#those shoes are ridiculous…ly excellent

[whiskeywithrayna]

Hannah Waddingham on The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon, 6 May 2024.

[wimbledonsoot]

[the fall] - I'M LIKE A RACOON IN A GARAGE (ep. 4)

the plot begins to thicken as you enter the masquerade held by Mr. Jacobs in disguise and try to discover exactly what you need to know to incriminate him. as you attempt to interrogate him however, you see something that makes solving this near-impossible case even more difficult.

trigger warnings for this chapter: canon typical violence, karlnap making out + hints at Karlnapity as a whole canon thingamabob, alchohol drinking, being drunk, mentions of throwing up, implication of sexual thoughts, innuendo, suggestive comments, wolf-whistling

words: 2.4k

You would like to dig yourself a hole and die in it at this point, but instead you've got to pretend to be civil and kind to someone you think is maybe friends with a serial killer.

Which is honestly just not a good situation for you.

Initially, you'd planned to infiltrate Mr. Jacobs' house and then threaten him, but luckily enough, it seemed the man was having a party.

A large one, involving masks.

Which, of course, you were all excellently equipped for, save for your lack of any and all respectable (read: clean) clothing.

Which meant you need to commit some low-level crime (read: breaking and entering, theft, and assault. Just your average everyday shit).

Sneaking in through the window is simple, and the route to the bathrooms is easy enough, because here it is relatively empty. Mr. Jacobs has a large house (and likely a larger stack of money to go with it) and thus you're pretty much invisible. Luckily enough, however, you manage to stumble upon a group of people, and because they're spoiled ass rich ones, they're entirely too easy to knock out.

And then to drag to the bathroom.

You strip them down to their socks and underwear and then observe the clothing colection.

And curse god some more.

Because somehow, you managed to bag the most eclectic, individualistic, batshit crazy dressed people at this entire party, because the amount of furs and shit makes you want to run away and dive into the sea and then just like. drown.

Oh look. Fish scales.

You inhale deeply and bonk your head against the wall, groaning out.

"I'm not fucking wearing fish scales!" You protest.

"I'll wear the scales," Philza says.

Apollon winces, "I'll do the uh... bird costume," he spreads his wings, "these'll fit I think."

Phantom willingly goes for the whole-ass gold suit and stalks into a bathroom, while Dream eyes the lime green suit in distrust before picking it up and discovering the matching shoes, which are (hopefully) fake snakeskin cowboy boots. You can't help but laugh at him, and he sourly points at what they've left you with.

God must hate you.

Because sitting on the ground are two outfits, matching. One has a deadass cape hanging off of it, and the other's a suit with a neckline so daringly wide open that you really can't say you're fully dressed when wearing it.

And oh, lo and behold, they're both red as blood. Kind of fitting, at least in relation to your company.

"I'll do the cape," you say, hurriedly picking it up, "Sorry."

"I'll uh... figure out something with the buttons," The Blood God replies.

You shrug, a smirk on your lips, "Don't. It'll suit you I think." It slips out, you swear it does, but you'd be lying if you said that him blushing underneath his mask doesn't make your smirk grow wider. Seriously? What's wrong with you?

You silently go into the bathroom, but not before you hear Phantom snickering, "Smooth bestie."

Did he just say bestie?

---

Techno is seriously considering his life decisions as well, because the shirt is virtually buttonless and open to such an extent that it's ridiculous.

The buttons are open to as far as his navel (what was up with the guy who was originally wearing this - it's ridiculous?) but even when he does them all up, it still exposes most of his upper pectorals. It mostly lies in the cut, and it's still smaller even when he's shifted back into his human form.

Because there was no way in hell those pants would have been long enough for him.

Now, they fit well enough, albeit a bit loosely, and he'll admit that the outfit does look rather good on him. It's still a tad too revealing, but with the remaining buttons closed, he can live with it.

He still wishes he didn't have to do this in the first place.

Techno isn't super great in social settings. If he's being honest, he never has been, and that's why he's largely avoided undercover missions like this his entire time as a vigilante.

But now, he's got to go into the lion's den.

Fuck.

Plus, the fact that not only you're present, but he just goddamn called you darling and there's that whole cup of tea to deal with? It scares the living daylights out of him, if he's being honest, and it's not without reason that he's pretty determined to avoid you this evening.

He just hopes he can.

Because Phil knows that Techno uh... likes you, and Techno knows that Phil has this strange obsession with matchmaking that did, admittedly, end up with Wilbur dating his high school girlfriend Sally for three years now. So yeah, maybe it works, but Techno has shit to deal with, and he swears that if Phil tries to matchmake he will commit arson.

He can't exactly guess what happens next.

---

When you finally manage to make your way into the cape-adorned outfit and fix up your appearance appropriately, everyone else is already finished.

"That took you a while," says Phantom.

"Fuck you. Now, what's the plan?"

"Straight to the point, as per usual," Dream mutters, before continuing: "We need to infiltrate the the masquerade and find Mr. Jacobs. That means that splitting into groups is really our only option. Me and Phantom will take the top floor, and the rooms up there, Philza and Apollon, you'll take middle floor, and that leaves The Blood God and you, Y/N, to take the bottom floor and with it the ballroom."

Fuck you Dream, is the first thing you think, because why the hell has he decided to play matchmaker? He knows that for the ballroom you'll have to dance, because well, it's a ball, and he was 100% listening in on the conversation.

Prick.

But is there anything you can do? Nope.

Or, at least you think so. The Blood God has other things to say.

"Nope. I'm going with Phantom. You can go with Y/N," he demands, his voice sharp. You glance at him, planning to let him have a piece of your mind, but you stop in your tracks as soon as you see him.

Okay then. You were right about the suit looking good on him.

He's changed to his 'human form', and for a moment you think that the way his jaw curves, sharp and rather attractive, is familiar. But then the thought flits away as you spot the clothes.

Those pants look really good. And that shirt. And the colour matches his pink hair, tied into a ponytail, really well.

Damn.

"Yes?" The very Blood God interrupts your thoughts, and you clamp your mouth shut, blushing, as you quickly look away.

"Nothing."

You spot Dream rolling his eyes and prepare to flash him the finger, but before you can do so, The Blood God sighs and says: "Fine, I'll go with Y/N."

"You don't have to act so unhappy about it," you mutter, crossing your arms. He raises an eyebrow.

"Well with the charming company..."

"Fuck you."

The Blood God smirks, actually smirks as he turns away, stepping towards the door, "I do believe it's time we leave."

Dream grins and Apollon, never one to be outdone, actually wolf-whistles as you reluctantly grip your future dance-partner's hand.

You're about *this* close to saying fuck it and beating them both up, but naturally your inner instincts tell you not to, so you don't (plus, it's not as though you're entirely... reluctant to be dancing with The Blood God).

"Let's do this then, Blood God."

He laughs - actually laughs, "I'm already shaking with anticipation."

How is he so charming?!

---

"You're really sure about this? We're in public... it'd be so easy for us to get-"

Karl clamps a hand over Sapnap's mouth as he speaks, smirking slightly as he glances down, and trails the hand down as soon as he's sure his fiancee will stop.

His fiancee. God.

"Caught? Sapnap, darling, we're engaged now. It's not... it's not bad if we're caught, you know that right?" He doesn't wait for answer, instead hovering his lips over Sapnap's and smiling.

He nods.

---

In between loving kisses, Karl speaks, and it's near impossible for Sapnap's heart not to ache. Karl doesn't remember Quackity. Quackity forced him to forget. Quackity left us.

It's the first time they've been together since it happened. The first time. And Sapnap's heart aches. It aches so badly that he's sure that it'll break. And of course he should be happy; he has to be, he's with his loving fiancee (the one who has no clue about his other true love) and he should be happy.

