucratic than your liking so you’re alright with being kept in the dark. He eventually manages to hail a taxi and is furiously typing into his cell, you look over to see John’s name at the top and you smile at the prospect of seeing your friend. John has been busy lately with taking care of Rose and you can tell Sherlock misses him, as he’s always trying to annoy him into helping the two of you. You can hold your own, that’s for certain, but seeing John would be a nice change of pace for both of you. Before he’s able to send the message his phone rings. You see Mycroft’s name pop up and he groans before rejecting the call, on principle, of course. He finishes typing and puts his phone on silent before turning to look at you. He meets your eyes and smiles ever so slightly. “This is going to be more risky than I had initially thought, so I need you to do everything I say and don’t,” he emphasizes the word, “do anything stupid.” You can hear the worry edging into his voice.“You know I can’t promise that, you wouldn’t have brought me if I could,” you say, bumping into his side, playfully. “You know what I mean,” he says, eyes locked on you. You don’t know where you’re going or where you’ll be even in an hour, but none of it matters because you're with him. You trust him, too. With your life, because god knows he’s saved it before. Your sides are still touching and you decide to break his gaze by resting your head on his shoulder. This isn’t new for you and Sherlock, he’s been more open to touch than usual, but you’re always concerned you’re going to push him too far. Your worries dissipate when you feel the slightest amount of pressure on your head and know that he’s leaning on you too. The moment is broken by the piercing shrill of your cellphone in your back pocket. He sits back up and you move to see who’s calling you, you could’ve sworn you turned the damn thing on silent. When you pull it out, you’re not surprised to see Mycroft’s name and a rather unflattering picture Sherlock took a few years ago gracing the screen. Sherlock audibly groans and snatches the phone from your hands.“What?” he bites out, cold as ice. You can hear Mycroft’s hushed, frantic tone but can’t make out what he’s saying. The more he talks, the more jittery Sherlock becomes, not getting a word in over Mycroft’s mania. “Well lucky for you, we’re already headed that way. Be there in ten.”“What was that all about?” you ask, your curiosity getting the best of you.“Oh, this is going to be fun. Kidnapping! Can’t wait!” he says, giddiness written across his face. You can’t help but laugh at his excitement, you love seeing him like this. Despite the rather morbid subject matter you’re often dealing with, seeing Sherlock in his element, enjoying himself makes it all worth it. You know you wouldn’t trade it for the world. When you pull up to the airport a bit later, you can sense something is off. You don’t know what, but you’ve got a weird feeling in your gut about what is about to transpire. Sherlock is still riding the wave of the new revelation regarding the case, but if he doesn’t think anything of it, you suppose it’ll be alright. The cab was let in without any trouble, nobody asked who either of you were or why you’re there, and it would be safe to assume Sherlock is a household name by now, so he’d be let in without question. But they didn’t even check to see if he was there, the gate just opened. It’s less anxiety inducing to assume this is all a part of the plan, but you can’t seem to get over the thought in the back of your head that something is not right. The cab ever so slowly comes to a stop and the driver gets out, you assume to open the door for his passengers, but the second his door closes you hear him lock the doors. Your heart drops. You should’ve known. You should’ve said something. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Sherlock pulling on the door handle and banging his fists into the window. “It’s not worth the energy,” you say, still stuck swimming within your own self doubt. It’s evident in your voice and downcast eyes that you’re upset. He looks over, his face softening for a moment before grabbing your hand. Suddenly, his look of determination is back in full force. “Well, obviously not, but I refuse to sit here and let this transpire without trying” he says, giving your hand a small squeeze before climbing to the front seat to meddle some more. “We’re in the heart of the beast,” you say, still processing the predicament you’ve found yourselves in, “we’re surrounded.” Sherlock’s lack of response confuses you until you look up at him. He’s staring off at something and you follow his gaze. Oh shit. Mycroft is climbing out of a plane with his hands behind his head in surrender, a masked man has a gun to his temple. “Coward,” Sherlock mumbles, finally accepting the reality of the situation. You’re not getting out from brute force alone, this is going to take some doing. Seemingly out of nowhere, two men with automatic rifles hiked behind their backs are pounding on the door, gesturing to get out. Suddenly the doors unlock and the men rip them open. One now has his gun aimed at your head. You roll your eyes, inconvenienced at most. “I’m coming, I’m coming, settle your ass down,” you say, hoping to extend to Sherlock that you’re okay. You aren’t overly worried, more pissed off at yourself for your lack of action. The man grabs your arm harshly and jabs the tip of his gun into your back. You can see the other man practically dragging Sherlock out of the car, you laugh under your breath, knowing he’s making it as hard for the men as possible to do their jobs. They walk you both over to where Mycroft is now on his knees, arms still up.“Ah, little brother, nice of you to finally join the party,” he says, a twinge of, something, in his voice. “Some party,” you bark out and groan when the gun digs deeper into your back. “Hey, leave her out of this” Sherlock finally speaks, coming to your defense nonetheless. You all know it’s in vain, but hearing his voice is reassuring. “Where’s the fun in that?” A disembodied voice comes out of the speakers typically used to communicate with the ground staff. They’ve taken up a new purpose now, and you’re less than thrilled to hear whatever this jackass has to say. “Oh for fucks sake, enough with the theatrics,” Sherlock yells, you look over and can practically see the gears turning as he processes what to do next.“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Mycroft mutters under his breath, “do not push these people.” “What are they going to do? Put us in time out, where’s the creativity, guys? The innovation, this whole gun to the head thing is so tired,” Sherlock says, exasperated. “You want creativity? Bring me the girl.” “Oh, here we go,” you say as you’re pulled up. You look back and see Sherlock’s eyes widening in what seems like fear? That can’t be right, this has to be part of some big plan he’s made up, so you shoot him a lopsided grin, letting him know that you’ve got this.As you’re being taken into the building, you can see the brothers being herded into the big commercial jet a few yards away. They stop you outside a door and push you down to your knees. Before you really know what’s happening, you’re blindfolded and you feel your wrists being forced into handcuffs. You grin out of spite. “Let’s get this show on the road, I don’t have all day” you push, seeing how far you can take this. You’re also beyond over this situation to begin with. You definitely seemed to have pushed their buttons and you’re made aware when you’re shoved in the room, the door slamming behind you.“Darling. Come in, take a seat, relax,” you hear the voice say. Not through the speakers, this time. He’s here. “Oh, I’d love to! Thank you so much for your hospitality. This blindfold truly is the best I’ve ever had,” you say, trying to match his sarcasm, refusing to show fear. Objectively, you’re in a weak position, but as long as you don’t show it, you know you’ve got a semblance of the upper hand. “Only the finest silk for such a fine woman” he practically purrs and you can hear footsteps drawing closer to you. You aren’t shocked when you feel a hand caressing your face, stroking your hair. This is pretty routine, the whole creepy bad guy, can't get laid, scenario. You hear him walk around you to the front and kneel down to your level. You can’t resist. You spit in his face. You’re delighted when you hear him cry out in disgust, you smile to yourself, proud of your actions. “Oh, you’ve really done it now, you bitch,” he says, tone laced with malice, “hit the cameras.” he says to what you can only assume are more of his minions. “Now, I know you can’t see it, but I’ve got your boy toys tied up in a very similar manner. I need information. I need control. I need power,” he spits out. Monologue time, you think to yourself. Wouldn’t be the first you’ve heard. “And I know it won’t be given up voluntarily. But it seems you and the detective have grown rather close, you’re always on his tail like a little lost puppy.” “Rude,” you say in an attempt to keep yourself together, if anything. He ignores you.“It’s my understanding that the boys need a bit of, let’s say, motivation, to tell me what I need to know,” This is a first. Surprisingly. You know John had been taken before to get to Sherlock, it’s about time someone decided to try and use you. It feels inevitable, these are the risks that come with working alongside him. You knew that when you signed up. No regrets. He’s worth it. “So Sherlock is going to tell me what I need to know, or his puppy is going to get sent to the pound.” You’re really over this whole dog metaphor. What is it with these people and their goddamn metaphors?You hear the man get up and walk away, you feel yourself hoisted up and are dragged in the same direction. Your handcuffs are taken off and put back on again, but this time in front of your body. You hear a rattling above you and your heart sinks. Your hands are raised above your head and connected to what you assume is a chain hanging from the rafters. One of his men yanks the chain and your body is pulled upwards so your feet are barely touching the ground. You bite back a groan, refusing to give them what they want despite how vulnerable you feel. “Now Sherlock, are you there? Can you see us?” he says to the air. You feel your blindfold ripped off and see Sherlock and Mycroft projected onto the wall in front of you. You do your best to take stock of where you are and who you’re with, but you can’t tear your eyes off of him. He’s on his knees, hands tied behind his back, and there’s a long gash across his face, from his eyebrow to the bottom of his cheek. He sees you, panicked. Behind him, a man pulls off his gag. “Leave her alone, you bastard. Get your hands off of her or I swear you’ll regret it,” he growls. You want to believe him. You want to believe he has the upper hand here, but you have to admit, the situation is looking pretty damn grim. “I’d like to see you try. Just for that, let’s see what happens when you disobey,” the man shoots back. You try to make out as many details about him as you can, but the mask he’s wearing makes it difficult. He turns around and stalks towards you. You can faintly hear Sherlock yelling in the background, but your attention is focused on the man. Suddenly, you’re blinded by pain, a shooting sensation coming from your side. You look down to see the handle of a screwdriver sticking out of your stomach. You can’t even begin to process what has happened before you’re faced with another blow, he punched you in the face. You feel the blood begin to trickle down into your eye, eyebrow cut wide open. You look up to see Sherlock struggling in his restraints and screaming. You can’t hear him. Did they turn his audio off? Or did he really hit you that hard? You can’t tell, nor do you really care. You can’t think of anything outside of the tool sticking out of your body and Sherlock on the screen. You hear the two of them talking, but can’t exactly make out what they’re saying. You feel a few more hits to your torso before you daze off into a fitful sleep. You wake up in a haze, unaware of where you are or how much time has passed. But you know you’re still hanging from the damn ceiling. You try and open your eyes, but can only manage to open one, the other crusted shut with the blood from your eyebrow. You can’t help but let out a groan, still not wanting to show weakness but it hurt so damn bad. That’s when you hear a voice. A different voice, a new voice. A voice that doesn’t immediately strike the fear of more pain into your heart. Is that? It couldn’t be. Is that John? This maybe-John speaks again and is fiddling with your restraints, trying to get you down. Definitely John. You don’t know what changed, but you’re slowly becoming able to make out what he’s saying.“It’s okay, you’re okay, I’m going to get you out of here, I promise, I brought the cavalry, you’re going to be okay,” he went on like that for a while, just muttering whatever he deemed helpful. Moreso to himself than you, you personally couldn’t imagine walking in on your close friend like this and holding it together as well as he is right now. The last thought before you drifted off again was that, once again, John Watson was saving your asses. The next time you wake up is much more peaceful. You’re lulled awake by the steady beeping of a machine you’re hooked up to. Your throat is dry as all hell, but when you realize someone is sleeping on a chair beside you, you decide it isn’t a priority. What is a priority is this curly-haired goofball of a main, gripping your hand, tighter than you’d think possible for someone unconscious. His breathing is shallow and his head is resting on your bed, curled up as close as he possibly can to your good side. You smile to yourself and squeeze his hand reassuringly. You’re alive. He’s alive. You’re assuming John and Mycroft took care of the rest. You’re still a little fuzzy on the details, but hey, it doesn’t matter as long as Sherlock is okay. He shifts in his sleep, and then mumbles something before slowly lifting his head. He woke himself up. He’s adorable. “Hey, you” you say softly, letting go of his hand to stroke his hair and get a look at that face. You grimace when you see the freshly stitched up wound looking red and angry. “They really got you good, didn’t they?” “Me? How on earth are you possibly worried about me right now? They stabbed you with a screwdriver!” He exclaims, entirely too fired up for a man who just woke up. He sees you wince at his volume and puts his head back down, nuzzling into your side in apology. “I should’ve been able to stop it. I should’ve known better than to take you with me. I knew it wasn’t going to be good, I knew it was a risk. I didn’t know they were planning on using you as leverage. I never would willingly put you in danger, but I did. And I am so sorry.” Your heart breaks at his words, his tone of voice, and his sincerity. You don’t think you’ve ever heard this man apologize, not for anything, and it kills you that he’s blaming himself. You reach down, ignoring the shooting pain in your side, and grab his chin, gently turning his head to yours. Are those unshed tears in his eyes? You know you have to fix this right now. “Sherlock, this isn’t your fault, okay? I promise it’s not. From day one, I knew something like this was possible. I knew the danger I was in and I did it anyway.” He tries to butt in, but you don’t let him. “I did it anyway because you are worth it, all of the risk, and all of the pain. You save lives. You’ve saved my life, in more ways than one, and if I could go back in time, I wouldn’t change a damn thing. You are worth it. Spending time with you is worth it. Being with you is worth it. It’s worth all of the stab wounds in the world, okay?” You take in the look on his face, the adoration and the… love? Soon, the unshed tears are streaming down his cheeks and you can’t take it anymore, damn your injuries. You place your hand on the side of his face, stroking a tear away and pull him in close until his head is resting on your shoulder, face in your neck. You can feel the hot tears on your skin and begin to trace your hand up and down his back until he calms down. Finally, his breathing becomes more even and he manages to choke something out. You can’t hear him and he repeats himself, pulling away from your neck. You instantly miss the touch of his skin to yours. “I just can’t lose you, I can’t. I wouldn’t be okay, but you deserve better than this” he manages to say before collapsing back into your embrace. “Oh Sherlock, you aren’t losing me anytime soon, okay? I’m alright, I’m alive, I’m here and there’s nothing you can do to get rid of me. You make,” you stutter at the weight of what you’re about to say, “you make life worth living,” he doesn’t respond, but instead, wraps his arm around you, meticulously avoiding your injuries. You return your hand back to his head, running your fingers through his hair. God, you love him. You don’t know if you’ll ever be able to say it to him, but you hope more than anything that he knows. Because you love him so fucking much. You can’t even tell when the two of you fall asleep, wrapped in each other's arms. The one you weren’t conscious to see was John walking in to check on you, surprised to see Sherlock had already taken care of things. Whether or not he smiled and took a quick picture of you guys isn’t any of your business, but John thinks to himself how he’s most definitely going to use the picture as blackmail for the rest of his life.Little did he know, neither of you will care. You love him and you aren’t afraid of anyone knowing. ***My inbox is open for requests! I can't figure out how to link it because tumblr ~must~ update every other week just to confuse me, but I'll write for just about any fandom I'm in! There's a list not too far down my blog. Thanks again for the request, I hope you liked it!

[featherquillpen]

Suitably Eldritch Az/Crowley Smut: A Reclist

Following on from this excellent post by @ariaste, I decided to gather up a list of what I like to call suitably eldritch smut for Aziraphale and Crowley: smut that does not adhere to cisnormative assumptions, or indeed any earthly human limitations, about what bodies and sex are like for supernatural entities.

Lie Back and Think of Dinner by jessthereckless

This fic has become an instant fandom favorite, and for good reason – it’s incredibly funny and cute. In this fic, angelic love is in itself a divine ecstasy that can cause orgasms, earthquakes, and spontaneous miracles – and when it comes to angelic love, Aziraphale turns out to have no chill whatsoever. 

Our Own Eden by DictionaryWrites (requires an AO3 login)

Inspired by “Lie Back and Think of Dinner,” in this fic, Aziraphale and Crowley make a whole new garden of their own with the supernatural force of their lovin’. And there’s a great moment before the sex when they discuss what kinds of effort they want to make. All of DictionaryWrites’s Good Omens smut is suitably eldritch, so dive into their back-catalog!

Love Hath Made Thee a Tame Snake by thehoyden

Another instant fandom classic, because it is indeed extremely cute and funny. But I do love this take where Aziraphale and Crowley are mostly asexual, except when spring comes to England and suddenly Az gets hit by all the horny new life vibes and efforts himself up a vulva so he can have multiple orgasms. All of thehoyden’s GO smut is suitably eldritch, and all very good, so go forth and enjoy.

Turn by Kass

This fic earns a special place in my heart by incorporating an interpretation of angelic gender from Talmud. According to some traditions, the gender of angels is “ever-turning” – in other words, Aziraphale’s body changes with moon-cycles. Gloriously eldritch and Jewish – my favorite combination.

swimming in your ocean (i can get pretty sidetracked) by tinsnip

This fic, to me, does a great job of depicting sex as two eldritch immortals would have it: easy, almost absent-minded, and playful, because they have all the time in the world. Aziraphale swaps up genitals freely, and it feels very natural, the way you’d pick a different outfit each morning.

nothing but the wild rain by Raven

And now we get into the wing kink. In this fic, Aziraphale and Crowley discover that they don’t really care for human-style sex at all – but they get absolutely blissful pleasure from touching each other’s wings. Is this really weird sex, or two asexual entities enjoying a completely different type of intimacy? I don’t know, and I don’t care – either way it’s wonderful.

Auto Maintenance by tei (requires an AO3 login)

Crowley and Aziraphale have sex in the Bentley, to fulfill one of Azi’s secret fantasies. This fic combines glorious wing kink with completely customized genital configurations – forget the two dyadic sets, these supernatural entities do what they want. 