Instead he's remembering the past and he's crying salty tears into the mess of kisses and scrambling hands.

Fuck.

It was a month ago, when Quackity did fuck-knows-what and suddenly Karl didn't remember him, and then suddenly their perfect relationship was fucked, down the drain.

No more soft touches.

No more cramped film nights on the couch.

No more peaceful, near domestic life.

Karl's finger brushes against the side of his eye, wiping away the tears. Are you okay?

No. He's not. He can't say that though.

"Got something in my eye, Karl," Sapnap pushes him away, "It's nothing bad. Don't... don't worry."

Karl stares at him in worry, but when his gaze flickers up his eyes harden. "Well, Sap. Guess you were right about getting caught."

---

Five minutes earlier, you're honestly having the time of your life.

Whoever this Mr Jacobs guy is, he throws good parties, and you're sure that you've never been served this many flutes of champagne consecutively. The Blood God's already admonished you a few times too many for you to count, but at this point you're just past tipsy and your inhibitions are flowing away like dust on the wind.

Pretty.

Someone's blowing bubbles and you frown as they fly past you, one of them bumping against your nose. You giggle, smiling as the man responsible walks up and smirks. He's dressed strangely; reminiscent of a video game character, but he's not unattractive. And he's got funny powers.

"Hi!" You say, smiling.

He grins, leaning against a counter and acting quite suave, if you're being honest.

"Hi, I'm Connor, and you?"

You blink once or twice, "The Connor? Like ConnorEatsPants? The world famous superhero? The fuck are you doing in L'Manberg?"

"Mr Jacobs is a friend of mine. Why are you here though, especially without a partner? Unless you have one, and they're just off getting you drinks - I'll back off if that's the case."

"I-" wait, speaking of your partner... where is he? And... why is your target dragging someone off to a room somewhere?! "I've got to go. Pleasure meeting you, Connor."

You hurry off, trying to find The Blood God and struggling to keep an eye on your target.

You do end up finding him. Even though it's via you practically crashing into him while he's effectively flirting. Wonderful.

"Fuck!" You shriek as you crash into him, and the woman he's talking to is the one who catches you as he falls (which is embarrassing, because he's pretty, and she's pretty, and you're clumsy as fuck when you're drunk tipsy).

"Thanks," you tap her arm and then focus on the Blood God, "Target's right there, partner. Like literally walking away.

He glances at you, his gaze cold, and you raise an eyebrow, "I thought you were better at this than I was?" He doesn't react, so you sigh loudly, gently remove yourself from the pretty woman's grip and say: "Well, if you're too busy flirting with a woman just as incredibly attractive as yourself - that is in no way shape or form irony - then it seems I must find the culprit myself."

With that you stumble away, seemingly leaving him alone.

You're jealous.

Oof.

Not only are you jealous, you're drunk, which means that focusing exclusively on following your target plus his increasingly willing accompaniment is rather difficult while also focusing on being able to walk properly. It's a curse, being a lightweight. Makes you oh-so-fun at parties.

Eventually, you do develop a sort of rhythm, and as you pick some of the canapés and snacks up along your way, you start to sober up. Which is useful.

Because in your hunt it seems you've entered the bedrooms.

Oof, guess you're getting free porn?

Before you can continue along the hallway in search of your targets, someone grabs your shoulder and tugs you back, spinning you around while gripping your other shoulder so that you're facing you assaulter.

The assaulter going by the name of none other than The Blood God.

---

"Let go of me," you say, but your voice is low and your posture is tense.

Techno grips your shoulders tighter.

Your face is flushed and read, you're barely standing, and the exposed skin of your shoulder he's gripping is clammy and cold. In short: you're drunk.

How. Did. You. Manage. To. Get. Drunk?!

He frowns, thinking of what he can do. You're right about the targets being right around the corner; he saw them entering the bedroom just about a minute ago (he can guess pretty well what they're doing but hey, it's always fun to crash parties). That doesn't mean he can just drag you along though. He doesn't know what mental state you're in, but it doesn't paint a pretty picture if the main member of this interrogative crew is nearly blackout drunk (not that you're at that point yet, but he's reasonably sure you're going to start throwing up soon).

When he tries to ask the voices for help, all they can comment on is how good your bare skin feels under his fingertips (and a whole other train of depraved thoughts that he chooses to ignore out of plain self respect).

Eventually, he decides that he's going to have to take you with him, simply because you'll demand him. After getting you some water, you knock on the door of the room in which your target is an open it.

And find none other than one of your best friends staring right back at you.

[five-rivers]

Pennywort and Swallowtails

For @phantomphangphucker :)

Prompt:  Flynn, due to being Phantom’s aka the Ghost King’s family and part of the Zone’s society, receives a Prince title and is now getting crowned.

.

Flynn couldn’t put his finger on exactly why, but the Ghost Zone seemed different lately.  There was something in the atmosphere, almost.  It felt… lighter, maybe?  

He didn’t like it.  

After all these years in the Ghost Zone, he’d come to regard any change from the norm with suspicion.  The tendency had saved his life multiple times.  Usually, such changes were caused by a nearby and powerful ghost.  Or, on rare and terrifying occasions, a not so nearby and obscenely powerful ghost.

For example, that Pariah Dark guy he’d heard about from some of the ghosts he traded with.  Flynn sure was glad someone else had taken care of him.  Not that Flynn was much good in a fight against any ghost more powerful than that annoying one in overalls that showed up whenever Flynn so much as thought of making anything even vaguely box-shaped.

Which wasn’t that often.  Flynn had never really nailed the whole carpentry thing. Ha.  He’d never been super great at the whole square thing either. Because he wasn’t one.  Skipped school and everything.  The whole high school experience.  Ha.  

Sometimes he really cracked himself up, but only in the most depressing of ways.  

He sighed, heavily.  Maybe he should think about spending more time in his hideaway cave, under his cottage (aka his shack, it was a shack, who was he kidding).  Stock up on supplies.  Get ready to weather a storm.  Literal or metaphorical.  

But hiding out in the cave was so boring.  There wasn’t anything to do down there. Except try to design better grass shoes and to patch his increasingly ragged clothing with limited amounts of thread. He preferred being outside greatly. Even if it was just on his little floating island, messing around in his little garden, growing potatoes and blood blossoms, digging for those crystals ghosts seemed to fear and desire in equal measure.

Flynn was peripherally aware that he was supplying the ghosts he traded with the equivalent of ghost uranium (one of the few human-world things he’d picked up was a middle school science textbook), but…

Yeah.  Guy had to eat, and the Ghost Zone didn’t exactly have cops running all over the place, or the United Nations, or… yeah.  Honestly, the Ghost Zone didn’t have much of anything, at least not in these parts.  It was pretty empty around here.  

Just like Flynn’s heart.  

Ha.  

Yeah.  That was a good one.  

Eh.  Life wasn’t so bad.  He was sort-of-kind-of friends with half a dozen undead monsters of questionable morality, had his own house, most of his teeth, and copious free time.  Plus, it had been a while since the ‘rocks from nowhere’ decided to trash his roof.  Which was bad for the sport he had invented (Chucking Rocks into the Misty Void), but good for roof integrity.  And not having a concussion.  Or losing any more teeth.  

But, back to his original topic.  

Flynn glared absently at the Zone at large. Okay, yeah, something was going on. Was it Flynn’s problem? Maybe.  Was it directly Flynn’s problem?  No.  The day was otherwise clear and ‘normal’ (the term being used loosely in the Ghost Zone), so he might as well go about his day—

The sky tore open in front of him.  

Flynn recognized that.  Before he knew what he was doing, he threw himself away from the portal. The last time he’d stepped through one of those—

The thought crossed his mind that this portal might lead back to Earth, back home, back to Mom.  But he knew from his ghostly friends how unlikely it was that the portal would put him anywhere near his home physically, not to mention temporally. It might not even lead back to Earth for that matter.  

He took cover behind a boulder, cursing his blasé dismissal of potential danger.  Who knew what could come out of a portal?  At least according to the ghosts he talked to.  Hopefully, nothing came out that he couldn’t beat into submission with his ectoranium staff.  

This was going to suck so much.  

The portal disgorged three floating eyeball ghosts in voluminous robes.

(One of the other books Flynn had gotten his hands on was a dictionary.  Which he had read.  Twice. Living on a tiny floating island was boring when it wasn’t terrifying.)

Ah, heck.  He could take one ghost.  Three? Yeah.  Not a chance.  

Maybe they’d leave?  They couldn’t know for sure he was here.  With how unpredictable portals were, and all.

“Flynn Walker,” intoned the central eyeball ghost with a great deal of gravitas.  

Flynn’s body did something between a cringe and a blanch.  

He was never trusting Globithar the Lapidarist’s tall tales ever again.  He wasn’t going to give him any more discounts for them, either.  No way to control a portal his scarred left butt cheek.  

“Flynn Walker,” repeated the eyeball ghost, now with a touch of annoyance.  

“In accordance with the laws of the Infinite Realms,” said the leftmost ghost, in a higher-pitched voice, “we call you to take up your position in the Court of the King of All Ghosts as a member of his family.”

Ah, that ectocontamination Aunt Maddie had sometimes talked about had finally caught up with him, and he was hallucinating something fierce. Either that, or these ghosts thought unbelievable jokes were good bait.  They weren’t.  Flynn would know.  He’d made many unbelievable jokes.  They’d never attracted anything but groans.  

Ha.  

“This is ridiculous,” hissed the third ghost.  “He isn’t even a real ghost.”

“He’s more ghostly than Phantom’s sister,” said the second.  

“We don’t have any choice about her, though.  Can’t we simply… not tell Phantom about this Flynn? Especially if this cousin of his is so craven as to hide at a moment like this.”

Rude, but accurate.  

“He’ll find out,” said the first eyeball, tiredly. “He always finds out.  Damn Clockwork.”

This was officially too weird for Flynn.  Why were they cursing out clocks?

“Because they’re petty and don’t have anything better to do.”

Flynn may or may not have shrieked like a little girl at the voice behind him.  The uncertainty was mostly because Flynn hadn’t seen or heard a little girl since he was in the vicinity of his cousin, Jazz, which was years ago.  At least a decade.  

But he did scream.  Loudly.  Which he really should know better than to do, living in the Ghost Zone and all.  He brought his staff up defensively, too, though, so his self-preservation skills hadn’t completely shorted out.

“Clockwork!” chorused the eyeball ghosts.  

“Yes, yes,” said the ghost who’d snuck up on Flynn, flicking imaginary dust off his robe as he smoothly, and dizzyingly, shifted between ages.  “I’m sure you’re all very shocked that I’m here, after you just finished complaining about how much I know.”  He examined his fingernails.  “Now, Mr. Walker—”

“Walker?” shrieked one of the eyeballs.  

“Yes, he is related to our illustrious sheriff. As I was saying, I am here to bring you to your cousins, who have risen quite a bit in this world.”

“What.”

“It is, indeed, rather surprising,” said Clockwork. “To those who cannot see the twists and turns of fate.  Or those who are willfully blind to those twists and turns.”  He eyed the eyeballs.  

“What,” repeated Flynn, more forcefully.  

“Clockwork,” growled the lead eyeball.  

“Allow me to explain,” said Clockwork.  “Do you recall your youngest cousin, Daniel?”

“Uh,” said Flynn.  He adjusted his grip on his staff.  “Vaguely?”

“He was crowned King of All Ghosts a few weeks ago. As a member of his family and an active participant in ghost society, you are automatically a member of the court. Assuming you wish to be, of course.”

“You- You’re saying I have family here.”

“Indeed.”

“Like, Aunt Maddie?”

Something odd passed over Clockwork’s face.  “No.  Your cousins. Daniel, specifically.”

“Wait, wait, he was a baby.  Wouldn’t he only be, like, ten or something?”

“Fifteen,” corrected Clockwork.  

“How did he die?”

“You will have to ask him that,” said Clockwork.  He raised an eyebrow.  “If you would like, you can sleep on this and I will return tomorrow.”

Flynn bit his lip.  Hard.  Okay. He wasn’t dreaming.  And- And this ghost didn’t seem to be lying. What would the point of that even be, anyway?  Flynn was nothing.  He didn’t have anything they could possibly gain by lying like this.  

“I’ll go with you,” said Flynn.  

“Excellent,” said Clockwork, clapping his hands.  “Then let us away to the castle.”

.

Well.  That was certainly a castle.  Or a palace? Flynn wasn’t sure of the difference. The ghosts hadn’t lied about that, at least.  

It was a big step up from Flynn’s house.  Which, honestly, more deserved the title of hovel. Or perhaps shack.  

Or even hole, when compared to all this.  Dear god, this place was fancy.  

Flynn hunched his shoulders, feeling out of place even as Clockwork led him deeper into the massive edifice.  

Come on, Flynn, he thought furiously at himself. Some of these people aren’t even wearing skin.  You are not underdressed.  

Clockwork brought him to a normally sized (which was, incidentally, not a given in this place, which contained both huge and tiny doors) door with understated but elegant carvings.  “Here are your rooms,” said the ghost.  “You will find a selection of clothing in your size in the wardrobe, and the bathroom is fully stocked and human safe.”

“Human safe?”

“Human safe.”

That was ominous.  

“There is a bell in the room that will summon a servant should you need one.  I will collect you for dinner in three hours.  Long enough for you to relax, I should hope.”

Or long enough for him to worry himself into pieces and chew on their curtains.  

… There would be curtains, right?  This place had to be fancy enough to rate curtains.  

He opened the door.  

Lots of curtains.  Lovely.

No, really.  It had been so, so long since he’d seen curtains.  He might be crying.  

Oh, gosh, that bed looked so nice and soft.  He wanted to—

Wait, no, he was filthy.  Filthy.  Covered in years’ worth of grime.  He hadn’t had a proper bath since he’d still been living with his mom.  

Pathetic, right?

There was a human-safe bathroom in here somewhere. Beyond the snark, he was looking forward to having a human-safe bath.  He was craving a human-safe bath.  With clean water and soap.  

Could the bathroom also have toothbrushes?  Toothpaste?  Unrestrained luxury.  

The bathroom door was in the same style as the outer door, but the handle was different, lighter.  The inside was tiled and surprisingly modern.  

There was a sink.  

He played with the sink faucet for several long minutes before remembering that he’d come in to take a bath.  

He spent several minutes playing with the bathtub faucet.  

Then he got into the bathtub and experienced a half hour of combined panic (he didn’t really know how baths worked anymore, and the sensations were weird) and nirvana (the sensations were also good).

He had to keep cycling the water.  Because he made it so, so dirty.  He sank into the water, up to his chin.  

When he got out of the water, he decided his hair was a lost cause.  Because it was always a lost cause.  Only, it was even more of a lost cause now, because it was also wet and had been stripped of its usual protective layer of oils.  

There was a variety of toothbrushes and toothpastes available.  He tested them out and discovered that he would probably need the services of a dentist. A good one.  Were there ghost dentists?  There had to be ghost dentists.  They had a lot of teeth.  A lot of teeth.  Sharp, scary, teeth.  

Ugh.  His baby cousin was a ghost.  He’d probably have teeth like a shark.  When he’d last seen him, he’d hardly even had any teeth at all.  Because.  Baby. Little, tiny, baby.  