Turn the dial all the way up (burn brightly) by strawberriesandtophats

And here we get into the “full Milton,” completely metaphysical soul sex, which is described in a richly poetic and moving way. This fic is an excellent character study of Aziraphale and his relationship with faith and God post-canon, and there’s a gentle stream of genderfuckery winding throughout the fic that I greatly appreciate.

I Will Make the Hymns of You by Laura Shapiro

A very interesting contrast to the fic above: this one also does the “full Milton” of totally metaphysical soul sex, but it feels much, much raunchier than the very sweet innocent meeting of souls in “Turn the dial all the way up.” These souls fuck. And yet I love both interpretations of what soulsex would mean.

with ah! bright wings by Toft

This fic manages to combine wing kink, genitals conjured up on a random whim, and celestial soul-joining all at once, without getting too busy or confusing, and while being very very tender and soft.

[taehyungsgrowl]

Okay babey i gotta ask u on how do you think the sugar babies x duncan celebrated new years, did they stayed home and just chilled after duncan came tired from work or jim and yn dragged dunc out to have fun and had and eventful night? Drunk anon

OH!! HELLO!

here’s a short blurb on the sugar babies bc i miss them. 

a lil bit of angst! 

(part 2 of the other sugar babies angst is still being worked on!)

word count: 1.3 k 

–

I always love when Y/N and Jim drag Duncan out for a night on the town! 

But maybe this time, it was Duncan taking them out. Maybe Duncan takes them out to a cocktail party to celebrate the new year. 

Y/N was excited as ever! Trying on dress after dress that Duncan had purchased for her. Shimmery, shiny, sequined, velvet, silk - all at her disposal. 

Jim was fumbling with his bow tie, trying to make sure it looked perfect. Being around Duncan’s elite friends always made Jim a little insecure. He couldn’t help but feel like he needed to prove himself. 

Y/N looked at Jim from her vanity mirror. “You look fine, Jim.” she said, almost reading the worry in his thoughts. He sighed, tossing the tie on the ground.

“Fine,” Jim huffed rolling his eyes, bending down to pick up what he threw. “You look incredible!” He stood behind her and dragged his hand up the slit on the thigh of her dress, admiring how beautiful she looked. “You’ll have every pair of eyes on you.” Jim stepped back, trying to tie his tie again, “And Duncan.” he sighed again, already with an image on mind of Duncan in his all black attire. Sleek. Classic. Timeless. “Well, you know Duncan.” 

“I just want to look good for you two. Like, I belong.” he spoke quietly. 

“Wow,” Duncan breathed out as he stepped into the room. He never knew how he got so lucky. 

His hair was still dripping from his shower. As soon as he stepped into the room, his fresh scent filled their senses. Y/N and Jim both looked at one another before turning their eyes back to Duncan (in his dark gray towel that hung low on his hips.)

Jim always liked the way Duncan looked after a hot shower; he swore the heat from the water turned Duncan’s lips a shade pinker. It made him want to bite them. 

“You two look,” he shook his head, “amazing.” 

Y/N flashed Jim an “I told you so,” smile that only made sweet Jim’s cheeks turn pink. 

“Come here,” Duncan called out to Jim. Duncan looked into Jim’s eyes and proceeded to make a perfect bow for him. 

“You okay?” he searched Jim’s face trying to figure out what had him so worried. 

“Yup.” Jim gave him a weak smile, “Thank you!”

**

Y/N drowned down glass after glass of bubbly champagne. Jim stood on the other side of Duncan as he conversed with politicians and business moguls. 

“James, right?” one of Duncan’s colleagues turned his attention to Jim, “What is it that you do again?” 

Jim felt his face pale. Admitting to being Duncan’s sugar baby didn’t feel like the right response. But really? What did Jim bring to the table with the men he stood with. 

“It’s Jim.” Duncan answered, his jaw set in a clench. “I’ve heard the stocks in your company have sky rocketed.” Duncan was quick to change the subject and attention away from Jim. The business man let out a throaty laughter and continued to banter back and forth with Duncan; Jim’s existence forgotten. 

Y/N, as tipsy as she was, noticed Jim’s eyes glaze over. She looked up at Duncan and his friends, “Jim and I are gonna get another drink.” she took Jim’s arm and lead him into an empty hallway. 

They slide down the wall and sit down with their legs criss crossed like a couple of kids. “What’s wrong, Jimmy?” she rests her head on his shoulder. 

“Look at where we are, Y/N.” he sighed. “I just feel like I don’t belong in this world.” His blue eyes met hers, his hand searching for hers. She had always been his rock. “A college student - sorry - college drop out, who’s a ‘professional’ escort, shouldn’t be here.”

“Jim. You know it’s not like that - not with Dunc.” she argued back. 

“Maybe not with Duncan. But you don’t think he’s ashamed of us? Of me?” he dropped his head, his bottom lip quivering. “You saw how he changed the subject as soon as his friend asked about me.”

“He loves you, Jim.” 

**

Duncan’s eyes searched the room. He couldn’t spot them anywhere. The party continued in fake laughter with even falser friendships. 

“If you’ll excuse me,” Duncan politely excused himself to look for Jim and Y/N. They had been gone for quite a while now and they were no where near the bar. 

As soon as he walked out he saw them both on the floor, leaning against each other, and sprinted towards them, “You okay? Are you hurt?” worry coating his tone. 

Y/N stood up and gave Jim’s hand a gentle squeeze. “I think you two need to talk.” she began walking back towards the ballroom. 

“I’m sorry.” Jim began. He kept his eyes on the ground, refusing to look at Duncan. 

“I’m confused,” Duncan sunk down on the ground besides him. “What are you sorry for, baby?” 

Jim looked into Duncan’s eyes, his heart beating fast. He loved him so much. He just wanted to be enough for him. 

“For not being enough. I’m not..” he sighed, “I’m not like your friends. I haven’t finished school, I don’t have a career, I’m sure as hell not as smart or -”

“Jim.” Duncan interrupted him, his voice was low and steady despite the outrage he held inside. “We - you, don’t have anything to prove to them. Or to me. I love you.”

“I just don’t want you to feel embarrassed by me. By us.” 

Duncan pulled him closer. He held Jim close and pressed a firm kiss to the top of his brown locks. “I couldn’t give a single fuck about what people thought about me or us.” 

Jim can hear the truth behind Duncan’s words. He closed his eyes and inhaled the deep aroma of his cologne. “I love you and Y/N and will never be ashamed to admit that. Arrangement or not.” Duncan rubbed his back in soothing circles. 

“Okay,” Jim relaxed his shoulders before turning his head up to kiss Duncan’s jaw, “I love you too.”

“I’m serious Jim.” Duncan continued. “You bring so much joy to me and to Y/N. I can’t imagine my life without you. And you know I’ll support you in whatever you want to do.” he squeezed his shoulder, “You’re under no obligation to do anything. I love taking care of and spoiling you.” Duncan smiled. “But if you wanted to do anything - I support you.”

“I don’t deserve you,” Jim smiled.

“Nonsense.” Duncan chuckled. 

Y/N decided enough time had passed and went out to check on her boys. She grabbed a bottle of champagne and a few flutes before heading back out. 

They were still on the floor holding each other when she approached them. Jim’s disheveled hair and loosened tie warmed her heart as Duncan held him. 

“Are we good?” she sat down across from them. But she could see from the way the tension had left Jim’s eyes that he was feeling better. Everyone needed to be babied every once in a while - and there was no one better at it than Duncan. 

“We’re good.” both men said in unison.

“Good,” she chuckled, “It’s almost midnight!” she handed them each a freshly poured glass of bubbly. 

They heard the roaring cheer coming from the ballroom, signifying the beginning of the new year. The clinked their glasses together and shared new year kisses. 

There was no better way that Duncan could imagine beginning yet another year. As long as he was with his Jim and Y/N - nothing else mattered. As he took a sip of his champagne, he silently made the resolution to spend the rest of his life by their side.

[404fmdhaon]

creative claims verification — middle fingers up

summary: lyrics, composition and production for middle fingers up warnings: none wc: 1903 (not counting lyrics)

when he started music, it was only a fruitful thought. one that was wary with the times of boom bap saturated in the east coast — boarding school times, and he almost crafts himself a small wicked smile. nostalgia that pains his bones when he’s thinking to the shitty small room he was subjugated to, the speakers of his laptop bound to the sounds of biggie.

but he’s no biggie nor is he the second-coming of asap. he’s just haon, the sell-out from the sea of idoldom that’s got him whole. and where he’s alive becomes the sudden patterns of how music changes from one woe to the next — boom bap into trap, and he laughs at the incredulity of stepping into trap.

an explorer, a sole wanderer. he traps himself in the middle of the keys, pounding away one by one. they paint the picture to the time where he was nothing more than thirteen on the verge of puberty inside hannam-dong.

he starts with the progression of a chord, nothing too flashy nor showy. never been part of him when he’s only been a part of modesty and sulking behind the shadows of attention. it rises like the childhood keys, stripped away from the classical touches of beethoven and into the formative years of who he is now.

the first few regressions of the chord don’t sit easy. instead, they end the way they always do — the slams of his palms into a fucked up mash of notes he doesn’t know what to do with. he closes his eyes, and starts from base one, the one he’s always known. staccatos, and now he only rolls with the punches of what comes when he’s half dazed from sleep and his eyes bloodshot with the lack of sleep he doesn’t have.

and when he’s on what feels the hundredth time of something different, he lets it sit. plays it back — maybe it’s the lack of sleep or maybe it’s just the low standardization he’s fixed himself to, it clicks. seeps deep into the cracks of his soul where nothing soothes the deepened wounds that get buried under years upon year. imperfection, and it’s nothing short. nothing half-assed by the time he tries again and again. the last cut makes it, and he leaves the piano to something else — the instruments that don’t fail him when hands are against the tufts of hair balled up amidst frustration.

it sounds mismatched, mangled. (he doesn’t care.)

and he moves to percussion, the process that’s always been the status quo from one move to the next. there’s a charming point in trap, and he doesn’t fit the bill, slotting creativity into place when there’s the baseline of drums involved. 

his foot taps against the ground, confused in the off-match haze of differing rhythms. rather, he fixes himself with another swig of the iced coffee now melted in the corner of his desk — the brass adding another color to the track void of any lyrics. 

and he thinks to the time where he’s been the artist without any words. without any restraints freeing the built up frustration and animosity inside his soul — now, it’s only the beats of the piano mangled with the percussion hitting every other beat. but it doesn’t last long, no. not when he takes the latter part of the track and puzzles it to something new. revs up the drums for a hit of a party, something that breeds the excitement he no longer has.

he takes a listen, a playback — it sounds rudimentary at best. nothing complex until the bass hits, but some sort of charm escapes between each strike of chord, and leaves it ringing loudly inside the surface of his heart. his lips quirk back into a smile: minute satisfaction, and he collects it.

when inspiration strikes him in the middle of the fervor, he takes it. runs with it, and make does with what he can (sometimes it doesn’t last long, and it leaves his mind barren without time to collect the pieces once more. savor it while you can.)

what he starts off is the beginnings of a song, one he mismatches to the current state of affairs. because now, the mantra is clear: middle fingers up. 

the first three words sprawl across the page, and he capitalizes it. makes it bold. loud and clear as the blueprint to navigate each and every lapse of time that passes. instructions, he wants to send out to the world plagued by second-hand guesses, and the constant battering of what others think — they should stop, and so should he.

he adds in the jingle, humming to the tune the playful childhood fable-esque melody. it’s morbid at best, the juxtaposition of the lighthearted tune ridden by the resenting animosity he hangs to his chest. the feeling never goes away, no. not when he wishes for it, turning and tossing inside late night sleeplessness. there’s no sleep in seoul, so be it.

middle fingers up thumb, index finger, ring finger, pinky fold them and lift your middle finger up raise it, twirl it, play with them now just eat this, fucking eat it.

what his mind jumps to next, all tongue-and-cheek spurred by the sudden enjoyment that music sparks in him. god, when was this feeling last felt? he couldn’t tell you. all that he knows is that euphoric highs from the fun of writing a verse becomes insurmountable to any fleeting joy of here and there. the affairs of the company — shit. the affairs of his own personal life — shit. business comes in brushed shoulders, mediocre handshakes in coy smiles yearning for a hidden meaning. gyujeong tries to decipher each one as a sham, name-calling to yank their strings into place for a climb up the ladder of the fame that trails eight years and counting.

the conversation becomes a humorous one — painted in cheap laughs and even cheaper innuendos. get the number, and call it a roadmap for the tempest tides for five minutes of famed. gyujeong makes his answer clear: why? he’s never been second-dipped inside the tides pulling him from one hot name to the next, his name clear in the headlines only fuel to add onto the taste of an image bc’s crafted for him. laughter. it spills from his lips.

what did you just say kid? we’ve met before, you say what — no we haven’t. i’m close with your friend. so what? you ask, can you give me your number so we can have a drink together sometime? but why should i give you my number? who the hell are you?

he doesn’t know them, they don’t know him. the feeling’s not mutual, shit if it’s ever been. it’d be a lie, and his lips tainted with poison if he gives in to the facades of each soul that wants to reap the benefits without climbing down the wayward journey all the way up — nothing’s all the way up. not then, not now. (has it ever been?)

collective thoughts and privacy becomes uncertain, rare. something treasured and pocketed away to the confines of his own bare bones. he craves one thing: anonymity. that sort of shit becomes priceless halfway through an aged careers — his private matters stowed away, picking up the specks as time passes for he’s never begged for more. the circle around shrinks as the years go, half-hearted smiles burned to the ground as he loses more and more of the dignity scraped away by the schedules and people he’s brushed shoulders with.

he likes it that way. likes two real friends rather than a cesspool of empty hearts and laughs that bear nothing more than the coins clinking into their bank — no more drama. no more stories. no more shit to put up with when he doesn’t become the victim of everyone’s embittered war.

talk, alarms, lock, sns are all on private my ever-shrinking personal and social relations it ain’t nothing. no more meet-ups with people, no more stories no more drama, just straight to the last episode

and if they want to catch him, they better while they can. he’s sure to slide past the void of their fingers clasped against each other and chung gyujeong stands from the other side in a cocked grin waiting at the top with the answer to their question he can’t give them an answer to. then again, when has he ever conveyed an answer to their dead-end questions, nor spared any time to give in to the temporary pains of a broken timepiece. genuineness is lost in the world — lost when he’s tethered to bc.

follow me until you reach the climax what’s real? what’s fake? i don’t know.

the fingers type away the verse — he makes note of a few things (repeat the chorus, italics of the chorus. the references, flipped and mashed back together for a coy play on words.) trust the creative process, and he’s floating along on the surface. tides turn into ripples, and suddenly — he’s left grinning ear to ear, smiling away with the middle fingers up.

when he returns to the studio, it’s the same way he’s left it. the bucket of laundry loaded in a corner, growing higher and higher by the day. the emptied out plastic cups, all lined perfectly across his desk with the screen blinking and the sounds of the desktop still running on edge with his lapse in judgement to shut it off the few days prior.

today, he has help — no big help, just the trusted staff in the room as his fingers motion forth to enter the dungeon he’s been subjected to for the past few years. gyujeong motions once more: take a seat, make yourself feel at home. it’s written in silent gestures, and he steps forward to the recording booth with his headphones sliding over his ears (this feels comforting, like second=nature.)

the staff involved today serves no input, no help. no standardized comment of what sells nor what’s written in the outlines of bc’s expectations. instead, it’s another set of hands — another set of fingers to press buttons when he knows the booth provides the pristine sound he wants to collect for the alibi of the song. a crystal clear voice, no longer stumped by the background noise fiddling out from the lack of soundproofing. here, he’s able to relay the lullaby he writes for the masses encroaching deeper into dangerous territory. 

it starts with the chorus, the starting of the song. his hand waves past the recording glass, signaling the start of recording as the beat plays in the background — his phone’s already snug in the other, posed in front of him with the lyrics loud and clear.

and it’s his voice that relays the rest. gritty, slurred. no real pronunciation when it poses itself as a near whine — nearly flirtatious it takes when he hears the playback. (he guesses, it’s the effect of having fun with music again). there’s no idea how this will progress, no expectations then again. so, he continues on when the beat plays and he starts the verses — it toys. plays into the push-pull of lilting his voice in a mediocre taunt.

an ode, disguised as a taunt. or flipped and reversed, he still doesn’t know.

still doesn’t get it by the time he’s back after a full-stomach, leaning back into his chair. no more clicks nor a staff to help, it’s him against the computer screen pulling and yanking different filters with the snaps of the mouse. the vocal stabilizes, little need to refine and tune the voice into key. he adds in extra embellishments, things he’d never use as a play into the new break. when has he become the nomad adventuring out into unknown territory? he couldn’t tell you, only knows the high-tide fun that comes from horns and alterations buzzing out the verses then into the chorus. the movement, and piecing together of a complete piece.

here, there’s no missing pieces. just a full track that checks off satisfaction.

[bangtanlalaland]

genius lab | myg (m.)

synopsis ↳you’re late to your studio session with the famous music producer Suga. will there be consequences or will you end up getting what you want in the end?