Who Flynn barely knew.  

Why did he even want Flynn?  Or was it just some weird ghost tradition thing?  

Ghosts were weird.  Anything could be possible.  

He flopped face-first onto the bed.  His bed?  His temporary and maybe permanent bed.  If he was allowed to stay here.  

Oh, gosh.  Clockwork and the eyeballs seemed to know how to make portals.  Could they make a portal back to the human world? To Earth?  

To Flynn’s proper time?

To Mom?  

He missed Mom so much, even after all this time.  

(Dad?  Not so much. He hardly remembered the man.)

He wouldn’t know until he asked, he supposed.  But asking maybe-royalty would be scary. Talking to all these powerful ghosts was scary enough by itself.  

Ehhhh, he thought he’d gotten rid of his more cowardly side by now.  He was living in the scariest place out of the world.  

Ha.  

Yeah.  

He crawled out of the bed, dragging his nice, clean self to the wardrobe.  Oh, boy. Many clothes.  He hadn’t even seen so many clothes since the last time he’d been in department store.  Incredible.  

They were so fancy, too.  He didn’t know how to choose.  

He didn’t even know how to wear half of these things. At least half of them.  

He began to tease lengths of fabric from the wardrobe and lay them on his bed.  Some of them looked cool.  And also the kind of thing that he’d destroy just by touching it.  

Except he had already touched them, and they hadn’t been destroyed yet.  Yet.

Oh, cool, there was underwear.  Wow.  It had been a while.  

.

Okay.  The bed was incredibly nice, but somehow too nice.  Like, no nap nice.  

He wanted to take a nap.  

But no nap was occurring.  

The bed was too soft.  Ugh.  This was like the thing in that one war novel he’d read when he was probably way too young to read it.  

He groaned.  He hadn’t thought that was real.  He’d thought it was an exaggeration, or just drama.  Or something.  

He crawled off onto the floor and the wonderfully plush carpet.  

Maybe he could sleep here.  

.

He woke up to a faint knocking sound and rolled sideways under cover.  What cover? Oh.  Bed.  That was the bed.  He was in the room.  In the castle.  The ghost king’s castle.  

His baby cousin’s castle.  

He was going to cry.  This was so weird.  

Embarrassed, he rolled back out from under the bed and threw on the first clothes that came to hand.  Which.  Might not have been the best of ideas.  But, hey, he was dressed now.  

He stumbled over to the door and spent several long, embarrassing seconds sleepily remembering how to open doors with this type of handle.  Eventually, though, he managed it.

Clockwork was standing there.  One of his eyebrows went up.  “Interesting choice.”

Flynn looked down.  Orange and green went fine together.  What was he talking about?  

Forget it, he wasn’t about to develop a sense of social shame after living in a hut for a decade or so.  

“Come, now.  Your cousins are expecting you.”

Flynn briefly considered ducking out, phasing through the floor and out of the castle using a tangibility trick he’d picked up a couple of years back.  At least, that would spare him from this ‘diner’ he was rapidly approaching.  

He decided not to do that.  Running away wasn’t his style.  

(Who was he kidding?  That was definitely his style.  He would have run away so, so much if he had anywhere to run to.)

(It wasn’t like he could exactly fight ghosts on even footing.  Each and every one of them had Martian Manhunter’s powerset.)

“Don’t be afraid, Flynn,” said Clockwork, looking back over his shoulder.  

“Do you, like, read minds?”

Clockwork chuckled.  “Only the future.”  He swung the large, gilded door open.  

Inside, there was a long table, set with silvery plates.  There were a small group of children beyond it.  One of them waved at him.  Was that Danny?

Flynn took a deep breath and walked forward, back to his family.  

[thiswasinevitableid]

since i am obsessed <33333 with the sternclay fill you did for this prompt, can you do 57 with indruck nsfw?

Here it is! Note: this mentions mating talk.

57: we’re fighting over the last box of half-off valentine’s day chocolate and end up in a “who has it worse” battle

This is it. Duck’s new low. Standing under the high ceilings of Wal-Mart at two in the morning, trying to decide if his dignity can take the hit of someone seeing him scale the shelves to grab the lone leftover bag of valentine’s candy.

Fuck it, those are Ghiradeli caramel squares, he deserves them after today.

Just as he’s choosing his foothold, a large, feathery shape rounds the corner. It figures that the one other customer in the store would need to be in the exact same place as him. He’ll just wait the mothman out.

Duck’s mostly used to seeing random monsters around town; back in the fifties, an interstellar gate opened up in Kepler, making it the home of a small population of cryptids know as Sylphs. When he was younger, he hated the fact he grew up in such a weird-ass place, but these days his brain barely differentiates them from the other Keplerites. They come to the national forest where he works, order their dinners in line ahead of him and, apparently, come to big box stores in the dead of night.

“Ah, excellent.” The mothman chirps, grabbing the bag of caramel squares from the top shelf.

“Hey!”

The antenna-topped head swivels, owl-like, and red eyes regard him with surprise, “Yes? Oh, apologies” he tucks his wings in “I didn’t mean to block your way.

“That ain’t it. I was gonna buy that.” He points at the bag.

The creature cocks his head, “But it was still on the shelf.”

“Yeah, because we ain’t all seven feet tall. I was about to grab it.”

“It’s not my fault you’re short.”

Duck bites back an unkind retort, sighs, “will you just give me the damn bag?”

“Absolutely not. I’ve had a very bad day and this is my conciliation prize.”

“You’ve had a bad day? I went out to a singles night for the first time after gettin dumped a month ago. Figured I’d finds someone to take home, but not a single fuckin person OR Sylph was interested. If anyone needs that candy, it’s me.”

A haughty flick of antenna, “I see your disappointing evening and raise you a reminder that it’s been five years to the day that anyone’s wanted to touch you.”

“Please, this town is crawlin with monsterfuckers, you can’t find someone to mess up those pretty feathers, that sounds like a problem with your personality.”

The mothman chirrs, annoyed, “There’s no need for such remarks. Wait, what was that about my feathers?”

Okay, so maybe Duck has jerked off to mothman porn once or twice. Or a few dozen times. He’s not about to admit that here.

“Uh, I, uh, fuck, I don’t not know, fuck-” he grabs for the bag, hoping to distract the Sylph. It works, but the mothman simply raises it above his head. Duck growls, too committed to his bad idea to back down now, and jumps for it.

A toothy grin, “Since we’re speculating, maybe everyone you encountered tonight was simply in search of a taller partner.”

“Fuck you, I’m five six.”

“What was that? It’s rather hard to hear you down there.”

“That’s it fluffball” He jumps again, fingers grazing the bag before it’s passed to the mothman’s upper set of hands. Mid-leap, he can tell he’s going to fall on his fucking knees, and a broken bone is the last thing he needs. His body acts on panic and wraps his arms and legs around the only stable thing.

“What in the world are you doing?” The mothman trills, lower hands catching Duck’s legs so he doesn’t slide straight to the floor.

“Tryin to get what’s mine.”

“This is ridiculous.” He keeps the candy out of reach as Duck tries to climb him.

“I know, but I ain’t about to let you win.”

“Gentlemen.”

They stop grappling and stare at the beleaguered employee at the end of the aisle.

“Please just get out. Don’t even worry about paying for that, it’s like two bucks and that is not worth dealing with you for.”

They both mumble an apology. Then he lunges up, snatching the bag while his opponent is distracted and bolts for the door. He’s without his car, so he’s half a block from the store when a shadow glides overhead and drops down in front of him.

“That was rude.”

“So was insultin me.”

“You started it.” The cryptid looms over him, “and you only have minor ego bruising to blame for your short temper and poor judgement. I spent the entirety of my day arguing on the phone with government officials until one of them finally listened to me about a dam bursting north of here. I, I deserve something nice.” The last part is said more softly, as if he’s not sure he believes it. That slaps Duck back to his usual sensible state.

Duck sighs, reaches for the cryptid’s arm, “Look man, how about we-”

When his hand makes contact the mothman purrs, then flattens his antenna. Duck runs his hand up the smooth chitin, making the purr double in strength.

“I, I apologize. I didn’t even know this could happen with a human so I did not check the futures for it.”

“For what?”

“I, my kind use playfighting and chase as a mating ritual. Which, combined with those gentle touches just now, means my body thinks you’re a potential partner.”

A thrill creeps up his spine, and he pets the Sylph once more just to hear him purr, “So, uh, what should I do?”

“I suggest you take the candy and” he shudders, “walk home, and we both pretend this never happened.”

“What happens if I run?” Duck sets his hand on the down of the cryptids chest, shivering as it sinks into the fluff.

The mothman looks at him, confusion warring with desire on his face, “I chase you. And since I foresee you asking, if I catch you I will take you then and there unless you tell me not to.”

“Got it.” Duck steps back, smiles when the cryptid tries to follow his touch and then catches himself. He could just walk home and wolf down his hard-won candy. But they’re right by his shortcut through the forest to his house and no one has wanted to chase him for months…

He takes off into the trees.

For the first few yards there’s no sound but crunching leaves and his breathing. Then soft, determined wing-beats glide through the treetops. The canopy is thick here and no one but him knows this path, so he likes his odds of making it home. He even knows where the most troublesome roots are so he won’t trip and lose ground.

Duck’s nearly home when nature betrays him; a deer springs across his path, startling him and sending him to the ground. He scrambles up, listening for signs of the Sylph’s location, but the wingbeats are gone. Did he give up? Is he lying in wait up ahead? Did Duck actually lose him?

The questions spin through his mind as he scans the treetops. There’s nothing, only shadows and bark.

“You know” a voice lilts, coiling around him, “I’d think someone who worked in the woods would know many moths excel at camouflage.”

Red eyes appear in the branches to his right. He gets out a single “fuck” before the mothman swoops down and knocks him into the leaf litter. The candy hits the dirt a few feet away as he’s roughly rolled onto his stomach.

“Holy fuck.” He pants as clawed hands undo his pants and push his shirt up his back, “holy fuUUUuuck, oh christ that’s good.” He rests his head on his forearms as the mothman drags his tongue up his back again.

“Mmmmm, what a lovely little mate I’ve caught.” One set of hands pulls his pants and boxers to his knees while the other caresses his ass, “all dressed up too. I cannot imagine why others passed you up tonight but I am glad they did. Hmmm” claws prick his inner thighs as they’re pushed as wide as they’ll go, “you’re a bit aroused already-”

“Wonder why.” He teases.

“-but I ought to make sure you’re ready to take my cock.” A long, flexible tongue traces circles on his folds. He groans, pushes his hips back in hopes of getting more. The Sylph grants his wish with a purr, thrusting his tongue in hungrily. Duck moans, then snickers into his arms.

“‘At’s ‘o ‘unny?”

“F-feathers, ticklish.” Is what he manages to get out before the tongue curls and finds his G-spot, making it impossible to focus on anything but the being behind him. But the Sylph only gives him a minute of delicious sensation before pulling back.

“There, now you’re ready. I, ah, I suggest you hold on.”

“To whatAHFUCK, fuck, jesusfuckingchrist” his fingers dig into the earth and dead twigs scrape his knees as the Sylph grips his hips and shoves in all at once. The upper set of hands drops to either side of his head as the cryptid hunches over him, snapping his hips while sharp trills and chirps fill the air.

“That’s it sweet one, goodness, years without a partner and the first warm hole I can catch is a tight one, I, I do so love fucking humans for that reason alone, but you, you feel exquisite, ohyes, yesyesyes” he chirrs triumphantly and Duck moans; he’s never been able to feel a partner cum like this. When he glances down his torso, he’s surprised to see the droplets shimmering in the moonlight as they drip down his thighs.

“That was fuckin incredibleAH!” He’s flipped onto his back, the mothmans body blocking out the sky.

“Did you think we were done?” He’s grinning again, the expression as charming as the starlight on his feathers.

“Kinda? Not, uh, not that I mind if you wanna go again.”

“I do.” The cryptid lifts his legs, removing his shoes and clothes as he adds, “again, and again, and again. After all, look how much it likes you” He adjusts so Duck can see his dick. It’s not the size that startles him; it’s the series of ridges on it and the fact that it’s fucking pulsing like it’s got a mind of it’s own.

Duck spreads his legs, “Only it likes me?”

“I’m beginning to share it’s opinion” The tip presses in and the purring intensifies, “though I must say you’ll need to be far more polite and submissive a mate to make up for your--ohgoodness--earlier behavior.”

“Yeah?” Duck smirks, dragging his hands up the soft feathers of his chest, then glides them out to stroke his inner wing “how’s that for a start?”

The Sylph’s chirrs change, growing needier the more Duck pets him, “So very good. No, no one has touched my wings in years.”

Duck studies their sheen, the little speckles of grey and white, and digs his fingers deeper, “Damn shame.”

A soft trill accompanied by three demanding thrusts and then cum spills into him once more.

“Heh, you like when I compliment your feathers? Ohfuckyes” He moans as the Sylph starts thrusting, slower than before but made far more obscene by the sound of his cum being fucked back into Duck’s body.

“I, I do.” He drops his forehead to rest above the top of Duck’s head, “it’s been so long. As you said, this town is full of people who would gladly take a werewolf to bed but have...reservations about one such as me.”

“Their loss” Duck nuzzles the ruff of feathers around the Sylphs neck, runs his hands greedily along his wings, “these alone are so fuckin gorgeous there oughta be a line of folks beggin for the chance to mess ‘em up while they ride you.”

The mothman whimpers, chirps when Duck leans sideways to trail kisses along his right wing. His hips are moving lazily in time with the roll of Duck’s own and he sighs with every thrust, as if Duck is his favorite place to be.

“Got some broken feathers.” He murmurs.

“A peril of fast flights and living alone. It’s better if someone else pulls them free and grooms them for you.”

“I could do that.”

A hungry moan as the mothman noses his hair, “You’re making me wish I hadn’t caught you so soon; had we played longer, my ovipositor would have joined the fun, and you’re so wonderful a mate I ought to lay in you.”

“Jesusfuck” Duck fists his hands into his chest feathers, bucking his hips.

“Oh, do you like that? The thought of being a handsome little hole for me to stuff my eggs in?”

“Yes, holy fuck yes.”

The thrusts turn demanding, “Just one more way in which you’re perfect. You’re strong, you’ve a lovely shape” one hand runs possessively across Duck’s belly and chest, “and it only takes a little bit of vigorous fucking to make you well-behaved and willing to be properly mated.”

“Fuck, fuckin christ that’s goodOH, ohfuckrightthere” one of the ridges is catching his dick, pushing him towards orgasm, “please don’t stop, don’t you dare fuckin stop-”

“Never” it comes out in a growl, “I want to see you be a good little human and cum on my cock while I fill you up. Oh yes, yes” he smiles down at him, “it seems you’re about to oblige meAHhnnnn, goodness you tighten so nicely when you finish” he speeds up, jostling Duck as his climax renders him limp, “yes, yes sweet one hold out just a moment, nnnf, oh, ohyes” He spills into him, Duck’s body unable to contain it all and sending it running down the cryptid’s shaft and the humans thighs. Then the mothman eases out with a low chirp and sits back on his heels.

Duck flops his arms about until he finds plastic, pulling the bag of candy to him as he sits up. He yanks it open, undoes the foil, and freezes. The cryptid isn’t looking at him, isn’t making any noise. He’s just hunched forward, antenna flattening.