--

— music producer!au

→pairing: music producer!min yoongi x singer!female reader

→genre: smut, pwp

→word count: 3.8k+

→contents ⨯ warnings: literally NO plot, kissing, heavy petting, oral sex (f receiving), protected sex, drunk sex? lolol, sort of a one night stand?, spitting, daddy kink & pet names? (idk if that’s even important to list) overstimulation, cum swallowing

--

“Fuck, I am late.” You think to yourself. You look like a maniac, charging through the train station in a hurry to catch the next transit to the recording studio downtown. You had a meeting scheduled with your producer “Suga.” He wanted to go over the final mixes of an upcoming album you planned on releasing soon. And he does not tolerate working with a late colleague.

He’s worked with many famous artists and has won numerous awards for his work. People gossip all the time, and one time you heard from your manager that a rapper Suga collaborated with once show up an hour late to record. The next day, he got dropped from the label. So yeah, I guess you could say it is a pretty big deal that you make it on time but you’re for certain you are fucked.

Twenty minutes have passed since your scheduled session, and you were still on the monorail en route to your destination. Time felt delayed, almost as if it was fate that kept you on this tight schedule. Of course, you carelessly overslept due to your late partying the previous night for the release party of your single.

Your stop finally came and you exited the monorail, powerwalking your way to the studio. Passing by several cafes, bumping into people, and crossing crosswalks, you finally arrive. You punch in the code to enter the building and hurriedly strut to the elevator. You arrive at the 9th floor, and make a left turn. Stepping in front of the frosted, glass door that reads: Genius Lab.

You take a deep breath and slowly exhale. You give the door 3 knocks, softly but loud enough for him to hear. A few beats later and your eyes follow upwards to meet Suga, as he swings the door open. He seems tired, dressed in a red flannel paired with torn black skinny jeans and black converse. His midnight black hair in a wavy mess, slight bags under his eyes, and his lips slightly tainted with an orange tint as if he was eating something.

“You’re late.” He states the obvious while opening the door wider to allow your entrance.

“I’m so sorry. I can exp-”

He cuts you off nonchalantly not letting you speak any further,

“I finished a few mixes, to give you different options so I’ll let you hear them and then you can let me know which ones you like the most.”

You stand there, nodding in agreement. Trying to hide the annoyance under your expression. “Sounds great!” You smile nervously, but he brushes it off and proceeds to sit at his desk fumbling with some software on his Mac. You find a seat on the leather sofa behind him. You notice an empty instant ramen cup, chopsticks, and a soda can on the coffee table in front of you.

The both of you spent hours, reviewing the different mixes he came up with for each song. It was crucial to get the sound you mostly wanted. After all, it is your first album and you have to release a killer one. Most importantly, you wanted to show the strong passion you have for your craft.

Your thoughts on Suga were undetermined. The moments you did spend with him, recording your previous single, were often awkward or uneasy. This was because he always seemed to be a “stand off-ish” type of guy. Not really holding much of a conversation, sometimes cutting you off, or hardly making eye contact with you. You weren’t sure if it was intentional, but you try not to think of it too much.

Although, after a few shots of soju he gradually opened up, and he didn’t seem so bad after all. You both shared each others dreams and aspirations in life. He even told you his real name is Yoongi. The more he opened up, the more attractive he seemed to you. Not that he was never attractive to you before, because he was and still is. You think he’s sexy actually.

You’ve always had this kink for his hands. Watching him tap the keys on his keyboard or double tap using his mouse or even when he plays with his equipment, because of the way the veins in his hands are so defined and pop whenever he does something to make his hands flex. Seriously just the sight of his hands alone is enough to have you pooling down below.

His eyes are also what get you sometimes.The moments he does make eye contact with you, you savor every second. Sometimes you even play with yourself while looking at his Facebook profile pictures, but of course you don’t tell him that. So yes, maybe you do have a little crush on him. But seriously, who wouldn’t?

Suga even gets off on you in private, mainly at the studio. He’s able to replay any recordings he has of your voice. Raw and unedited. He especially loves when you both spend an entire day together in his studio. Your angelic voice and the way it hits those high notes is what really gets him.

He imagines what it would sound like to have you hitting those same notes while he’s banging you out. This would explain why he acts so oddly around you. But of course, he doesn’t directly tell you this.

The night slowly crept up on the both of you, and things get a little hazier. Suga had set up his Bluetooth speaker earlier, playing a mix of songs from his Spotify playlist at a low volume. You faintly hear an old song playing, and naturally bop your head.

“OMG. Is this Biggie? Big Poppa?!”

“Of course. It’s a hip hop classic.”

“No way!” You’re obviously tipsy at this point, but take another shot of soju then stand up to dance along to the chorus.

“Forever a classic. Come dance with me!” Dragging your words, you reach out to pull him up but he refuses.

“Aw come on, Yoongi!” You continue dancing to the rhythm of the beat, swaying your hips side to side with your arms up. Suga looks up at you with tired, hungry eyes. It's late, and the feels are much stronger at night. He shifts in his seat and spreads his legs open, watching your ass sway in the liquid leggings you have attired.

Without a care in the world, you start belly rolling. Your back is turned and you feel Suga pressing himself behind you, following your rhythm. His lower area pressed hard against your ass gives you a cue to grind on him. He uses his large hands to guide them along your sides, moving along to your pace. You lay your head back against him, his lips a few inches from your ear.

His deep, raspy voice sends chills down your spine. Literal sex to your ears.

“I don’t think you should tease me like this.”

You smile at his remark. His hand travels to your throat, gracefully caressing  it.

“Your silence tells me that you do like teasing me, kitten?”

You turn around now facing him straight on and wrap your arms around his neck, looking into his eyes and swaying back and forth. The tension and temperature in the room is rapidly rising.

“Mayyybe.”

He slides his hand up to your face, using his thumb to brush across your bottom lip.

“I don’t think you should.”

“Hm.. why’s that?”

He bends down to your ear to whisper, “I think it’s better if I show you what I mean.” He pulls away, literally an inch away from your face, noses brushing against each other. Your cheeks are flushed, hormones skyrocketed.

“Mmm.. I’d like that a lot,” you slip out, the soju taking over your actions. And that’s all it took for Suga to meet your lips with his. The cushiony feel soaked with the sweet aftertaste of the alcohol he consumed. He applies more pressure, kissing you roughly that you wouldn’t be surprised if he swallowed you whole. Your fingers get lost in his delicate waves.

He follows your neck, leaving behind a trail of licks, bites and kisses. You naturally moan into his touch, and feel his hardened length rubbing against your thigh. You ease your hand to caress him down below. He finds the crease of your core, tracing it with his slender fingers, and snakes his other hand to squeeze your left breast, causing another moan to slip from you.

He leads you, not breaking the kiss, until the back of your knees naturally bend to fall back on the sofa. The anticipation to satisfy each other’s desires overcome the both of you. He removes your shoes, and you throw your blouse on the other side of the room. You arch yourself up to allow him to remove your leggings.

He pushes your legs apart and pulls your silk panties to the side, strings of your wetness connecting from your core to the fabric. You hear him whisper: “You’re so fucking soaked and I barely laid a finger on you.”

You lay flat on the sofa, the cool material soothing your heated skin. You pop your breasts out of your bra and play with your nipples, twisting and turn them between your fingers. Suga wets his thumb with his tongue and places it on your exposed clit, rubbing it in a clockwise motion and gazing at your expression.

You roll your hips at his touch, really attempting to push your pussy on his lips. He looks up at you evilly grinning.

“You want me to eat this pretty little cunt of yours, kitten?”

You eagerly nod your head yes. He gives you another grin and lets go, your pussy now covered by the silk material again. Your eyebrows furrow and you’re confused. You use your elbows to prop yourself up to find that Suga is licking your arousal through your panties. Teasing you.

He senses you will squirm again and grips your sides to hold you down, making you fall back down on the sofa. You can only help but moan now. Loud enough to drown out the sound of music still playing in the room. He reaches up to your mouth, placing his large, cold hand over it.

“Shhh. Can’t be too loud, sexy. There’s still people here recording.”

You felt like he only said that to tease you even more, before you could even realize he removed your panties he slides his tongue up and down your pussy and stops at your clit, giving it a quick flicking motion. Unable to control yourself, you gasp loudly at the feel of his warm, wet tongue making contact with your kitty cat.

“Oh fuck me!”

He groans at your actions in response and places his hand over your mouth again to muzzle your cries.

“Shit! You want us to get caught, huh? Does it turn you on that anyone could walk in here and catch me eating the life out of your pussy?”

You have to admit that there is a thrill in knowing you both could get caught and face major consequences. Your emotions are taking a toll on you. A mixture of grogginess with a sprinkle of a bubbliness. You’re slowly falling “out of it,” but still aware enough to know what exactly is happening. But it all feels like a dream. All those lonesome nights you orgasmed on your fingers, wishing that it was his fingers instead.

Your pondering thoughts are interrupted by Suga spreading your lips apart, sucking your throbbing clit with enough pressure to make your legs wiggle around. He continues sliding his tongue up and down your entire core, all while simultaneously sucking your inner lips.

“Fuck kitten, your pussy tastes amazing.”

Your kitty is as soaked as ever. He drops a trail of saliva on your clit, that streams down your lips. Then uses his fingers to mix your wetness with his fluids, spreading the mixture all over your inner and outer lips.

He stops for a moment to softly blow his breathe on your drenched sex.

Causing your entire body to shiver with chills. He proceeds to finish what he started. You grab a hold of his wrist, and grind your pussy along the pace of his tongue. His opens you up to push his tongue inside of you, basically tongue fucking you. Your eyes roll in the back of your head. The feeling of his tongue exploring your lady parts is nostalgic. You don’t want him to stop.

Sure enough he adds one of his lengthy fingers inside of you, getting you prepped up. He slowly pushes in and out back and forth. You try to speak but your words are still muffled by his hand. He decides to let go and warns you to not make any loud noises.

“Mmm, please just fuck me.” You whisper.

“Sounds like someone is impatient,” he replies while adding a second finger. His fingers pleasurably filling your hole and just as you thought you wouldn’t make anymore sounds. You both make eye contact, as he wraps those tasteful lips around your clit. Just the sight alone of him staring deep into you with those cat-like eyes, while devouring your cunt is enough to make you cum instantly.

You quickly cover your mouth with both hands to quiet your moans and groans. Suga groans against your core making you gush with more wetness. He pulls his fingers out spitting on your already wetness and using his lips and tongue to make those delightful slurping noises. The sounds he makes below you, along with his added fingers again are what set you off.

Even though you’re drunk, you know the need to orgasm has approached. Your back arches off of the leather couch, and Suga feels your kitty clenching around his fingers. He hisses at the feeling and watches as you tremble on the sofa.

“Mmm.. look at you cumming just by my fingers. So fucking hot and horny, aren’t you kitten?”

“Ohhh fuck!” Your legs shake, toes curling and grazing on Suga’s back.

He uses his thumb to gently rub your clit in circles again, making you squeal and jerk forward from the sensitivity.

“Mmm.. oh please! Okay, okay fuck!”

“I may just have to fuck you with my hand over your mouth again.”

He retorts while standing up to lick and suck away all of your juices from his fingers, then he wipes his mouth using the back of his hand. He reaches for his wallet in his back pocket. You continue to lay there still trembling from your orgasm. You hear a wrapper open and notice Suga removed his pants and boxer briefs down to slip a condom on his awakened member that leaks of precum.

His clothes still on, he sits next to you and gestures to sit on his cock. Still twitching, you crawl over to straddle yourself on top of him. You look down to part your pussy lips, while guiding yourself down onto his cock. Your head shoots up with parted lips, just about to moan. Suga notices this and hurriedly masks your mouth with his hand, and you groan within him causing a sensational vibration against his hand that makes his cock twitch.

You lower yourself until your slippery cunt is stretched and filled to the brim, clasping tightly around Suga’s member.

“Goddammit, you feel amazing. I wish I fucked your tight little cunt sooner, kitten.”

He covers your mouth with one hand and uses his other to yank your head back giving your hair a firm grip.

“Which is why I’m going to fuck you until you’re numb, to make up for all the times I hadn’t.”

He slams into you, not leaving you a chance to ride him with your own rhythm. Trying not to fall due to his rapid pace, you hold onto his thighs. Your eyes roll back and close shut, tits partially covered in your bra bouncing up and down.

Your screams muffled into his hand, enjoying the pleasure of him pounding the life out of your pussy. You’re pretty sure the slapping noises, of your skins’, could be heard from outside of the room. But in this moment, you don’t care anymore. Suga is fucking you in his studio, and that’s all that matters.

He comes to a sudden stop and uses this time to unclasp your bra and throw it on the ground. He wraps his lips tight around your right nipple and swirls his tongue on your areola. You run your fingers through his hair in response, while he stares into your eyes with your left breast in his mouth. He plays with both of your breasts, licking and sucking them with his slick tongue, twisting your nipples with his fingers.

“Oh, Yoongi.” You quietly slip, but he faintly hears. He pulls away from your breasts, and offers a sloppy kiss.

“Follow my lead, sexy.”

He lays on his side, and guides you in front of him on your side - in a spooning position. He wraps his hand from under you to mask your mouth again, and you guide his cock into your entrance. He lifts your leg up in the air, giving him a deeper access. His thrusts start off slow, but deep. Like balls deep.

Your warm arousal clenches around him, and you feel a faint tightness between the peak of your core and abdomen. His paces quickens and the slapping noises reapproach, turning you on even more. You reach down to rub your clit, feeling yourself on the verge of an orgasm. Suga pants, feeling himself out of breath but he keeps going. He switches up his rhythm, and this gives him an advantage; not realizing that doing so delays your orgasm.

Knowing he’s on the verge of cumming, he edges himself to last longer, by pulling his entire self out of you and pushing back in all the way holding himself there. Repeating this about 4 times, and coming to a complete stop to catch his breath. You continue rubbing your clit, yearning for a release. He notices this and bends your thigh back further and rams into you unexpectedly cause you to yelp and bite his hand.

He groans inside of you, and pulls out completely again. He sits up and pulls your body towards him, prying your legs open. He pushes your hand out of the way to rub your clit with his fingers.

“Oh fuck.. I’m cum...ming!”

“Fuck yeah, baby.. Cum all over my fucking fingers like the good kitten you are.”

Your pussy throbs of pleasure, and your clit now swollen of overstimulation. The orgasm washes over you fully, making your entire body shudder with ecstasy. “Oh my God, mmm Yoongi!”

He grazes his nails against your thighs “Turn around, need to fuck you from behind and feel you cum around my cock.” Your body is wearing itself down, but you obey his commands and get on all fours, his length rubbing between your ass cheeks. He admires this view of you bent over on your knees, a quivering mess because of him.

You feel his hands spreading your ass cheeks and flinch when his tongue glides one stripe from your hot, stretched pussy to your asshole. He lines himself up at your entrance and smothers his cock in your sticky juices, then lands a drop of his spit on his cock. Your walls clench as he pushes himself entirely into you.

The position giving him a deeper advantage to bottom you out completely. You’re for certain if he goes any further he will hit your cervix.

“Daddy! Ungh, fuck!”

Your cries cause his dick to throb needlessly inside of you. He hisses,

“Mmm.. what was that, kitten? You like when daddy stuffs you full of his cock?”

You look back at him and nod. He pulls himself out of you, making you whine at the emptiness that fills you. You attempt to wiggle yourself back onto him, wanting to be filled again but he unexpectedly slams back into you, making you jolt forward and gasp at how full he feels inside of you.

“Look at you. A whiny fucking mess still needy for daddy’s dick.”

His remark results in you gushing out more wetness and clinging onto his cock for life. You feel your hair being pulled back into a makeshift ponytail and the sharp pain from his hand making contact with your right ass cheek causes you to drench him in your juices. He repeatedly thrusts roughly in and out of you, your ass cheeks creating ripples from how hard he’s fucking you.

The squelching noises from your wet pussy echo in his mind. He slaps your cheek again, and he’s slowly running out of breath. The feeling of your tightness is too much for him to handle as he’s on the verge of his orgasm. He lets go of your hair and grips your hips, thrusting at a more rapid pace.

“I’ve waited for so long to finally fuck you. I want you to cum all over my cock, kitten. Show daddy how much you love having him fuck the shit out of you.”

Your body pushing forward on the sofa, you find anything to give yourself a grip so you won’t fall forward from how hard he’s pounding into your pussy. Suga gives your walls no mercy. Your core sends a signal to your brain that you’re finally tapping out. You feel that throbbing sensation coming back again.

“Oh, shit!”

“Yes, baby.. Can you be a good girl and cum for daddy?” Just when you thought your body couldn’t take anymore, here you are having your third orgasm. You lose all control over your body, shrieking and shivering beneath him. Steadily slipping into a state of reverie, you lose comprehension of who you are and what is happening at this moment. Suga literally fucked your brains out.

He feels his sperm on the way to combust any moment now. He pulls out of you and helps you onto your knees, holding the back of your head close to his cock while he jerks off. You naturally stick your tongue out. Hair clinging to his forehead that’s now dripping with sweat, his chest heaving and his sexy weary voice fills your eardrums. “Ahhh, fuck..” His warm, thick load smothers your tongue. You hold his cum in your mouth while carefully wrapping your lips around his tip, blowing bubbles with his cum and sucking it back up. He hisses and buckles his hips at the sensitivity.