“You okay?” Duck finishes freeing the chocolate square.

“Yes” there’s a sniff, “yes I’ll be fine.”

“That ain’t quite what I asked.” He holds the candy out. Antenna twitch, but the mothman keeps his head down.

“I apologize, I, I meant to wait until you left but I, I got overwhelmed. You were so sweet, you let me do all that and I, I don’t even know your name.”

“That’s an easy fix. I’m Duck. It’s a nickname.”

The cryptid finally looks up, takes the offered treat between his claws, “I’m Indrid.” He pops the candy in his mouth and chews miserably.

Duck pulls his boxers on to avoid getting any more pine needle pokes on his ass, then scoots closer, “So, uh, Indrid. Is there somethin special we need for groomin your wings? My place makes the most sense as a next stop, but if there’s a special tool might be better to go to yours.”

Indrid blinks, cocks his head, “You...you want to groom them? I, I thought that was just dirty talk.”

“Can be. But I was serious; now that I got a taste of those wings, I wanna touch ‘em whenever you’ll let me.”

“This is the least likely timeline.” Indrid whispers to himself

“What’d I do in the other ones?”

“Thanked me for a good time and left.”

“See, I thought about that” Duck tentatively moves forward, smiles when Indrid allows him into his lap to stroke his face, “but then I thought, ‘this fella’s fuckin mind blowin in bed, but I wanna get to know what he’s like the rest of the time. Can’t do that if I up and leave.” He offers another chocolate. Indrid eats it out of his hand, then wraps his wings around him.

“I, ah, there’s a special oil for my feathers.”

“Should we go get it?”

“We could. Or” he smiles, hopeful, “we could go to my place tomorrow morning. After we rest at your home and you let me buy you breakfast.”

Duck kisses his fuzzy cheek, “Yeah, let’s do that.”

[chiropteracupola]

So I’ve been asked “HOW DO YOU EVEN. DO THAT. GOD.”  and other questions approximately in that area.  Well, you can find out, through the power of the ridiculous number of progress photos I took while making these!  I’m pretty much self-taught, so some of these steps might be a bit weird and convoluted, I’m just out here trying my best.

Alright, let’s start out with materials.  Most of the construction is done in Super Sculpey Living Doll, which is the creepiest possible name they could have given this clay.  It ends up slightly translucent when baked, and it’s surprisingly durable as well, which is excellent if you are like me and drop it on the floor constantly.

First step, schematics.  I was intending these as scale drawings, but then I decided not to go through with the larger size and more complicated joint system.  Having a sense of the shapes you’re going for does make it a lot easier later on.  I ended up leaving out the double-jointed knees, as well as changing the shoulder and ankle joints somewhat as well.

For the rest of the materials, I’ve got superglue, something to spread the superglue with, pliers, pencil and eraser, sewing pins, felting needle, pipecleaner wire, ruler, acrylic paint, matte varnish, watercolor pencils, paintbrush, purple marker, aluminum foil, non-serrated knife, fork, and permanent markers.  You can use something closer to actual sculpting tools, or more paint, but this is just the stuff I had lying around the house.

I bought a couple of kind of sketchy molds off I’m not even sure where on the internet anymore.  They are not intended for doll-making, they are intended for those little sugar figurines you put on cake.  Do I care?  No.  I mostly hand-sculpted these guys anyway, and here are the major shapes I ended up constructing.  Particularly for Jack, some of the pieces are sculpted around an aluminum-foil core.

Here’s a view of my desk, partway through the sculpting process.  This posture is not recommended for sculpting, but I had found a hat and wanted to feel like I was some kind of noir detective.  

Heads are a pretty simple shape.  Sculpting the face basically consists of sticking on a triangle for a nose, then smoothing in the edges and poking it around a little bit to create the vague idea of cheekbones, eye sockets, and so on and so forth.  Sculpt in some collarbones if you are, like me, very emotionally invested in collarbones.  This is perfectly normal.  

Before baking the clay, make sure to poke a hole in all the joints to glue in wire later.  The first diagram shows where these need to go.  DO NOT FORGET TO DO THIS.  (I forgot to do this.)  This is a cross-section of how the wiring for the neck will sit eventually.  (Except in the case of Stephen, because I forgot to do this.  If you also forget, this situation could probably be fixed by drilling a hole with a very small drill, but I’m very afraid of power tools and instead spent an inordinate amount of time doing foolish things with knives, and his head still won’t stay on.  Be better than me.)

Another view of my desk.  Craft pipecleaner wire is fairly sturdy, and I haven’t yet found an alternative to removing the fluff with pliers and using that.  It is very tiring and time-consuming, make sure you have snacks and maybe a video to watch.  Stay hydrated, nutritioned, and entertained, and remain calm.  This is a long and torturous process, do not torture yourself more if you don’t have to.  Also, you’ll live if you get superglue on your fingers, but be careful anyway.  If possibly, work in a ventilated area as well.

The process of joint creation went largely un-photographed, as I was engaged in the more attention-consuming process of cursing at tangles of wire and cloth tape for hours upon hours.

I wrapped the wire connections and the ends of the clay pieces in some sort of cloth tape I found in a closet, and where necessary, filled in some gaps with wool and pieces of craft foam.  (Very Small Jack is about 30% craft foam, which means he is Huggable and Pleasantly Squishy.  Tiny Stephen only has these adjustments around the knees, and he is, in comparison, Stiff and About As Huggable As A Desk Lamp.)

The process for shoulders is slightly different.  Instead of a wire connecting the two clay pieces, the arms have wire hooks connected directly through the torso by a tiny rubber band.  (Dental rubber bands are truly fantastic and I don’t know what I would do without them.)  I’ve added some cloth tape wrapping here as well, for added stability.  

Next up, hair and faces.  I’ve added some color around the joints in watercolor pencil, added eyes and so forth in permanent marker, and painted in the hairline and eyebrows with dubious paint I got from my neighbor.  A little bit of color on the cheeks in watercolor as well, particularly for Jack, and scars in white watercolor pencil.  I added a little bit of matte varnish on the fingernails for some contrast.  (I had leftover clay, so I also ended up making a tiny dragon, which shows up in a couple of the photos.)

The hair is made of brushed yarn (I’ll make a separate post to talk through that, as it’s a bit of a process in its own right.)  I’m gluing on longer pieces in a spiraling pattern.

Gluing on hair, bit by bit.  He looks a bit like Henry Le Vesconte and I’m not sure how I feel about that.

After some trimming and styling, he’s looking good!

Now, my favorite trick here is what can be done with a lavender marker.  This is just a fairly light-colored standard purple felt-tip, but in combination with the slightly translucent clay, it makes really nice false shadows that add a lot of depth to the faces.  Go crazy with it, it’s fun. 

So yeah!  That’s how I do what I do!  This got quite long, so I think I’ll do the the rest of the explaining (clothing, shoes, etc.) in a separate post sometime later.  Hope this was helpful, and thank you so much for all the love and kind words, it means a lot to me!

[shijiujun]

May I please request a fic where LY realises that he is in love with QCS but then agonizes, really agonizes, over it as QCS is a ladies man? I kinda just want LY to suffer a bit while realizing that he took QCS for granted before he gets his happy ending. LY did say he cherished QCS but I wish the series showed more QCS cherishing by him. Thank you and looking much forward to your green dragon gang LY fic!! *__*

sad, hungry, angry and lonely

Jealousy is an ugly thing, and Lu Yao knows he’s the furthest thing from Chusheng’s ideal type. He’s not a nice person, for one. He’s not mature at all and ends up getting into trouble more often than not. He rarely goes out of his way to make someone else happy without something in return.

Most importantly, he’s no woman, and Chusheng is a ladies man.

—

5

Unlike what he’s read in romance novels and heard from some of his friends, no fireworks go off when he realizes that he’s in love with Chusheng.

It’s not something to celebrate about, Lu Yao thinks, a heavy weight settling into his abdomen as he tries to wrap his head around the fact that he prefers Qiao Chusheng to any of the women he’s ever dated in the past few years. That he wants Chusheng more than he has ever wanted anyone else.

He wants Chusheng to have eyes only for him, to reserve all his affection and adoration for him.

Lu Yao watches as Chusheng leaves his car, looking all dapper in a fresh suit. A different outfit from when he was at the station earlier with Lu Yao, and he must’ve gone home to change before picking his date up.

A long, slender leg is revealed from the other side of the car, and as Chusheng helps the woman — his date for the night — out like the gentleman is he is, he doesn’t notice Lu Yao standing there at the entrance to Bai Le Men.

It’s only when the couple turns around, ready to head inside the club that Chusheng’s eyes land on him, and surprise floods him.

“San Tu, what are you doing here?” Chusheng asks. “Did something happen? There isn’t a case, is there?”

I wanted to see you, Lu Yao thinks.

Lu Yao can’t really explain why he’s here either. Realizing that he is in love with Chusheng, the first thing he did was to find him, to take a look at the man he loves. His eyes rove over the features on that lovely, handsome face. From Chusheng’s brows, to his eyes, his nose, his lips, his neck… all the way to his toes.

A man that Lu Yao cannot help but love, and cannot have.

“Nothing much,” Lu Yao says, trying to sound nonchalant even as the pain in his chest burns on. “You’ve never brought me here to have fun even once, just felt like coming over.”

“I-“ Chusheng blinks, then looking between him and his date, he seems a little conflicted, put on the spot. “If you wanted me to bring you, I’ll bring you next time-“

“It’s alright,” the woman hanging on Chusheng’s arm says with a lovely smile, and Lu Yao feels the urge to snatch Chusheng over from her, “Qiao-ge, I’ll get us a table for three and wait for you inside.”

Then charmingly, she turns to Lu Yao and goes, “Detective Lu, I’ve heard a lot about you from Qiao-ge. It’s nice to have you join us today.”

Before Chusheng or Lu Yao can reply, she saunters into the club.

Chusheng sighs, but now that it’s just him and Lu Yao, it’s easier for him to talk.

Stepping forward until he’s right in front of Lu Yao, he says, “Look at how understanding she is. You, on the other hand… I did tell you I had a date tonight, didn’t I?”

And yet, because it’s Lu Yao, because he’s used to Lu Yao being ridiculous and childish, Chusheng’s voice softens as he asks, “Have you eaten dinner? Bai Le Men has excellent snacks on Thursdays-“

Look at how understanding she is.

“I forgot,” Lu Yao interrupts Chusheng, straightening his back. “I’m going home.”

He moves past Chusheng without another look, biting at his lips. Lu Yao is feeling all hot over and a little nauseous, but he doesn’t want to be here for a moment longer. Ignoring Chusheng’s call, Lu Yao walks in the direction of his home quickly, his mind focused on putting one foot after the other, the gravel on the road crunching loudly under his shoes.

Look at how understanding she is.

Of course, Lu Yao laughs, the sound hollow and wistful.

He’s not the least bit understanding.

It hurts like a jagged knife carving away at his flesh bit by bit, knowing that Chusheng is nice to him not because Lu Yao is special to him, but because he needs Lu Yao around to help him solve cases and along the way, he got used to Lu Yao being demanding and unreasonable.

Jealousy is an ugly thing, and Lu Yao knows he’s the furthest thing from Chusheng’s ideal type. He’s not a nice person, for one. He’s not mature at all and ends up getting into trouble more often than not. He rarely goes out of his way to make someone else happy without something in return.

Most importantly, he’s no woman, and Chusheng is a ladies man.

===

4

Lu Yao likes it when Chusheng’s hands are on his skin — wiping at his mouth, grabbing at this wrist, pulling him in around his shoulders — and it’s something that Chusheng continues to do without much thought. If Lu Yao enjoys the attention more than he should, no one is any the wiser.

He should have known that he is anything but special to Chusheng.

Chusheng brings him to Bai Le Men for a night out as promised a few weeks later, and as much as he resents having to spend the next few hours watching Chusheng flirt with other women, it’s more time he has with Chusheng and he’s all the more greedy for it.

Almost fifteen minutes in, Lu Yao is pissed off enough to regret it.

Right in front of him, three women surround Chusheng on both sides, all speaking in sickeningly sweet tones. Lu Yao’s mood darkens for the rest of the night, but he keeps quiet. After all, the food here is good as promised, and as much as he felt the momentary loss of his appetite, Lu Yao reasons that there is no need for him to punish his stomach too. So he buries his head in the dishes and finishes it all.

Halfway through, when Lu Yao looks up, the first thing he sees is Chusheng’s arm is around Mei Xiang’s shoulders, drawing her into his embrace.

The sight makes his blood boil, and if Lu Yao sits here for any longer, he’s afraid he’s going to cause a scene.

“I’m done,” he says, wiping at his own mouth with the napkin on the table and getting to his feet almost petulantly.

“… San Tu?” asks Chusheng, bewildered. “What-“

It’s hardly the gracious thing to do, Lu Yao knows, but he still turns on his heel and leaves the private room Chusheng reserved. He doesn’t stop even after Chusheng calls out for him one more time.

Lu Yao doesn’t know how if he’s disappointed or relieved that Chusheng doesn’t chase after him.

===

3

He doesn’t even make it into the room this time. Chusheng headed straight to Chang San Tang earlier to meet Yao Qin, who may have some leads on the new case they’re on at present. He sent Ah Dou to pick Lu Yao up in the morning and by the time he turns up, he hears soft, melodious laughter coming from the room both of them are in, the door open wide.

Lu Yao pauses in his footsteps before he reaches the door. From where he’s standing, he can see Yao Qin in a fitting, gorgeous green cheongsam, her long hair coiffed to perfection and her makeup accentuating the loveliest features on her face. Out of all the women that Chusheng knows, Lu Yao has to say he actually likes Yao Qin to some degree.

The last time they were here, Lu Yao remembers wolfing down some pastries, the same ones that are sitting on the table in the room right now. Chusheng’s thumb was gentle then, brushing away the crumbs stuck to the side of his mouth.

Today, it seems Yao Qin has that honour instead.

His breath catches in his throat, his eyes wide as he watches Chusheng’s hand reach for Yao Qin’s beautiful face. He forces himself to keep his eyes open as Chusheng’s movements mirror what he did for Lu Yao that afternoon.

She’s like my sister, he said then.

He wonders if he’s like a brother to Chusheng in this case.

It’s Yao Qin who realizes he’s standing frozen outside the door, and the warmth that surfaces on her features eases the tightness in his chest slightly. Lu Yao wants to run, but they have a case to solve.

“I’m hungry,” Lu Yao says instead, schooling his expression and walking in.

“What do you want to eat?” asks Yao Qin, her eyes brightening. “Lu Yao, didn’t you like those dumplings I made the other time? I’ll get the kitchens to send a set up.”

Before Lu Yao can say anything, she’s on her feet and out the door.

“You’re such a glutton,” Chusheng sighs, exasperation obvious as he pats at the seat next to him. “You didn’t even say hello.”

Before his epiphany, Lu Yao might have found Chusheng’s comment fond, but all he hears now is rebuke and disapproval. He picks up the last pastry sitting on the plate in front of him.

It tastes like ashes on his tongue.

===

2

Who was the one who said he would be my wallet, seethes Lu Yao.