You gulp his load down your throat, leaving a slightly salty taste in your mouth. Your tongue stick out again, but this time to show him proof that your tummy is filled with his cum.

“Mmm.. such a good girl.” He rubs your hair, caressing your head.

“I never thought you’d be such a dirty little slut for me, kitten.”

You simply smile up at him and respond with a hoarse voice, “Surprise!”

[thebiasrekkers]

Fragmentation 0.3 - MYG

Plot: How does one measure freedom? Are our choices truly our own, or are they part of a preset design outside of our control? We all have a question burning inside of us, though few speak it out. It is the question that drives us forward, seeking purpose in our lives. What is The Matrix?

Rating: NC-17 // NSFW

Genre: Series | The Matrix!AU | angst | sci-fi | action | drama

Pairing: N/A

Warnings: Strong language, allusions to suicide, extreme angst, graphic violence

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 2,206

AN: Now it’s Yoongi’s time to shine. And that is an allusion to different things. I’ll let you decide what I’m talking about. As I stated before, all information in the universe can be found on the official Matrix Wiki so please use that as a reference guide if you ever get confused!

Tag List: @aroseforyoongi​, @prisczero​, @pinkpjmin​, @btsaudge​, @flowerwrites06​, @unoriginal-username15432​

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

Heavy grunts of pain rang out in the storage shed. The distinct sound of something large hitting something soft echoed in the small space. A sliver of light pooled in through the foggy window, illuminating the particles of dust that lingered in the air. Every so often, something wet would hit the wall or the floor. Sometimes both.

“What’s the matter, Yoongi? Not gonna join in?”

A bat whisked through the air, coming down to land on a person’s back. They yelled out in agony, their fingers scraping across the dirt and concrete beneath them.

“Psh, whatever. You know he thinks he’s too good to get his hands dirty.”

A kick landed true, hitting the person straight in the ribs. They coughed, spittle and blood staining the floor.

“He’s not above watching, though.”

Min Yoongi’s face was as neutral as ever - giving away nothing. A cigarette was perched between his lips, the smoke billowing into his line of sight. He casually brushed at the sleeve of his school uniform, watching his fellow classmates pummel someone relentlessly with no real justification. Other than the kid was a scholarship student and didn’t come from actual money. 

Yoongi didn’t have anything against him personally. As far as he was concerned, it didn’t really have anything to do with him. But he knew that if he didn’t at least participate in some form or fashion, his “friends” would open their stupid fucking mouths and tell their daddies how he didn’t “play nice” with his classmates. These entitled punks were the future of the world - deciding how and when and who would climb up in the ranks in society.

Money talked and the circles that existed within high society were suffocatingly small.

“This is stupid,” he muttered, standing from his chair. He crushed the ember of the cigarette out against the wall before flicking it off to the side. “I’m leaving.”

The three boys stopped their assault on the freshman, eyeballing Yoongi curiously. Curtis, the one who initiated this little event in the first place, cracked his neck as he turned to face him fully. The smirk on his face practically dripped “I am a pompous asshole”.

“Don’t have the stomach for it, Yoon?”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes as he leaned down to pick up his school bag. “No, I just don’t have time to play your bullshit games today.” Yoongi adjusted his jacket sleeve so he could look at his watch. “I have piano lessons in half an hour.”

He bumped his shoulder against Curtis’s chest, silently telling him he needed to get out of his way. The taller man did, stepping to the side so Yoongi could get to the door. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he pushed against it and exited the storage shed. The beating continued and he didn’t look back.

“Young Master,” a voice called out to him.

Yoongi looked up, noticing his family’s butler, Roland,  as he stood beside the large black luxury car parked by the side street. He sighed, brushing some of his hair out of his eyes and then stepping toward the vehicle. Roland opened the door for him and without a single glance of acknowledgement, he flopped into the soft leather cushions of the backseat. The passenger side door opened and Roland entered, their driver pulling the car out to head for Yoongi’s next destination.

“Did you have a good day today, Young Master Yoongi?”

He shrugged, propping his elbow along the door to stare out of the window. “It’s whatever,” he replied nonchalantly, “same stupid boring shit day after day. What’s good about any of it?”

Roland cleared his throat some. “Tomorrow is always another day, Young Master.”

“Yes, Roland.” Yoongi closed his eyes. “Yes it is.”

Piano lessons went as they always did. Even when he was irritated, Yoongi always found a way to focus on the music. He didn’t even need to look at the sheet music anymore. He’d memorized everything in his practice books and took to adding his own variations to the music. Classic. Modern. None of it mattered. So long as he could let his body and mind disappear among the keys of ebony and ivory, then that was all he cared about. All he could will himself to care about.

As soon as the hour was over, Yoongi was forced to leave his small sanctuary. He bid his piano teacher farewell as Roland ushered him back out to the car. The next stop was Cram School. The moment of peace, his mental safe haven, was pulled from him as he was thrust into another suffocating atmosphere.

Once again, he was surrounded by the collective Elite - all born and bred for a purpose seemingly “greater” than themselves. A purpose that was determined before their conception; a purpose that wasn’t of their choosing.

It never was.

The real question was why? Why weren’t they able to choose? Who decided that choice was an illusion? 

The professor droned on and on. Yoongi zoned out about halfway through the lecture, his wrist moving back and forth - scribbling notes that had nothing to do with the lesson. Honestly, he wanted to ditch cram school and head to a nearby arcade where he could waste hours mindlessly playing video games with random strangers. At least in that kind of atmosphere, he didn’t have to worry about being judged. Yoongi had no need for a plastic smile and false compliments. He could just be an ordinary teenager and maybe, just maybe, he would have been able to make a friend.

But that was a reality that was outside of the realm of possibility for him. Min Yoongi was the heir of a multi-million dollar corporation. Friendship? Purpose? Free of judgment?

That life was far outside of his reach.

“Mister Min.”

Yoongi blinked, his vision focusing back on his notebook. He slowly lifted his head up to see that his teacher and fellow classmates were all eyeballing him. Dropping his pencil, he straightened his posture, feeling the heaviness of their gazes weighing his chest down. 

“Yes?”

“I asked if you would come up and solve this equation.” His teacher, Mr. Jameson, frowned as he set the dry erase marker down. “Are you feeling alright?”

There was a soft pounding at the back of his head, increasing the pressure behind his eyes. Yoongi pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to shake off the pain. But it steadily increased. He groaned, staggering to his feet. 

“Actually, I think I need to go,” he murmured. 

He reached down and scooped up his school bag, disregarding his notebook and pencil box that was still on his desk. A hand fell on his shoulder and Yoongi flung his arm out, knocking the person back roughly. 

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” His voice boomed through the room, silencing almost everything. For a split second, Yoongi thought he saw the lights flickering a shade of green. “...don’t put your hands on me.”

No one made a move to go after him. He preferred it that way. The pounding at the back of his head was increasing, followed by a distinct ringing sound bouncing around in his ear canals. Beads of sweat bubbled around his temples and dripped from the end of his nose. He ignored the stares of other students and faculty members of the Cram School as he stumbled his way toward the front entrance.

Rain fell in cascading waves, washing over Yoongi’s shoulders and soaking him through almost instantly. His eyes tried to spot where Roland was, but the black sedan was lost among so many other similarly styled vehicles in the area. As he turned to walk down the street, he felt his chest slam into someone. Stumbling back, Yoongi lost his footing and fell to the concrete, his bag slipping from his fingers. 

Looking up through the rain, he saw three men clad in suits. Even in the dark, they wore sunglasses. He found it a little bizarre, but kept his comments to himself. Yoongi saw all three men crane their necks to look down at him simultaneously. They made no motion to help him back to his feet and he, in turn, didn’t move from the ground. There was something immensely foreboding about their presence, causing goosebumps to pepper out across the back of his neck.

“Young Master!”

Yoongi heard Roland’s voice, but he remained focused on the three men in front of him. They never took their eyes off of him and he did the same. A cold feeling snaked up his chest, freezing the inside of his lungs and throat. He couldn’t speak. He could barely breathe. The pounding in his head intensified, his vision swimming momentarily.

Everything came into sharp focus when he felt his body being yanked up violently. His ears quit ringing and he felt Roland clinging to him protectively. Yoongi’s feet moved at his butler’s insistence, ushering him to where the car was. But just before they were out of earshot, he heard one of the men speak.

“See you again, Mr. Min.”

Roland quickly opened the door and Yoongi hopped inside, his breathing coming in swift intervals. He felt his butler slide into the seat beside him, ordering the driver to make haste. As he did so, he rubbed soothing circles on Yoongi’s back. It did little to quell the raging thunder of his own heartbeat, but at least he could hear the water hitting the window from how fast they were driving in the storm. 

“Young Master.” 

The sound of Roland’s deep voice brought him out of whatever trance Yoongi was placed under. Blinking rapidly, he turned to look at the man that was with him since he was a child. The look on Roland’s face was different; an expression that he’d never seen before. Or was it that he simply hadn’t paid any attention until now?

It was kindness and empathy. Like he, in that moment, could truly understand what Yoongi was feeling.

“R-Roland,” he managed to stammer, his hands reaching out to grasp the sleeves of Roland’s jacket, “w-what is happening?” He coughed. “Who were those guys?”

“Bad men.” Roland’s brows furrowed. “Very bad men.”

“How do you know that?”

“That isn’t as important as what I’m about to tell you next.” He reached behind him, pressing a button on the back panel to raise the divider between the backseat and driver’s cabin. “Young Master, I’m afraid that you’ve been pinged.”

Yoongi felt a lump forming in his throat. “What?” His grip tightened on Roland’s arms. “What the hell does that even mean?!”

“Now that you’re on their radar, they will begin pursuing you. They want to make sure that you won’t be able to discover the truth.”

“What truth, Roland?!” Yoongi felt the adrenaline shredding through his veins. “You’re not making any sense!”

“I’m sorry, Young Master, but I don’t have a lot of time to explain everything in detail. I can only help show you the way.” Roland gently urged Yoongi to release his arms so that he could move them. He placed his hands on Yoongi’s shoulders. “The rest is up to you.”

“Roland…”

Suddenly, Roland reached down below the seat. When he pulled his hand back, he was holding an automatic hand pistol. What calm settled over Yoongi’s heart was instantly destroyed. Roland pressed the button on the back panel, lowering the divider between both sections of the vehicle. 

“Wait, Roland...what are you doing?!”

The butler, the man who’d taken care of him for most of his life, smiled as he aimed the gun at the back of the driver’s head.

“Goodbye, my Young Master.”

He wasn’t fast enough to see what was about to happen. Even if he had, there was no way that Yoongi would have been prepared. The ear splitting crack of the gun firing off made him scream as blood sprayed across the windshield. His hearing was muffled and the ringing returned. Covering his ears was pointless, but he did it anyway.

Yoongi’s center of gravity shifted drastically as the car swerved. Tears streamed down his face as he saw Roland aiming the gun to his own head. The sound that erupted from his body was inhuman, like that of a beast crawling out from the depths of Hell itself. The second gunshot caused a flash of light to flare up in the small space as chunks of meat and bone exploded through the curtain of blood spray. 

There wasn’t enough time for him to mourn. Everything shifted into darkness as strings of green numbers and letters took on the shapes of the vehicle, the driver, and Roland. The terror scratching over his entire body seemed to cease. For a few brief seconds, Yoongi forgot about the two corpses in his presence and how the vehicle was out of control. Reaching a hand out, he tried to touch the strings of code.

The shrill sound of a semi-truck’s horn brought him back to reality. As he turned his head, he was blinded by a set of headlights. They blared on continuously, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. It was inevitable. 

Yoongi smiled seconds before impact.

“Welcome to the Real World.”

[notyetneedcoffee]

Not Exactly A Classic Dame 10

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC (platonic friendship between Steve x OFC)

Warnings: Nothing in particular in this chapter. Loads of angst.

Author’s Note: This is a short one... but more soon!

Bucky Master List / Main Master List

o o o o o 

Chapter 10

Natasha Romanoff stood in the doorway of the gym watching the agent assessment testing. Five agents circled the figure in the middle of mat. Many held escrima sticks. Without any real signal, the agents attacked all at once. She had to admit their coordinated effort was well planned and would have normally been effective. Unfortunately, their instructor was off his rocker.  

It only took a minute for them all to be painfully laid out.

She stepped over the fallen agents and scowled up at Barnes. “This is how you trash my program while I’m gone?”  

He pushed his unkempt hair out of his eyes, allowing her to see the dark circles under his eyes. “If you don’t like it, then get back on the job.”

“Well, I’m not just here to show you my new haircut.” Her brow rose.

“Great.” He just turned to walk away as the men around him crawled to their feet.

“Barnes.”

“What?” He stopped but didn’t turn around.

“Has anyone actually been left standing?” She asked. He just shrugged a shoulder. “Anyone put you down? Even to a knee?”  

Bucky turned around and gave her a blank stare.

“It just seems likes this has been more about you pounding on people and less about training.” Nat’s brow rose.

He stalked up to her, invading her space. “You have a problem with it?”

“Tell you what.” Nat smiled. “Before I take over again, you take on one more group but I get to choose.”  

“Whatever.”

“Perfect. Then get your ass back over to the mat.”

“Now?” Bucky’s brows rose.

“You need a nap?”

He rolled his eyes and walked back over to the mat. The agents from earlier sat along the wall nursing their sore muscles and bruises. Bucky held his hands out in a ‘well’ gesture. Barton, dressed in head to toe black that matched Nat’s utilitarian uniform stepped forward. Together they stepped onto the mat.  

“You’re not agents.” Barnes’ lip twitched.

“Consider it an exhibition then.” Nat lunged forward.  

The three exchanged lightening fast blows. 

A forth individual joined the fray, attacking Bucky low from the side and practically knocking him off his feet. He swung out with his left arm. Instead of taking the impact, they caught his arm and rode the momentum of his swing. They swung off his bicep, twisting around his hip and kicking him behind the knees. He hit the ground hard. Their rolled away, giving him space.

He was pissed.

Bucky flipped up and tackled the figure to the ground, right hand around her throat – He froze.  

He felt a hard jab in his gut. His eyes drifted down to the practice knife shoved under his ribs. Cassidy wheezed passed his grip. “Let me go.”

Bucky jumped to his feet, eyes huge not leaving the woman on the floor. Confusion slammed into his mind.  He backed up, not watching where he was going. Breathing hard, shocked. He ran into a solid body. Hands grabbed his shoulders. Steve’s commanding voice echoed through the gym. “Everyone out. Now.”

Cassidy got to her feet and removing her jacket. Her heart beat in her chest like the wings of a hummingbird. She swallowed down her nerves.  

“Let me go, Steve.” Bucky growled.

“You’re staying here.” Steve tightened his grip. “The three of us are having a little conversation.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”  

“Really?” Cassidy frowned. “So you’ve been good, huh? Happy? Been getting along with everyone? I can tell just by looking at you that you’ve been sleeping like a baby.”

Bucky stared off into the distance but didn’t answer.  

“You can’t carry on like this, pal.” Steve sighed.  

“What!?” Bucky pulled free of his grip. “What the fuck do you want from me?”

“I want you to be happy again. I want you to stop pushing everyone away.” Steve growled. “I want you to trust the people who care about you.”

“Dammit, Steve.” Bucky’s teeth ground together.  

“It’s been six weeks since I left, Buck.” Cassidy spoke quietly. “Not that much time in the big scheme of things. Then again, neither was the three months we spent becoming friends, or the one night I got to spend in your arms. It irreversibly changed me, though.” She’d thought about this a thousand times. Still, her voice caught in her throat. “I know you’re doing what you think you need to do, but what is it that you want?”

His cold blue eyes grew pained. He plead, “Cas.”

She stepped closer, placing her hands against his chest. God, he still smelled the same. Tears filled her eyes. “What do you want?”

Bucky’s eyes locked closed, head drooping forward. She leaned into him. He couldn’t fight it as his arms came up, encircling her. He buried his face, nostrils filling with the scent of her hair. His hands clasped her tight. He couldn’t catch a deep enough breath. He wanted to run. He couldn’t move. He wanted to sink to his knees and weep.  

“Bucky?” He felt her breath on his neck and he shivered.  

“You.” He moaned. “I need you.”

Cassidy sobbed as her arms came around his waist, holding him close. His fingers wound in her hair. She clung to him. A deep shaking breath left his chest, but it didn’t relieve the fear. Bucky held her so tightly to his chest. “I can’t let anything happen to you.”

“If you didn’t notice, I’ve been working on that.” Cassidy gave a watery laugh.  

Bucky moved her back enough to cup her face in both of his hands and look into her eyes. “This isn’t a game.”

“No, it’s not.” Her fingers dug into his waist. “I am never going to be that vulnerable again.”

“There will always be someone, somewhere.” He pressed his forehead against hers. “I’ve earned too many enemies.”

“Then we’ll be careful. I’ll learn whatever’s needed to give us the best chance. I’d rather take that risk than throw it all away on a what-if.” The determination in Cassidy’s eyes brought shameful tears to Bucky’s eyes. He should have listened, should have seen her strength.  

His mouth crashed into hers. Opening to him with a whimper, she met his desperation with tongue and teeth. Pouring every bit of longing, regret, pain and love into a kiss, they complete lost all sense of the outside world. Neither realized they were now alone in the vast room.

“I’m sorry.” Bucky choked against her lips. “Love you.”

“I love you” Cassidy ran her fingers through his hair, nipping his lip. “But don’t you ever pull shit like this again or I will kick your ass.”

His mouth opened as if to say something, but he just smiled and kissed her again. Bucky felt the harder lines of her new muscles. Hands pulling her close, clinging her her like a lifeline.  

“I want to come home.” Cassidy touched his face, tracing her fingers over his beard covered jaw. “But only if it’s coming home to you.”

“I don’t understand” Bucky pulled her close and buried his face in her neck. “I don’t know what I did. I don’t deserve you.” He suddenly pulled her up, hands gripping her ass as her legs wrapped around his hips. “But I’m done fighting. I’m taking you home.”  

TAGS

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[mouser26]

And others sail on the sea

Notes and musings under the cut at the end. Just a fun random AU story *~*~* There was an excited tension across the deck, the moon’s light was dim but it was more than enough for those on board to see by. They had been doing this work for years and they did it well.

Laurie sighed as they pulled silently alongside the smaller ship not that there were many bigger than their beauty these days but it made her stealth and the ignorance of their target all the more unbelievable.

“You would think they might notice for once,” he muttered even as he stepped to his Captain’s side, “The boarding party awaits your lead sir. Mister Mauve and the remaining crew are standing by to receive spoils and provide support.”

At the Captain’s signal the attack began, the boarders cheering as the made their way from one ship to the next, there would be no raising the alarm to announce them they were more than happy to announce themselves. The first of their enemies fell easily under their swords too shocked to raise their own weapons before they were cut down.

It was hard to blame the fools. Carrying automatic weapons befitting the century they were thrown by the presence of swords wielded by men looking like they stepped straight from the legends of piracy.

It only got worse when one did manage to fire.

Maroon simply smiled,"Good shot! Right in the face, and I thank you for that; bullet holes are a bitch to patch and this poor shirt has seen better days."

His cheek and jaw came back together completely unblemished as he spat the bullet onto the deck, a flick of his sword gutting the man in a moment

"Remind me to kiss it better later," Crimson teased from his left as they continued their advance seemingly ignoring all manner of attacks as their blades worked

"Darling you are always free to kiss where you wish-"

"After the fight I know."

The first mate boarded next, leading the support team. Each wounded opponent was summarily stabbed and tossed overboard, with a few being stripped of shoes or jacket.

"Look at these trousers, Mr Mauve," Alphonse pointed. "Those seem sturdy and unstained."

Mauve's eyes narrowed. He silently pulled a flintlock pistol from the brace across his chest.

"Strip him," he commanded. "I want everything from his carcass, including the ink in his tattoos."

As the oft-shot purple-scarved crewman began to tug at the man's pants, he tried to jump to his feet. Tried, because the pistol pointed at his face impeded his rise.

"Playing dead with me is a bad idea," Mauve whispered. "I play for keeps."

"Did you still want me to strip him naked, sir?"

"Did I rescind the order?"

The twins were the last to board making their way nearly unchallenged to the hold. They found the cargo the same time the surviving guards found them.

If their dress and weapons hadn’t been enough, the fact that Magenta was so clearly a woman pushed them over the edge.

“Fucking bitch!”

Laurie stepped aside as his annoyed sister pulled her pistol.

"She only has one shot with that shit.”

The pistol’s report was a slap as the contents of the leader guard’s head covered the wall and his companions.

"Don't need more than one shot if you know how to aim."  

A clatter and two more reports followed in quick succession, "Or several guns."

As the crew worked their way through the majority of the captured ship the captain made his way to the wheelhouse to face his opposition. “It's the Orchid, the famously cursed ship!" He heard the other captain hiss to an equally terrified first mate as both looked out on his own vessel.

"I'm curious," Captain Rubeas mused as he entered the room, "as to what you think that means. We roam the seas at night, yes, and sink those vessels that cross our paths. But your ship has called forth the vengeance of an enraged ocean."

The men jumped, the other captain snapping in confusion as he turned a shotgun on the interloper, "What?"

"WE are not cursed to sail, YOU are cursed with US,” the purple-clad man clarified in the other’s own tongue looking for all the world like a nightmare from a children’s book. One eye glittered dangerously as he stepped closer his single hand empty while a hook rested on the hilt of the sword at his waist.

“We can make a deal!” the first mate yelped the machete in his hand trembling as badly as his voice.

"And what exactly are you thinking the outcome of this parlay is going to be?"

"I have a gun! You have a sword and only one hand!" the captain snapped bringing his own weapon up as if it could be missed.

"Ah, but you have enslaved people whose sole crime was seeking a better life. The advantage is mine."

The shotgun was thunderous as it fired in the small space but the captain didn’t blink at the spray of shot.

"If you wish to beg for mercy, now is the time."

The second desperate attack ended in bloodshed as the two men rushed the purple captain who met them with sword drawn.

Laurie wordlessly offered a clean rag as he entered the cabin in the aftermath

"Thank you, Lawrence. What do we have?"

"Women and children, mostly terrified. They were heading to Florida when their rafts were sunk and their men killed. The crew is seeing them to the Orchid now."

"Make full sail. We'll reach the Keys by false dawn if we hurry."

"Aye, Captain."

"And inform them that the ship is not a vessel they wish to sail upon come the morning."

"Yes sir Captain we'll see to it."

Re-boarding their own ship Laurie veered off to relay the Captain’s orders and assist in the loading of their new passengers. He shook his head as he heard the Captain bellow behind him.

"Mister Mauve!"

"Sir?"

"Alphonse seems to be holding a row of young men at gunpoint. They've all got their hands cuffed behind their heads, and said cuffs are all they are wearing."

"Sir."

"He said you would explain."

"Sir?"

"Why are there half a dozen naked men on the deck of my ship, Mauve?"

It was a race against the sun, sails taunt with wind as they made for land. None of their new passengers had dared to ask what would happen if they were in open water when the time came but they breathed a sigh as the shore came into sight. The crew was as efficient in offloading the women and children as they had had been on boarding the other ship. As the sky continued to lighten they departed with the same desperate speed as they had arrived. The ship and crew faded as the sun finally broke the horizon, burned away as easily as mist, leaving nothing but another tale behind,

Yeah have no idea where this came from ... some weird Mix of The Old Guard and getting “Hoist the Colors” stuck in my head Started off as just vauge impressions of scenes but of course Foxy helped shape it into something more solid though I dropped some of the more jokey bits for a more vauge ‘ghost story’ feel. Basicly I see the Bloody Orchid being a double edged legend in this. To innocent travelers/refugees they are a kind of guardian. If you can you should bring a bit of rum or even fruit to offer as thanks and passage (obvs these refugees has already had theirs taken by the other pirates) To violent criminals/new age pirates...well you can’t beat the classics and there’s always a bigger predator in the water Also fun fact while Mauve is the First Mate, Laurie holds the ‘title’ of Captain’s  Seneschal That makes them technically of the same rank and they have split the duties of second in command between them with Laurie taking the more domestic/bookkeeping matters as well as being the captain’s secretary while Mauve has the more hands on ship and crew care duties. It’s a little extra but it’s exactly the kind of extra Captain Rubeas enjoys and it WORKS.  Happy Talk like a Pirate Day Mateys!

[combust-catalyst]

Sugar and Spice

[ Main Idea: You had decided to give a gift to Bakugou in a form of something to eat. Yet, when you hear that he has a taste for alot of spicy foods sometimes. You wonder if you make something that is both sweet and spicy! ]

[ Notes: Okay, this took me sooooo long to finish! My mind or mentally and emotionally, I’m going through some stuff right now, so that explains why I haven’t posted alot of stories. However, I do have other ones to work on at the moment. I apologize for any grammar mistakes. Or just in general any mistakes. ]

Gifts come in many sizes. Some come in surprises or gifts. After all, everyone loves receiving things from others or being the gift giver. Maybe for social impression. To get that one person you always want to be friends with or was already friends with, they needed to know how much you valued them. To a significant other, their existence in your life had brought you through ups and downs. The ideas and reasons are almost endless.

“How the hell am I going to make this work?” you freaked out over the ingredients spread out on you counter.

Here you was trying to make something for you partner. Wait, it was lover? No, it was special friend? No. It was. . . boyfriend. That was going to take a while to take awhile to set in. Ever since the confession, you’re feelings had been finally returned. Although, you couldn’t be exactly sure since the whole “love you” part wasn’t returned.  

You looked at bunch of recipes over and over again. You was aware of his taste of spice thanks to a fun moment of hot candies. You had ask to try one. And despite your experience, Bakugou must have found it rather interesting for you want to try something like that. Or it may have been he never seen you eat THAT kind of candy before. 

“I think I made a mistake.” you stuck your tongue out feeling the stinging sensation.

“You asked.” Bakugou claimed.

“You could have at least asked if I've tried spicy candy before!” you argued.

“How is it my fucking fault you wanted to try something.” he demanded irritated. “And besides you should know yourself if you can eat spicy things to start with.”

You huffed. 

He had a point. Although, at least a “are you sure you know what you’re getting into” warning would have been nice. Bakugou wasn’t wrong about knowing your own limits. Maybe you was wanting him to stop you or at least find it somewhat funny. Besides, people react to spicy sweets and foods can sometimes be funny; although, seasonings, not so much.

“I wanted to try what you like.” you mumbled.

“Hah?” he asked.

“You like alot of spicy foods, right?” you asked before you looked away nervously. “So I wanted to at least try what you like!”

“Are you trying to be ME?” he groaned clearly confused and concerned for your reason for risking the taste of some spicy candy.

“No,” you denied feeling a bit insulted from hearing that conclusion. “I just want to understand a bit more of what you like!”

There was an awkward silence again. It was a bit nerve wrecking to a degree. Perhaps saying that was not too smart. 

He turned around walking ahead of you, “You’ve been staring at me all this time and. . . fuck!”

And here you were; in your family’s kitchen. A bowl of chocolate and another bowl of spicies. You had decided to see if you could making some spicy chocolate for Bakugou. There wasn’t any crazy occasion, but you did feel the need to share your heart. And he did say “show me how you feel”. Perhaps this was what he meant.

You sighed, “I’m pretty sure that meant the fighting combat training from last time.” 

You could still feel the lecture from Aizawa. After that event, he had made it clear it was excused, but that would mean more homework for you later on. One your teacher seemed all too happy to oblige. As a result, you was given quite a bit of paper work to deal with. You had at first suggested joining back in, but was quickly shutdown because of how red around the eyes you looked and a quick order to stay with Recovery Girl.

You set up your laptop safely away from mess you was probably going to attempt. 

“Does even spicy chocolate exist?” you asked yourself a bit doubting yourself. “Does Bakugou even eat chocolate? Oh my god! What if my gift isn’t good enough?”

You cupped your face racing back and forth questioning this very idea. It wasn’t surprising to be a bit worried. You wanted to prove yourself, but you didn’t want to be lazy about it. It had to be perfect! It NEEDED to be perfect! You didn’t want his acceptance to be put in vain!  

You slammed your hands on the table, “I can’t back out now.” And then recoiled from the impact on the table. “Ow.”

The day had shifted as if everything was normal. Or was it? The day at home had caused you slightly miss a bit of sleep due to your “research”. You had arrived to school just like everyone else and attended classes. During lunch, you was invited by Kirishima to join him and Bakugou--along with Kaminari. Although, Bakugou seemed a bit displeased with you being added in. Kirishima welcomed you like a sibling. Kaminari was happy, although still curious over how class 1-A explosive head had caught your attention so easily. The conversation though was shut down by the very person Kaminari questioned about. Yet, it was for a good reason. A challenging one though at that. Meanwhile, your mind had wandered off to ponder who knew making chocolate, but a spicy flavor was much more difficult than it should be. 

On the way home, you trailed behind Bakugou staring intently at your phone.

“Okay, that shouldn’t be too hard.” you mumbled. “Though one of those ingredients maybe a bit hard to find possibly? But I can’t just quit now. I’ve only gotten start with searching.”

Unfortunately, you failed to forget who you with which caused your head bumped into Bakugou’s back who just happen to be stopping all of sudden.

“Why are you mumbling all fucking quiet behind me?” He ask a bit irritated.

“Eh,” you blinked before realization set in, “Oh! I was just looking at my phone on this new hero stuff going on! There is this one blog making some cool treats!”

“You suck at lying.” Bakugou deadpanned.

“I’m not lying!” you defended yourself.

“You’ve clearly been walking around with something else on your mind.” he rubbed his temples. “How else have you been mumbling all damn day, huh?”

“I’ve that easy to read, huh?” you nervously scratched your head.

“Like a fucking open book,” he resplied almost instantly. “What are you even planning now? And don’t tell me you aren’t because most of that mumbling has been nothing, but “ingredients”.”

“I can’t tell.” you replied just as fast as you looked away from him.

“Why the hell not?” he growled. 

“It would ruin the surprise---!” you explained before checking the time on your phone. “Oh, I have to go! I got to do a thing downtown in the mall!” You slowly slipping away from Bakuguou as you headed another direction, “I’ll see you at school, Bakugou!”

“Get back here,” he demanded but you had already dashed off again. “God damn it!”

Returning back home, you had discovered a special kind of chocolate, a spicy recipe. It seem to fit along with what seem available which was quite pleasing. And the ingredients wasn’t too hard to get, but you felt even if it as a problem, you’d work yourself to get them. 

“Now,” you said as you put on your apron and rolled up your sleeves, “time to start cooking!” 

You had already designed a special kind of chocolate for Bakugou. It was mainly a simplified design from his hero costume, but you made sure to emphasize the explosion in his design. After all, he wasn’t just called “Explosion Boy” by Kirishima for nothing. There wasn’t going to be any food coloring as the theme was still chocolate, but you powdered spices was still a thing.

As you proceeded to stir, you hummed in delight to yourself. The aroma was soothing. 

“I really hope he likes them.” you giggled as you felt your cheeks heat up. 

Arriving back to school, you made sure to carry the chocolates in a nicely wrapped box. It was classic, no over dramatic heart shape, but the colors couldn’t have been more obvious. With orange top and black bottom with a neatly tied red ribbon on top.

“Hey,” a voice called out to you. “You look really fucking happy for some reason.”

You squealed as your body jump up straight. ‘It’s not,’ you peaked behind you to see nothing there. “Oh, I must be hearing things.”

“Look in front of you, dumbass!” the voice barked again.

You jumped again. The gift slowly almost falling out of your grasp if not for your sudden adrenaline yelling at you to not drop it. It didn’t touch the ground which was a relief. However, your pose, while almost ballerina-wise or however it appeared could not be said the same. The majority of the students glanced back at you while some giggled. Was it from the pose? Was it Bakugou? You doubt it. Most just felt in different of him or just never cared.

You huffed a bit hiding your bottom face as you hugged the gifted tightly with your arms. It seemed to not attraction the ash-blonde’s attention as his red eyes was trained onto your own eyes. He appeared to be suspicious as one of his eyebrows lifted.

“What the hell?” was his only response. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“You scared me Bakugou!” you accused. “I almost dropped my stuff!”

“What stuff,” he inquired. “That box you keep holding so close or something?”

“Eh?” you blinked until you looked at the box you held close to yourself. “Oh! It’s something REALLY important!”

You smiled brightly at the ash-blonde. Heart beating at a rapid pace. You was certain you was turning slightly red.

The package was important. Yet, to who it was meant for gave a much higher importance! 

“Actually,” you hesitated. “Bakugou?”

“What,” he responded.

Skin mixed with skin; hand with hand, you grasped Bakugou’s hands which stunned the boy. You proceeded to pull him away from the students still piling onto school campus. The gift still kept to your chest and your face hidden as you pulled Bakugou away. Further and further away from anyone. A building a bit not far out in the open, but secluded area, you stopped to breathe. You pondered if you was gaining more stamina for all the running. Although, it didn’t last as he pulled his hand away from your grasp. The warmth replaced with cold air.

“What the hell?” he barked while you sighed to calm your racing heart. “What the fuck are you doing?”

You gave one more sigh and you bowed, “I’m sorry, but,”  and shoved forward your gift, “here!”

It was silent. Too silent. You didn’t move from you spot. Yet, you kept your eyes on the ground. 

You continued to talk, “I wanted to give you this gift! I know you said “show you how I feel, which I guess you was probably talking about my skills in the class before all that stuff happened! But I wanted to show it another one too! It’s not great or what you was demanding I guessing, but I don’t want to take your acceptance for granted!”

You hands began to feel empty as air flew by your skin. Your eyes came into contact with Bakugou’s as he held your gift. His expression a bit more red, but it was hard for you tell. His expression felt indifferent. His eyes glancing between you and the gift you had held onto so tightly.

A lump fell down your throat as he opened it. His eye dilated in interest and expression pure surprise. Your fingers jitters nervously as you tilted your head a bit to the side. A face full of concern.

“Um,” you called softly, “Bakugou? Is something wrong? Do you not like it?”

Another silence. 

“Bakugou?” you repeated. 

He was being rather too silent. Even for someone like him, who was loud and vocal in his social approaches; or some of them he was. 

“You,” he grumbled trying to cover his mouth as he seem to go red from ear to ear now.

Inside, you had made the chocolates in similar design to his grenades he would wear on his belt, but sprinkled a bit of green like powder. His signature explosive symbol that was from his mask design was on the side, but covered in a orange like powder. You didn’t want to go simple with hearts or balls. You wanted it to be more closely tied to him. Tied to Bakugou. He was special to you after all. And these chocolates had to prove it.

His constant staring had you on edge. You hope wasn’t freaked out or worried by it.

“You know you can eat it, right?” you reminded him which had jolted his attention.

“I know that!” he barked almost more red now. “Just not right now I can’t!”

Your smiled, “I’m happy you have it though. Maybe during lunch you try it!” Your enthusiasm was showing. “I had to look into some specifics ingredients that may give the chocolate a bit more pop.”

His back was turned to you as you continued to smile. He didn’t seem displeased in your eyes, so he must have liked it. He glanced over at you before pointing in front of him.

“You’re going to be late, dumbass.” he informed you.

“Eh,” you blinked dumbfounded with a smile on your face before it hit you. “Ah! Class!” And soon enough you was off in a hurry again. “Sorry, Bakugou!” you yelled, “Tell me how it taste later, okay!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied.

However, you may have called it chance or luck, but you was pretty sure you had caught him blushing, but it was more of a grin. 

[shookethbrooketh]

seven days

day two: part one

summary: dan is stuck in the wrong timeline. one day, he kisses phil goodnight. the next morning, he’s completely alone. he doesn’t even recognize where he wakes up, and little details in the world around him have changed. he has no clue what’s happening or where to go next in an effort to fix it; all he knows is that he has to find phil.

genre: sci-fi, a lil bit of angst, happy ending

warnings: none (for now)

fic word count: 4.3k chapter word count: 2.3k

written for the @phandomreversebang ! inspired by the awesome moodboard/edits by @maybeformepersonally ! beta’d (beginning to end) by @i-might-just-leave-soon !

read it on ao3

Sadly, however, there were a few things Dan didn’t know as he dozed off that evening. He didn’t know about the reminder on the phone he’d neglected all day making sure he, or the him that used to live in this timeline, didn’t forget about his first day on the production of Queer Eye. And he surely didn’t know that while he slept, as the clock struck midnight, the world began to change around him. It was like he slept in a protective bubble, holding him in place as the timeline disassembled and reassembled around his body. At 12:01, his entire universe had changed once again. Dan slept through that night in bliss ignorance until he was woken up and his world turned upside down once again. 

“Daniel!”

“Hmm?” Dan blinked his eyes open, and before he had time to rub the sleep out of them, he spasmed into an upright position, hitting his head on the back of the bed frame. 

He found himself in a hotel room with a man in overly done makeup standing over him. Everything from the day before rushed back to him, and it took all he had not to shout out, “Who the hell are you?” 

“You need to start getting ready for VidCon! Your meetup is today!” the man shouted at him. His voice was loud and shrill, and Dan would have given money to not have to hear it. 

“Okay, okay, give me some space!” he moaned, pushing the man back a little bit. 

“Alright, just be ready in an hour,” the man said, leaving through a door into a conjoined room. 

“An hour? Who needs an hour to get ready?” he asked himself, wandering into the bathroom. “Oh, FUCK!” Dan shouted, taking one good look at his face in the mirror. It was caked in makeup, but it had clearly been a bit smudged by sleep. “Oh, no,” he breathed, fear entering his confused mind. He rushed to find a phone back by the bed and ended up seeing an iPhone XR. “Shit, that’s gotta be expensive,” he said, opening it immediately with facial recognition. Immediately he found and opened YouTube and went to his own channel, something he was more than used to doing in his normal life. What he found was exactly what he feared: he was this timeline’s James Charles. 

Dan groaned, rearing his head back to the ceiling. “I don’t know how to do makeup!” he muttered, dragging himself back into the bathroom. On the sink was a collection of at least 15 different types of makeup. “That explains the one-hour wakeup call.” 

His eyes darted back and forth from blush to mascara to eyeliner to foundation as if looking at them each enough would show him what to do with them. Finally, an idea struck him. Unless YouTube was a completely different beast in this timeline, “Daniel Howell makeup tutorial” would be a fruitful search. It only took him a few seconds to find someone to teach him how to do his own makeup routine, and he was on his way. 

It took Dan about half an hour to do the makeup, and he was quite thankful that the Dan whose body he’d woken up in was wearing makeup already because if he hadn’t it would have taken him twice as long or more. He threw on some actually mildly tasteful clothes and grabbed his VidCon badge; at least he knew how to live this person’s life. 

Ready to go with twenty minutes left, Dan sank back into “his” bed and put his head in his hands. “Why the hell am I in another timeline?” he said, stressing a word every now and then just to exasperate his anger. “I’m never gonna find Phil at this rate.” 

He closed his eyes, attempting to hold back tears. He was sure a rich makeup YouTuber would have waterproof makeup, but he wasn’t willing to take that risk. Thousands of separate thoughts were running through his head, each of them desperate, but one stood out over them all: Dan did not want to go to VidCon. 

VidCon was one of his favorite places; it legitimized all his life choices and made him feel as if he was truly valued by the world. However, he’d never been to a VidCon without Phil in his life, and he didn’t particularly want to. He had fantasies about this VidCon--doing a meetup with Phil with both of them out and proud, hugging their fans tight and supporting them the way they supported the two of them--but now that was all gone, and he was left with a pound of makeup on his face and a bunch of people who didn’t even know him for who he truly was. 

His “friend” and apparently manager, whose name he eventually learned was, ironically, James, retrieved him and led him to the venue. He was lucky for that; he obviously hadn’t been told ahead of time where the meet and greet was, and between his height, his makeup, and his assumed fame, he had a feeling it wouldn’t be wise to mingle with the fans to find directions. 

“Aight, you’ve got a few minutes until the meetup; you can hang out here,” said James, leaving him in a sort of a green room. There was a wall in between them, and he could still hear the screaming fans. He’d never met fans alone before, and he was honestly a bit scared, especially without knowing what sort of fanbase the him of this timeline appealed to. He spent an immeasurable amount of time in his own head, searching aimlessly for something to calm his nerves. If only Phil were there with him…

Suddenly, a thought hit Dan. Maybe Phil was there with him. He’d yet to research the Phil of this timeline, so there was nothing telling him that he wasn’t still a YouTuber or that he wasn’t just halfway across the convention center. Dan whipped out the phone in his pocket and searched “Phil Lester” on Twitter for a second tie, and deja vu struck as he once again came up empty handed. 

“Damnit!” he cried out, but he had no time to mourn, for James had just thrown open the door and informed him that it was time for the meetup. Dan, taken by surprise, threw his phone down and jumped up. “Cool, let’s go!” he responded awkwardly. James furrowed his brow for a moment before eventually deciding to ignore Dan’s odd behavior and simply turning on his heel and leaving. Dan took a deep breath and followed, leaving in the opposite direction in which he came in, and he found himself behind a classic meetup photo background. This, at least, was something he was comfortable with. He put on his performer’s smile and stepped out from behind the curtain. 

Dan had certainly endured screaming teenage girls before; after all, he’d done two tours full of them. But this was a completely different animal entirely. It took all of his strength to smile and wave rather than double over with his hands over his ears. At this point, Dan was losing hope that his otherworldly counterpart wasn’t involved in some ridiculous controversy. 

At that moment, it dawned on the theatre kid still dwelling inside him that he probably should have researched his role before stepping out onstage. He was meant to put on a face and pretend to be someone else, and he hadn’t even a clue who he was to be. 

Before he even had enough time to think, the first fans were stepping up to meet him. Now, Dan had done over a hundred meetups, and even on his worst days, he’d always been attentive to each fan and been careful to make each one’s time the best thirty seconds to a minute they’d ever had. This time, however, was a bit different. 

Sure, he tried his best to act normal, but he quite simply wasn’t. He felt as if he was a fraud, given that technically he sort of was. No matter how much effort he put forth, these people were getting cheated out of meeting their idol. Well, hopefully they’d never know the difference. 

As a general rule of thumb, Dan had decided to go through the meetup emotionless. This was a bit difficult, as he and Phil had planned to, in their VidCon meetup, connect more emotionally to their fans, especially their LGBT+ fans, than ever before. But these people weren’t really his fans, and it was difficult for him to emotionally invest himself in speaking to people who didn’t really love HIS videos. Besides, he needed to keep his eyes on the prize: get through this meetup, then go back to looking for Phil. 

As the queue moved closer, he noticed one black-haired head sticking out above the others. His eyes widened, and his eyes focused on the back of a head facing someone else in the line. “Hi!” someone shouted, and his attention was forced back to the fans meeting him at that particular moment. Suddenly it became even more difficult for him to focus on the fans; he had to see the tall, Phil-like man’s face, but every time he looked up the man was facing the other direction. He felt as if the world refused to let them near each other, even though the chances that it was actually Phil were little to none.

Finally, he reached the front of the line, and the girl he’d been engrossed with conversation in poked him. “It’s your turn!” she whisper-screamed, and he jumped. 

“Oh!” he exclaimed, absentmindedly turning forward, and Dan’s heart skipped a beat. Sure enough, the face looking back at him was the face he’d fallen asleep beside every night for nearly nine years. The only difference: the man on the other side was none the wiser. 

“Oh my goodness, hi!” he squealed through a broad smile. Dan was almost taken aback by it; the Phil he knew wasn’t exactly a squealer, and he definitely didn’t have an American accent. He was quite the different Phil, but he certainly was Phil; there was no doubting it. Phil started speaking again, his words slurring together with nerves. “Iknow it’s sorta odd for youta meet afan who’sactually older thanyou but I hope you don’t find me tooweird…” he trailed off, clearly absolutely terrified to be speaking to Dan.

At this point, time seemed to completely stop. Dan had seen Phil like this, sure, but never for something as simple as a meetup. It completely blew his mind to watch Phil absolutely lose it over the chance to meet him. Phil, the man who he’d known for ten years. Phil, the man who he’d kissed countless times. Phil, who was supposed to be standing beside him on the other side of the meetup, was instead sweating through his clothes because he loved Dan so much. Inside his head, Dan chuckled. He had no idea. 

And Dan had no idea how to respond. There was no response to the person you love more than anyone or anything else in the world completely forgetting you. He wasn’t really sure what to do except for what he always did. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, I promise,” he said, wrapping his arms around Phil. This wasn’t abnormal, as he’d done it for every fan thus far, but this time, it lingered a little longer, and it started much sooner than it should have. Still, he kept Phil close for more reasons than he could even begin to identify. Just having Phil there comforted his woes from the last day and a half, filled him with the love he’d always felt from Phil, and encited pure fear in him that he’d never see Phil again, all at one time. Finally, after what felt like only a millisecond but was clearly too long to be appropriate for a creator meeting a fan, Dan released Phil, and he was relieved to find that he was smiling. 

“Thanks,” Phil said, taking a deep breath. “I’m Phil, by the way.” It wasn’t until then that Dan really took Phil in; he was wearing his glasses, which brought a grin to Dan’s face; every universe’s Phil should wear his glasses constantly. It’s what everyone who encounters him deserves. He wore an outfit that reminded Dan of something he’d wear to their own meetup. It was interesting, Dan thought, how some fundamental things about Phil refused to change, even in an alternate universe. 

“Do you have something you’d like me to sign?” he asked. Phil nodded and handed over a pride flag. A burst of relief shot through Dan; Phil was still the same Phil. “I-I’d like to give you this, too,” he said, shakily handing over what appeared to be a drawing. As soon as Dan finished signing the flag, he snatched the drawing as if it were the Holy Grail and examined it; it was a picture of Dan, with every intricate detail drawn out. His dimples were deep, and every curl on his head was intentionally placed. He wore science-themed makeup, and Dan wasn’t even exaggerating when he said it was the best fanart he’d ever seen. “I’m a scientist, so…” 

It was like he was falling in love all over again. “Wow, Phil...This is amazing. Absolutely amazing. I had no idea you could draw like this!” 

“Well…” he stammered, “I don’t think you really know me at all.” 

“Oh, yeah, right,” Dan let out, disappointment evident in his voice. At this point, even Phil’s radiating awkwardness had dissipated into pure confusion. Dan had to think fast, and, through some miracle, he did. “Did you post this online? I’d love to show it some love.”

“Oh, yeah!” Phil said, confusion immediately being replaced by excitement. He was clearly still a bit nervous, but he seemed much more comfortable around Dan. That was a start. “I’m on Twitter @AmazingPhil.” Dan almost winced. How dumb could he be? He made a mental note: next time, search the name AND the handle.

“I’ll definitely check that out,” Dan said, beaming. “Thank you for this.” 

“You’re welcome,” Phil said, and the VidCon employees were ushering him on. Dan wanted to yell at them, to keep him there forever, but there was only so much he could do. 

“Have a great day!” Dan shouted as he watched the love of his life walk out of it clueless. He sighed, and muttered under his breath, “I love you.” 

[thehelleniclunarwitch]

The Murder Academy 03

Read the first part of the series here

TMA 01     TMA 02

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

Y/n sat in the back of the ambulance. She had a nasty gash across her eyebrow. Her left arm was broken. They had stitched up her wound and stabilized her arm. They would have to take her into the hospital. Y/n knew her time was up. If they took her to the hospital, they would have to have her personal information. And once they had that she was sure that they would see that she was a missing person. 

“There’s no need to fucking take her!” Diego snarled. 

“Diego,” Y/n’s soft voice called out to him. 

“Sir, your girlfriend is hurt we need to take her in,” The paramedic said. 

“Excuse me, I’m a medically trained doctor. I can take care of her myself,” Pogo said pushing himself through the crowd. 

The paramedics eyed him up and down. They looked back to Y/n. 

“This is really your decision,” The second paramedic said.

His partner shot him a killer glare. 

“I’ll stay,” Y/n said as she began to scoot off the edge of the ambulance. 

Five and Diego both helped her up to her feet. Pogo pushed the two boys towards the house to keep Diego from snapping at the paramedics. Y/n leaned into Diego. She was tired and her whole body hurt. Five stayed close with them, brushing off their siblings as they lead Y/n down to the basement. 

Downstairs, Y/n sat on the table. Diego was pacing back and forth. Five leaned against the wall carefully watching his brother and Y/n. He could tell that there was something on the tip of Y/n’s tongue. She watched Diego with cautious eyes. 

“Y/n what’s on your mind?” Five asked. 

She looked at Five with a murderous glare. Five didn’t care. He wanted to help. If she knew something then she needs to be telling them.

“I don’t even know if it will amount to anything,” Y/n began. 

“What do you mean?” Diego asked stopping in his place. 

“Before I blacked out I swore I saw a familiar face looking over me,” Y/n explained. 

“Who did you see?” Five asked. 

“That’s the thing I shouldn’t have been able to see him,” Y/n said. 

“Y/n, who did you see?” Five repeated the question. 

Y/n gulped. “Leonard Peabody,”

“He’s dead,” Diego said coldly. 

Y/n only shook her head. Diego returned to pacing. Five was still watching her carefully. She was white as a ghost. The poor girl was terrified and Diego had blown her off. Five pushed off the wall to go and sit next to Y/n. 

“Y/n, you watched Leonard die,” Five reminded her. 

“I know. That’s why it doesn’t make sense. But when I was trying to blink through the darkening vision I saw him looking down at me,” Y/n explained. 

“Could there have been any way that he faked his death?” Five asked looking up to his brother. 

“I was the one to pull the trigger. He’s dead,” Diego coldly said. 

Five returned his attention to Y/n. “Okay, you were hurt. You were confused. Maybe you have a concussion and that made you hallucinate that Leonard was standing above you,” 

Y/n slowly nodded. “Maybe,” 

Pogo entered the room. Everyone fell silent. 

“Both of you out,” Pogo demanded. 

“But,” Diego and Five tried arguing. 

“Do not make me repeat myself,” Pogo said. 

Diego and Five hung their heads as they left the room. Neither of them bothered to shut the door. Pogo walked over to Y/n, but she was too busy trying to listen to what Diego and Five were arguing about. 

“Stop interfering,” Diego snapped. 

“Your girlfriend is scared shitless and saw someone who terrifies her and you blew her off,” Five snapped. 

“It’s not up to you to coddle her,” Diego growled. 

“Why would you just blow her off like that?” Five asked. 

“Because there’s no reason to scramble and look into anything when I know that Leonard Peabody is dead since I was the one to murder him,” Diego shot back. 

“Fine, you don’t have to scramble to look into it, but you could fucking reassure her that she’s safe here,” Five snarled. 

The pair fell silent. 

“What are you up to, Five?” Diego asked. 

“What are you talking about?” Five scoffed. 

“Ever since I’ve brought Y/n here you’ve been glued to her side. Any time I want some alone time with my girlfriend you magically show up, flutter your eyes at her, and she’s bringing you along with us. So, what’s your fucking deal with my girlfriend?” Diego spat. 

“Jesus, Diego, there’s nothing. I just like her company. It’s nice to spend time with someone who isn’t a fucking sibling,” Five roared. 

“If you have feelings for my girlfriend,” Diego started. 

“Oh, fuck off,” Five snarled before storming away. 

Diego followed suit and stormed off to his own room. Y/n sat on the table staring wide-eyed at the door. Pogo was carefully setting her arm to be placed in a cast. 

“Don’t let them get to you,” Pogo said. 

Y/n slowly looked over at him. 

“Those two have always been competitive with each other,” Pogo said. 

Y/n furrowed her brows. “I don’t know, it sounds more serious than a sibling quarrel,” 

Pogo shook his head. “The two of them have always fought over everything growing up,”

Y/n fell silent. Too many questions were at the tip of her tongue. Pogo worked in silence. A good hour later once Y/n’s arm was set and in a cast, Y/n slid off the table. Pogo kept himself busy cleaning up the mess as Y/n walked out into the hallway. She could hear Diego grunting and groaning in the training room. 

As Y/n moved to head down to the training room, she heard something. Stopping, Y/n could hear a familiar song playing softly. Y/n turned away from the training room and started following the sound of the song. 

Y/n stumbled upon Five’s room. She could see the record player in the corner. Five was sitting at his desk hunched over his computer. Y/n leaned against the door frame. Her cast was bright purple and stuck out in his darkroom. 

“Fur Elise is one of my top favorite classical songs,” Y/n said her voice breaking Five’s concentration.

Five looked up from his computer and over to his door. Y/n stood there, still battered, bruised, and bloody, but this time the purple cast stuck out like a sore thumb. 

“Do you enjoy Beethoven?” Five asked. 

“He makes it in as my top five composers,” Y/n answered. 

“I guess I never would have pegged you for classical music enthusiast,” Five said. 

“Could say the same about you,” Y/n replied. 

“How’s the arm?” Five asked changing the subject. 

“Sore. Fine. Pogo doesn’t think I’ll be in it for too long. He seems to know what he’s doing,” Y/n answered. 

“You can come in if you want. You don’t have to keep hanging around the door,” Five said with a teasing smile. 

Y/n laughed. She entered Five’s room and began looking around. 

“This isn’t my place, I mean if you can’t tell it still has a lot of things from my childhood,” Five said. 

Y/n ran her hand over what looked like to be a chunk of metal. 

“Ah, the first battery I ever created for my time machine,” Five said wistfully. 

Y/n threw him a smirk over her shoulder. She stopped at the dresser. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at the old, rusted, and bloodied knife. She turned towards Five and pointed towards the knife. 

“And what kind of explanation goes with that?” Y/n asked him. 

“My first ever kill,” Five said coldly. 

Y/n looked down at the knife in her hand. The dried blood was flaking off. As her hand brushed over the handle of the knife the rust was rough against her skin. At the sound of Five standing up behind her, Y/n glanced over her shoulder. He walked over to her and grabbed the knife. Y/n watched him handle the knife carefully. 

“Will you tell me what happened?” Y/n asked. 

Five dropped down on his childhood bed. 

“We’ve always been the weird family, ya know? I mean adoption isn’t weird and different, but what sane person adopts not one, but seven children all born on the same day?” Five began. 

“I didn’t know that you all were born on the same day,” Y/n said as she gently sat down next to him. 

“Yeah, our father made it like his life goal or something to adopt as many kids as possible that were born on the same day,” Five explained. 

“But why?” Y/n asked. 

Five shook his head. “I don’t know,”

“So you guys were bullied?” Y/n asked switching the subject back. 

“You could say that, but it wasn’t any kid at school that I killed,” Five sighed. 

Y/n watched him with careful eyes. 

“You see my father was a mean bastard. We were raised like little soldiers. He didn’t even bother naming us. He called us by numbers hence Five,” Five explained. 

“But Diego and your siblings all have names,” Y/n said in confusion. 

“Our mom gave us names when we were older. I was so mad at my dad and the world that I refused to go by the name my mother gave me. I’ve forever been Five,” He explained. 

“Diego never told me any of this,” Y/n whispered. 

“He wouldn’t. Still, to this day Diego holds a lot of anger and resentment towards our father,” Five said. 

Y/n finally looked back up at Five. 

“What did you do?” Y/n asked softly. 

“Vanya,” Five began he closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. “Has always been the smaller one. The weaker one. Our father was always the meanest to her. The things he said to her were just cruel,”

Y/n saw the way his hand was shaking. She reached across and took his hand into her own hand. He looked down at their connected hands and Y/n squeezed his hand in reassurance. 

“You don’t have to say anything else,” Y/n softly told him. 

Five squeezed her hand back. “He wouldn’t stop. Reginald Hargreeves took the pure joy out of tormenting his kids. He’d never stop. Anything he thought was insecurity or a flaw he’d pick and prod at it. Even if you never thought of it as a flaw or insecurity you would once father got done with you,” 

“Did you kill him?” Y/n asked him. 

Five nodded. “Something inside me snapped. It was after training. Father had already made Allison cry. She had run off with Luther hot on her heels. Ben had to drag Klaus out of the training room to keep our brother from attacking our father. Diego was hurt. Reginald had beat him as a punishment for talking back. Our mother had escorted him out to clean up his wounds,”

“It was just Vanya and myself. Vanya was slowly taking care of everything. Father was following her around berating her. Calling her all of these sorts of names. She was trying so hard not to cry. Then he started pushing her. Every time she tried picking something up he’d push her down. Vanya was never one to fight back. She took everything that our father gave her,”

“I sat there watching him. My blood was boiling. He just never stopped. He kept pushing. And poking. Calling her names. Telling her that she was weak, worthless and that he should have given her back to the orphanage years ago. I don’t even remember picking up the knife.”

“All I can remember is the adrenaline fueling me. Next thing I knew, I flew across the training room and then I was on top of our father. I was stabbing him repeatedly. Over and over again in the back. He had no time to fight back. The blackness overtook me. Vanya never made a sound. She didn’t try and stop me. She didn’t protest.”

“When the blackness had faded and I came back to myself I stood there over his dead body. And you know what? I never felt bad. I never felt a lick of remorse. Seeing my father lying there on the ground bleeding out I felt relieved.” Five told her. 

“What happened afterward?” Y/n asked him. 

“Mom and Pogo covered up his death. Vanya and I never spoke a word to our siblings about the truth. All of this time, Diego and the others believed that our father died from a heart attack,” Five said. 

“Five,” Y/n said stunned. 

“I know,” Five replied. 

“Then why tell me?” Y/n asked him. 

“You know I’m not even sure myself,” Five said with a laugh. 

“I hope you know your secret is safe with me,” Y/n said. 

“Oh, trust me, I know. You have made it clear that you can keep a secret,” Five said with a small smile. 

“Can I tell you something?” Y/n asked him. 

“Since I just spilled the beans to you I think that’s fair,” Five said. 

“Has Diego told you anything about me or my past?” Y/n asked. 

Five shook his head. 

“My parents were something else,” Y/n began. “My mom’s been in a mental hospital since I was thirteen and my dad drank himself to death,”

“Hey, I have one shitty parent so no judgment here,” Five said. 

Y/n only nodded. “I love your brother, Five. He’s been a blessing in disguise and obviously, I want to be with him since I threw my whole life away for him,”

“Why do I hear a but coming?” Five asked. 

He could feel her hand trembling in his. “There is a part of me that still fears him as I see my dad in him,”

Her voice was soft and gentle, but he could tell that she was scared. 

“Y/n, Diego won’t hurt you,” Five started. 

“He may not physically, but I have this horrible fear that he’s going to destroy me emotionally,” Y/n admitted. 

Before Five could reassure her Diego was storming into his room. He saw the two of them sitting at the end of Five’s bed. They were holding hands. Y/n had tears in her eyes. His eyes darkened as he landed on his brother. Five released Y/n’s hand and stood. 

“Diego,” Five began. 

“Diego, don’t, we were just talking,” Y/n said as she quickly stood up next to Five. 

“Holding hands?” Diego growled. 

“My hands were shaking she was just trying to comfort me,” Five said. 

“And why is she crying?” Diego snarled. 

“Because Five told me about his first kill. It was personal and heartbreaking,” Y/n said the lie rolling off her tongue.

“What did I tell you about spending time with her?” Diego asked. 

“She came to me,” Five said with a small smirk. 

Y/n was quick to step in between the brothers. 

“Listen, Diego, I love you, but you can’t stop me being friends with your siblings. I can be friends with Five. That’s all. Friends.” Y/n said.

“I trust you,” Diego started. 

“Don’t worry, dear Y/n, it’s me that he doesn’t trust,” Five said. 

Diego took a step towards Five, but Y/n was quick to put her hands on Diego’s chest. Diego noticed the way she winced. He looked down at her arm in the bright purple cast. He bent down to kiss her sore arm. 

“Let’s get you some food and in bed,” Diego said. 

Y/n only smiled and nodded. Diego turned away and dragged her with him. Y/n looked over her shoulder at Five. He gave her a nod to reassure her that he was okay. Once alone, Five fell back against his bed. 

“You’re an idiot,” A soft voice filled his room. 

“I know,” Five sighed and looked over at the doorway. 

Vanya stepped into the room and shut his bedroom door. 

“Five,” Vanya started off. 

“You don’t have to lecture me, Vanya. I know I’m being an idiot,” Five cut her off.

 “You told her our secret,” Vanya said. 

“I know,” Five replied.

 “Are you in love with her, Five?” Vanya asked. 

Five said nothing. 

“Five, you cannot go up against Diego for her,” Vanya pointed out. 

Still, Five remained silent. 

“Five, are you listening to me?” Vanya asked. 

“V, there’s just something about her,” Five began. 

“Whatever it is, keep reminding yourself that she’s off-limits and you do not need to go up against Diego,” Vanya said. 

Five let out a long sigh. 

“Vanya, she’s just everything I’ve been looking for,” Five admitted to his sister. 

“It doesn’t matter, Five. She’s with Diego. I know our brother is cold and can be quite heartless, but he loves her,” Vanya explained. 

Five pushed himself up into a sitting position. Vanya stood there with her arms crossed over her chest. 

“Don’t do this, Five,” Vanya added. 

“There’s something there between us V, I can feel it,” Five said. 

Vanya shook her head. 

“You’ll see. I’ll prove it to you. To her. To Diego. That I’m the better choice for her,” Five said. 

“Diego is going to kill you,” Vanya whispered. 

Five’s face hardened. “Not if I kill him first,”

Vanya threw her hands up in annoyance. “You can’t do this to our family,”

“What family? We haven’t been a family for a long time. The only reason we all went running when Diego asked for help was because we’re all too scared of what the consequences would be if we didn’t,” Five told her. 

Vanya ran a hand through her face. 

“Five, please don’t do this,” She begged. 

“Don’t worry little sister everything will be just fine,” Five grinned and Vanya couldn’t help but shake the bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. 

Tagged: 

@i-alyssa

@hedwigmoss

@les-bio-lie

@ryans-mad-queen

@alysweets

@hyradun

@lollipopdomination

@awesometheydontknowiamhere

@buckyandstevegayornay

@anotherfanficreadingblog

@ampbian

@liveitdoll

@gerardwayslips

@snazzydoesthings

@gorgeourrific-nerd

@olkathefoxi

@umbrxlla-acxdemy

@soul-of-a-traveller

@harrisbn

@classyasssuperbitch

@misspygmypie

@officially-kendra-hargreeves

@rose-01

@carryon-doctor-lock

@ynm1505

@i-am-a-smol-sweet-potato

@klausbutgayer

@starkrobb

[gffa]

Hi! In my last ask you said you loved to talk so joke's on you, now I'm gonna flood you with questions xD There are a few things I'd like to have your thoughts on, from a nebie perspective. Here's the first one. Even when I hadnt' wathced the movies yet, I had inevitably heard a lot of negative things about the prequels. What are the reasons in your opinion? And since you are so positive about them, I would ask you to instead highlight some of their strongest points :)

Hello!  You act like I don’t mean it when I say I love to talk, but BOY DO I.  :DPrequels hate is one of those things that I think comes from a variety of places, so there are common trends, but we’re never going to be able to cover all the reasons every single person dislikes them, and I’m not even going to try.  These are going to be true for a lot of people, but there are going to be a bunch that have their own reasons that I’ve never thought much about–sometimes trash reasons, sometimes valid reasons.Mostly, it comes down to how they conduct themselves, that if someone just doesn’t like the prequels for whatever reason, but they’re perfectly kind to those who do, then their reasons are entirely valid for them and I have zero problem with them!  I have friends who aren’t really that keen on the prequels and we get along fine, because they’re sweethearts and I hope I can return even half as much civility.  (This applies to everything I like and someone else doesn’t.)That said, some of the biggest reasons people dislike the prequels, in my experience:- There’s a trend of people who really wanted Darth Vader to be a power fantasy character, to be an awesome badass, rather than a hot mess.  This tends to go hand in hand with people disliking the way Hayden Christensen played the character, because he was very attractive, because he was a whiny teenager, because he was an anxious mess, because he didn’t have this strong core identity.  I think this is part of the TCW!Anakin tends to be more popular with some people, because that Anakin does project himself better, Matt Lanter plays the character with a more polished voice and he’s more traditionally angry about stuff, instead of teary-eyed, fidgety angry that Hayden played him as.I’ve said this a bunch of times, but I think a lot of people disregard Hayden’s acting because they think Anakin is supposed to project this strong sense of self, that he should have a strong voice (literally and figuratively), that he should be clear-eyed and hold himself up well.  Instead, his voice is often thin and hesitant or arrogant and whiny, he fiddles with the hem of his sleeve, he paces back and forth, his lip wobbles when he cries.And this is a brilliant choice on Hayden’s part, imo, because ANAKIN SKYWALKER IS AN ANXIOUS HOT MESS.  That’s it, that’s who Darth Vader is.  Someone who had all this tremendous power, who believed he was more special than everyone else around him, who wanted to be more significant than everyone else, who was angry and confused and didn’t want to do the hard work of really looking at himself, that’s why all the theraputic suggestions in the galaxy weren’t helping, because he didn’t want to, that’s why his countenance on Mustafar is hard as hell to watch.  Because this isn’t someone breaking bad in an awesome way, this is a tragedy.  This is Anakin Skywalker, someone we care about, going over the edge in an ugly, uncomfortable way–and Hayden portrays that beautifully.I think a lot of people really didn’t want that, they wanted Baby Vader being some demon kid or they wanted him to be a badass who just sliced through everything with his lightsaber.  Not a young man who was so destroyed by the loss of his mother that he killed a bunch of villagers in a tearful rage and wanted to be soothed and absolved of it afterwards, instead of a HOLY SHIT THAT WAS BADASS moment, we got an awful, ugly moment in a way that we should think was awful and ugly.- George Lucas was always interested in pushing the boundaries of what was possible, which means that a lot of the stuff they were going (like the motion capture stuff, the background scenery CGI, etc.) are things that they had to create entirely new tech for, sometimes stuff that was so bleeding edge and so well done that they’re still using the same tech today.  But, because it was such new tech at the time, it doesn’t always age well.  Like, ROTS still looks really good, but even I, a staunch defender, have to admit that the TPM battle scenes are clearly very old and not nearly as integrated as they would be today.A lot of people judge the quality of the movies based on today’s standards, rather than taking them as part of the time they were from.  As well as a lot of people really like a more practical look effect and, honestly, they used THOUSANDS of practical effects and models in the prequels, they just look so much a part of the film that we often don’t notice.- I’ve heard this said before and I think it’s a good point–a lot of the problem for some people is that, for a long time, that’s all there was of Star Wars.  Right now, if you don’t like the sequels, you still have a ton of other stuff to be interested in, you can read in a whole bunch of other eras.  You can watch Rebels or watch The Clone Wars, if you don’t like Resistance, it’s not a big deal.  If you don’t like TFA and TLJ, you can just go read the Star Wars ongoing comic or the first Darth Vader series.  Right now, we can even read or listen to a bunch of prequels novels!People have calmed down a lot on the prequels, in part because those who enjoyed them as kids are growing up and getting a voice in media, and partly because those who really hated them now have other places to do.  “Eh, it’s not my thing, but it’s not the ONLY Star Wars coming out right now, so I guess it’s fine.”- When TPM first came out, there was a ton of love for it, it’s just that reviews on-line turned on it pretty quickly and started spinning stories about how it was fucking awful, and those voices grew so loud that that became the narrative.  There’s this idea that the prequels were failures or whatever, but in reality, if you look at the box office numbers (especially adjusted for inflation), they made plenty of money.  They’re all within the top 100 and, even without adjustment, TPM and ROTS made reasonably close to $1B each than anything.  And this was in a time before Marvel movies were a thing, where we’re kind of used to that happening, but it wasn’t always such a thing.- A lot of people dislike the dialogue and, hey, that’s fair, it’s not for everyone.  George Lucas himself said that he’s the kind of wooden dialogue, as well as a lot of people have noted that the movies are based on a style that’s out of step with modern audiences (George said this as well, iirc), and if you go watch a lot of stuff from the ‘30s and ‘40s, you can definitely notice a lot of parallels in the style of the prequels.It reads as stiff and awkward to a lot of people, so they think it’s bad (and that’s fair), but I think there’s a large element of that it’s a style that a lot of people just straight up don’t like.- One of the biggest problems is that the movies were made for kids, not for the people who used to be kids when the original came out and they didn’t like that the movies hadn’t grown up with them in the same way.  The hated podrace sequence and Jar Jar Binks are classic examples of this–a lot of adults haaaaaaate those things, but if you go around asking kids, suddenly a lot more of them could watch that podracing sequence ALL DAY LONG and never get bored, a lot more kids found Jar Jar genuinely funny.George Lucas has always been upfront about how the movies are intended for kids.  That’s not to say adults can’t enjoy them as well, they’re part of the audience too, but they’re very much movies that kept a younger audience in mind, and that frustrated a lot of people who had become adults themselves and wanted a more “adult” Star Wars.So, it comes down to a lot of different reasons that people don’t like the prequels, sometimes they’re fair (a difference of tastes, they’re out of step with modern audiences, the pacing isn’t always great, etc.) and sometimes they’re bullshit (wanting the movies to be something they weren’t and they’re inherently bad because Baby Vader wasn’t an awesome badass, but instead a crying hot mess with too much power).Here on tumblr, there’s a ton of love for the prequels, to the point that I forget sometimes that a lot of the rest of the world still falls into being kind of dicks about the movies.  But every so often, I’ll be listening to an entertainment podcast and they bash on the prequels or Anakin’s character, or even within fandom, someone will say that the acting was terrible or the dialogue was objectively terrible, and I remember, oh, yeah, that’s still a thing.Things are easier now, those who loved the movies are getting a voice in the media, there’s more stuff for non-fans to concentrate on instead if they don’t like them, there are more defenders now, more pockets to get lost in, but for awhile we all kind of had to be jammed together and that mean some voices were louder than others.  And that got perpetuated a lot so that’s what you heard.  “The prequels are bad.” was said over and over and over, until that became the only narrative that a lot of people heard.Whew, okay, that was long and there’s going to be plenty of other reasons that aren’t touched on, this isn’t meant to say non-fans are a monolith in their reasons why they don’t like them, etc.  But those are the major reasons I usually see.  But what do I love about the prequels?I love that the characters really spoke to me in a way I never expected.  I’ve dealt my whole life with anxiety, depression, and a difficult time really looking at myself and facing my inner demons.  I relate to Anakin Skywalker in so many ways, and even when I call him a garbage bag, it’s done with such affection because, I have been there, my guy.  I’ve struggled to really learn to let go of things, to make peace with a lot of the shit in my head, so when the Jedi came along and actually had some really good advice about calming your tits before you hurt someone, that you had to have internal self-discipline to overcome a lot of the shit inside you, that spoke to me as well.  I strive to be a better person, to let go of the anger that consumed me and cost me years of my life and friendships.  I fell in love with Obi-Wan Kenobi, who is pretty much the best person in that entire galaxy, that he doesn’t have to be perfect to be wholly good.  And also he’s hilarious.  I fell in love with Padme, a woman who accomplished such great things in the galaxy, who could move metaphorical mountains, while still being internally fragile in a lot of ways, that her heart broke so badly, she just couldn’t keep living.  I’ve been there, too.I am IN LOVE with the worldbuilding of the prequels–the worlds of the prequels are, honestly, the best of all the eras.  Coruscant is incredible, it’s easily my favorite planet.  But Naboo is gorgeous.  Getting to see a little of Alderaan is incredible.  Mustafar was INCREDIBLE to see.  Geonosis and Kashyyyk are incredibly cool to look at!  I kind of want to legit take a walk on Felucia and see all the flora.  Kamino and Utapau look amazing, too.  Umbara and Dathomir and Malastare and Mandalore and Christopsis and Cato Nemoidia and Mon Calamari all look amazing when we get to see them, too.And I’m in love with the more fleshed out politics of the era because it feels like they actually have impact and weight there.  Politics has always been part of Star Wars, but we really don’t see it that much in the Rebellion era and not even that much in the Resistance/First Order era.  We may get more of it as the New Republic is explored more (like we do in the Aftermath books) and I’ll be fascinated then, but the prequels went hard on politics and, yeah, a lot of people disliked them, but I think looking around at our current day setting kind of proves just HOW INCREDIBLY IMPORTANT POLITICS ARE.If nothing else, I love the prequels just for the Jedi Temple and Jedi Aesthetics, give me ALL THE WARM SUNLIGHT CORRIDORS, the sheer sense of peace and harmony radiating off that place, all the incredible art and design touches in pretty much everything, the ceremonial dance combat we see the younglings do in TCW, the giant open hallways and verandas, the star map that shimmers into view, the robes that actually look super soft, the gardens that are probably everywhere in that place, GOD, I JUST WANT TO GO THERE, LET ME IN, LET ME IIIIIIIIIINNNNNN.I love the prequels unreservedly because it was the point where I felt like the galaxy was really a genuinely huge galaxy, it’s the place I get the best sense of scale of how massive everything really is, and it’s the part where I love the pieces and the characters the most.  I think the potential–and sometimes even the realization of that potential on-screen–is the most and it’s the place where I want to play with the world and the characters the most, it’s full of hilarity and seriousness, tragedy and hope, good people making their way through a shitty universe, but still trying to help as many people as they can, and my favorite dumpster fire of a character that I could spend all day analyzing and digging into the reasons why he chooses to do things and never get tired of ANY OF IT.Honestly, this is not necessarily a great list of Why The Prequels Are Great, mostly because *waves hand at the general mess that is my blog* pretty much this whole thing here is my ongoing attempt to put it into words and pictures why love this corner of the GFFA so much.

[ryik-the-writer]

Rumbelle fic: A Sitting Deal

A Sitting Deal 6/6

A03 Link

Rating: T+

Summary: With the threat of a rent increase being held over her head, Lacey E. French makes a deal with Mr. Gold to babysit his three-year-old son. Soon however the town troublemaker finds herself getting close to her landlord and son…which just can’t be good!

Note: for my Rumbelle Secret Santa recipient…@of-princes-and-savages, based off the prompt: Hey, who’s kid is this

Lacey began ripping off her clothes as soon as she entered her apartment, releasing a new curse as each item hit the floor.

“Mother everlasting son of a bitch!” she howled as she turned the shower to the hottest level, welcoming the burn.

She scrubbed her skin hard, taking deep breaths to ease away her wracking sobs.

What was she going to do? She was falling hard for the Golds and it was the most unnatural feeling in the world. Lacey wasn’t supposed to fall prey to domesticity. She wasn’t supposed to rearrange her life for other people!

Yet the very idea of doing just that was possessing her. How bad would it be really? To be a friend and companion to a trifling landlord and his heart-stealing little boy?

She was being ridiculous, she thought. Gold says a few nice words and his kid learns her name and she melts? What the hell!

“This is so damn stupid!” Lacey groaned as she collapsed into her bed in nothing but a towel.

There had to be a way for her to wrap her head around all of this, to come up with a plan. She could just quit, but the idea of not seeing that curly-haired heartthrob every day was too painful to think of at the moment.

And Lacey E. French was no quitter, at least not anymore…

The shadow of the past sprang forth an idea for the confused barfly. It was a long-shot, and would probably end in a thorough smackdown, but it was the only shot she had.

With a truckload of hesitation, she called the one person who could help her sort through her most recent pile of wreckage.

“Hello?”

Lacey gulped at the familiar accent. “Belle?”

There was a brief pause and Lacey expected a tone dial to follow, but instead she heard a slight strangled noise.

“Oh my gosh Lacey!” Belle cried. “I…how are you?”

Lacey released a wet laugh, grateful for her twin’s invitation.

“Um, that’s complicated Belle. How about we start with you?”

“Okay,” Belle replied, sounding positively giddy.

Lacey listened somberly as Belle relayed her job as a grad assistant, her rough edged but soft-hearted fiancé, and of course wedding plans.

“I’m sending out wedding invintations later this week. Nick wanted me to have this grand wedding, but I know he hates big to-dos. I said I would be just fine going to the courthouse and then our favorite bar afterwards, but he said his colleagues would string him up over the physics department if he denied them this.”

Lacey chuckled. “I like this guy,”

“You’ll love him. He reminds me of you in a way.”

Lacey frowned. She certainly hoped the man holding her sister’s heart wasn’t a thing like her.

“Now,” Belle continued. “Let’s here about you. How’s old Storybrooke?”

Lacey scoffed. “Same as ever, though Granny added spaghetti to her menu for some reason.”

“Wow, it’s really come up,” Belle joked. “How about you? Will you be bringing a date to my wedding?”

Lacey blushed at the very idea of being serious enough with Gold that he would come to such an affair with her. Although she’d imagined him and Bae both would look just charming in a tux—

“Son of a bitch!”

“Lace?” Belle gasped.

Lacey groaned. “Belle, I’m in real shit here.”

She quickly relayed to her sister the weeks happenings, her deal with Gold, her time with Bae, and her strange uncertain feelings she didn’t know what to do with.

“Whoa.” Belle sighed on the line. “That’s…different.”

“It’s fucking stupid is what it is!” Lacey returned. “I don’t get it! I have one conversation with the guy and share some animal crackers with his kid and suddenly I’m a pig-tailed lamebrain!”

“Did you really put your hair in pigtails?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lacey barked. “Tell me what to do! What the fuck’s wrong with me?”

“Sounds like to me Lacey that you’re in love,” Belle teased. “Or more like falling in it.”

Lacey covered her mouth to keep from screaming, the words sounding more terrifying now that they were out in the open.

“I can’t do that Belle,” Lacey sobbed. “I can’t be…that!”

“What, happy?”

“In love, or whatever this shit is!” Lacey yelled. “I’m not right for them! I’ll drag them down with me! I’ll hurt Gold and Bae someway…I don’t want to do that!”

“Lacey calm down,” Belle soothed. “Please.”

Lacey took a moment to breathe, the light tint of static over the phone soothing her back into place.

“It’s okay to be afraid,” Belle coached. “It’s okay to not be ready for this. But it’s not like you have to marry him.”

“Oh god!”

“Hush, let me finish. You don’t have to jump into something you’re not ready for. If Gold’s really as decent as you say he is, he’ll understand! Just talk to him. Let him know how you feel and that you want to take this slow.”

“But Belle…” Lacey cried, her heart pounding. “He deserves so much better than me. I pay my rent in change and my first job since high school has been a half-ass babysitter!”

“Well…maybe we can open you up a checking account, and babysitting is a damn good gig,” Belle encouraged. “And as for you not being good enough for them…”

Lacey held her breath at the long pause Belle took, wondering if she was about to hang up on her and leave her to stew in her own disaster.

“I know what you did for me,” Belle said at last. “I know you didn’t go to college so that I could.”

Lacey’s blood went cold. “The fuck how?” she hissed. She thought she had covered her tracks!

“You’re careless Lace,” Belle pointed out non-accusingly. “You set your acceptance letter on fire, but you didn’t stick around to see if it burned. I found a piece of it left, and I put two and two together.”

Lacey groaned. Classic Lacey move.

“And while we’re on the subject,” Belle voice cracked. “I’m so sorry.”

Lacey blinked. “For what? You did great, and you’re doing exactly what you wanted to.”

“But you didn’t,” Belle stressed. “I should have pushed you to go to school, to do what you wanted. We could have split the money and taken out loans to make up the difference. But I was so selfish, and I thought you just weren’t ready but when you never mentioned Mum’s trust, I figured it out.”

“You were never selfish Belle,” Lacey promised. “You’re kind of right, I wasn’t ready, not really. And you were always destined to do something with your life, to leave this place. You didn’t need to wait around for me to do the same.”

“I would have gladly waited,” Belle said. “But you can’t keep stalling. You deserve to be happy.”

Lacey closed her eyes, feeling a comforting numbness seep into her bones. For so long she had been holding herself back, and now she needed to take a leap.

“I’m scared,” Lacey laughed.

“That’s okay,” Belle consoled. “No matter what happens it will happen because you were in control. And if by some one in a million chance it doesn’t work out, you know where to find me.”

Lacey nodded, wishing her sister were in front of her so that she could hold her.

“Thanks Belle,” Lacey said, the words coming deep from her heart.

“You got it sis,” Belle returned. “Now just what are we going to do?”

Lacey licked her lip, thinking over her options. She’d never been good a planning, and it wasn’t until now that hesitation appeared in her dictionary.

Maybe things would work out if she winged it after all?

“I’ve gotta make a blue print,�� Lacey said as she jumped up to find clothes.

“What?”

“Call you tomorrow bye!”

“Lacey wa—”

Lacey hung up on her beloved sister and prepared to meet her fate.

 0-0-0-0-0-0-0

He shouldn’t have tried to kiss her? What the hell had he been thinking.

Gold had bathed and clothed Bae and taken him upstairs for a story before bed. The boy had longed fallen asleep in his lap, but Gold had yet to leave the rocking chair.

He’d been fearing the worst when he first hired Lacey. He kept closing the shop early just to check in on her and catch her in the act, but he had been woefully shocked to find that—while she had created chaos—it was less damaging than he had expected.

She actually bonded with Bae and did so in her own unique way. It made him proud of her in that moment, proud in his own decision to entrust his son to her.

But his admiration of Lacey French had begun long before they made their deal. Long before he’d even taken in Bae at that.

She hated him as a landlord like any other of his tenants, but she didn’t gripe or moan. She pushed through, even if he had a jar of pennies by the time he got her rent. She’d wink at him when they passed each other in the streets but never expanded on the low-key flirting. She held her self with the upmost confidence and could look men twice her size in the eye without hesitation.

Yet all this time she had been carrying a deep self-loathing. Why hadn’t he seen that she was so sad?

Because he was a cold-hearted bastard. It was a simple but true answer. He hadn’t really cared for anyone, and Milah’s abrupt departure had him wondering why he should try.

But Lacey had changed that somehow, pulled the withered remains out into the light to rejuvenate.

He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what he felt for her, but if his want to kiss her early today was any indication, it was bordering on passion that her rushing out meant she did not want to receive.

Gold kissed Bae’s curls and carefully laid him in his bed. What kind of young woman wanted an old man with a kid? She was too young, too free to be tied down to such a commitment.

He decided as he took off his tie that he’d talk to her about it tomorrow. She’d probably feel uncomfortable and quit, but he’d swallow his hurt and pay her well before she left. He’d even offer to cash in a favor with a colleague from the nearest university to get her in so she could follow her dream.

He’d hate to see her go and lose the small spark of friendship they’d manage to create, but she deserved to take back the happiness she put on hold.

Maybe one day when she was done with her degree she’d teach him to play pool, or she’d come by his shop and just talk.

Or maybe he’d get use to being alone forever.

Just as he was undoing his belt, the doorbell wailed throughout the house. Gold held his breath, counting down and sighing deeply when his son did not begin hollering.

He grabbed his cane and swore to ram it down the throat of whoever was there. He had it poised to kill when he opened the door and found Lacey standing on his front step.

“Lacey,” he breathed, his heart picking up a beat. “It’s late what are you doing here?”

“We need to talk,” she stated simply, pushing past him.

Gold swallowed and closed the door behind him. “What’s going on Lacey—”

“I like you,” she blurted out, only a second of hesitation following her proclamation. “And hell, I like your kid. I don’t know why and I don’t know what to do about it, but I don’t want to act like I don’t feel it.”

Gold watched her fidget and tried to figure out if he was dreaming or not.

“And…years from now when I’m playing dinosaurs with Bae and I tell him about his mom, I want him to know that she was a total idiot because the second he was in my arms it felt impossible to ever let him go.”

Gold blinked, her words filling his chest with a suffocating tightness.

“Look,” she said as she hastily wiped her eyes. “I don’t know what the hell is going on, or what I really feel right now. Maybe I’m just being crazy or some shit but I…just wanted you to know how I felt so that we can get any bullshit that might happen over with.”

Gold stared at her for the longest time, his mouth slightly gaped.

“What!” Lacey cried. “So help me I will punch you in the ribs if you don’t—”

She watched him step closer—slow and careful as to not startle her. When there was only a gap between them, Lacey knew what he was about to do. He was hesitating, just like her. He was uncertain too, not wanting to push something that wasn’t ready to go forward. But he was awaiting her permission as well, and Lacey gave it to her by edging up on her toes and bringing her lips to him.

His were soft, the small bristled of unshaved hair rubbing comfortingly against her cheek. Her hand reached up to his shoulder, slowing rubbing it back and forth. The hand he placed around her waist was lighter, almost afraid.

When they pulled back Lacey was struck with just how brown his eyes were, and the faint scar on his lip that she hadn’t noticed before.

His eyes searched over her like he couldn’t believe what was happening. He had Lacey French in his arms and…she liked him. She actually like him!

“We need to be slow,” he husked.

“Yeah,” Lacey agreed with an excited gulp. “Figure this thing out,”

Gold nodded and for while they stayed comfortably in close proximity, catching whiffs of each other.

But Lacey French wasn’t one to stay still for long.

“Wanna have sex?”

Gold actively flinched, and Lacey waited rather patiently for his response.

“I…” he hesitated, trying to wrap his mind around the audacity that was Lacey French.

Finally, he just stopped thinking and took Lacey’s hand.

“Yes, I believe I do,”

Lacey smirked. “Great,” she began pulling him up the stairs. “Bedroom?”

“First door on your right.”

Lacey bit back an ecstatic smirk.

“Got it, gocha.”

Yes!