His anger simmers like the pot of stew sitting on the stove before him as he tries to tune out what Youning and her new friend, the latest addition to the tabloids that Youning works at are chattering on about. Seated opposite them at the dining table waiting for dinner to be done is Chusheng, who is listening to both women intently, unaware of Lu Yao’s change in mood.

“… Chusheng-ge, I saw this camera at the store on Fu Lu street last week, but… it’s really expensive,” Youning whines. “Chusheng-ge, can you…”

In the span of half an hour, Youning has managed to coax a promise out of Chusheng to buy her an imported dress, and also to bring Youning and her friend out to one of the classy restaurants near Bai Le Men. Xiao Xu came to Shanghai all on her own, leaving her parents behind in Nanjing to better provide for them, and Chusheng-ge, let’s welcome her to the city, what do you say?

Lu Yao looks up, turning around for a peek when he hears the sound of a loud thud. There lying on the table between Chusheng and the two women is his leather wallet.

“Just take my wallet and go, I don’t want to hear any more about this,” sighs Chusheng. “You’re no longer a kid, Youning.”

“Aiya, Ge I know you dote on me the most! Even more than my silly father-“

“Youning, you’re so lucky to have such a doting brother,” Xiao Xu exclaims.

“If you need anything,” Chusheng adds kindly, speaking to Xiao Xu, “Feel free to look me up at the station. It’s tough being in Shanghai alone, without friends and family.”

You’re not that special, Lu Yao bites at his lips as he quickly returns his attention to the pot.

Chusheng has so much money and he never promised that he would be Lu Yao’s exclusive source of money. He has no right to be jealous, he knows that. Furthermore, this is Bai Youning! It’s his sister, and is Lu Yao going to go green with envy over Chusheng’s annoying sister?

Even so, miserable thoughts swirl in his head — Chusheng declared that he would be his wallet, but he refused to pay for Lu Yao’s baguettes a few times too. When Lu Yao asked for Chusheng’s money to buy that claypot over from the kitchen help a few cases ago, the inspector’s unamused glare almost made Lu Yao back down, despite eventually handing over his wallet.

It was simply a few pieces of bread and a pot then, and here Chusheng is at present, easily giving up his actual wallet to Youning to buy a dress and a camera at exorbitant prices.

It’s not that Lu Yao is greedy for the money itself, he has to admit. More than that, he yearns for the attention Chusheng seems to give him, that fond roll of his eyes, that wide, doting smile, whenever he ends up paying for Lu Yao’s meal or shopping. He wants it all to himself.

What if… what if Chusheng stops treating him to things altogether?

Chusheng peels the hard-boiled eggs Lu Yao made during the dinner a little later. He drops one in Lu Yao’s bowl first and Lu Yao should be happy about that, but he can’t find it in himself to be truly delighted when Chusheng drops the second and third eggs into Youning and Xiao Xu’s bowls too.

For the first time in a long while, Lu Yao finds his appetite entirely absent during a meal.

===

1

“She’s someone I might have considered marrying,” says Chusheng wistfully on a Wednesday evening.

They both watch as one of the suspects in the case, now cleared of all charges, walks away, and if Lu Yao wasn’t so in love with Chusheng, he might find himself agreeing to that.

It feels like Tong Li all over again. Seeing Chusheng’s dreamy smiles and that faraway look whenever he thought of the woman, sitting there quietly as support when she turned out to be a murderer and tear drops trickled down Chusheng’s cheek in a rare show of vulnerability, being with him as both their hearts broke for different reasons.

And here this womanizer is all over again, falling in love with another mysterious, intriguing and intelligent woman.

Qiao Chusheng has a type, and Lu Yao is once again reminded of how impossible it is to have his feelings returned.

Lu Yao wants to try. Right this moment, he wants to tell Chusheng just how much he feels, how much he thinks about Chusheng all the time.

How he wants to spend the rest of his life with him.

He knows it’s a lost cause, however. This was a battle lost even before Lu Yao had a chance to fight it and he knew it all along, through every instance of burning jealousy, his eyes green with envy as they tried to devour a man who would never be his.

Chusheng saying this is the last nail on the coffin. As much as Lu Yao wants to ignore the jagged knife digging into his heart, he knows he has no way to tie Chusheng to him.

“Mnn,” he responds, his voice uncharacteristically soft, “You could, if you wanted to.”

“… San Tu-“

“Inspector!” Salim marches into the interrogation cell, saluting Chusheng firmly. ���The Commissioner is here in your office looking to speak with you.”

Chusheng’s eyes snap to Lu Yao, and then for some reason, he’s frowning as he grabs onto Lu Yao’s hand. He says, “San Tu, wait for me. I’ll be done in a bit, I have something to say, okay?”

What else is there to talk about?

He doesn’t reply or look at Chusheng, and in the end the man lets him go.

It’s an escape for Lu Yao and he takes it, walking away without another word.

===

0He knows he’s being petulant, but Lu Yao doesn’t have the slightest bit of energy to move. All Lu Yao feels is exhaustion and grief, his limbs leaden with weight as he hides under the covers on his bed. How long has it been? Two days, or three?

Not even Youning has dared to come and disturb him these few days. As much as they don’t get along, Youning can sometimes be terribly attuned to his moods when they’re at extremes. She tried coaxing him out once the first day, and when Lu Yao continued to lie in his bed unmoving, his head covered by the blanket, she left him to it.

He’ll be better once there’s a case. Before that, he’s entitled to a dramatic, ridiculous bout of self-pity as he wallows in utter misery.

Chusheng said he wanted to talk to him, but Lu Yao doesn’t want to hear any of it. He doesn’t want to listen to Chusheng drawing lines and distancing himself away from Lu Yao deliberately because he knows how Lu Yao feels about him. He has to know.

So wrapped up he is in his thoughts that he misses the sound of soft footsteps approaching, and it’s not until the bed dips that Lu Yao realizes there’s someone here in the room with him.

Judging from the lack of noise, it’s probably not Youning.

“You didn’t listen to me finish,” Chusheng’s low voice sounds.

“I wanted to say that she’s someone I might have considered marrying,” he continues with a soft sigh when there’s no response from Lu Yao still. “Before I fell in love with you, stupid.”

At that, Lu Yao finally sits up, the blankets falling from him. Before he can even accuse Chusheng of being a bastard and lying to him right now, the inspector snags Lu Yao’s arm with a firm hand, and Lu Yao almost yelps as he falls right against Chusheng.

He’s too stunned to say anything else.

“I’m sorry it took me a while to notice,” Chusheng murmurs in his ear, his arms tightening around Lu Yao, as if scared that he might run away again. “You must’ve waited for me for quite a while, huh?”

Lu Yao swallows with difficulty, torn between pushing Chusheng away and staying right here where he wants to be.

“You like… women,” he stammers.

“I do,” Chusheng agrees. “But I love you. I don’t care about anyone else.”

“Well I couldn’t tell at all-“

“I haven’t been to Chang San Tang and Bai Le Men in months,” Chusheng interrupts, pressing a kiss behind Lu Yao’s ear and as expected, the action makes Lu Yao weak as he melts entirely against Chusheng now. “I know you don’t like it when I get too close to others. And… I’ll leave my wallet for Youning, but you can have everything else I own.”

After months, months of having to quietly deal with his feelings for Chusheng, this seems too good to be true.

Lu Yao can’t bring himself to pull away, even if this turns out to be a lie.

Gosh, he would give anything for this to not be a lie.

“Why did it take you so long, you bastard,” he chides instead, one hand hitting at Chusheng’s back. “Do you know how long I waited-“

“I know,” Chusheng replies, sounding helpless. “I’m sorry I hurt you. And… thank you for waiting for me. I wanted to tell you for a long time now, but I couldn’t quite figure out where to begin.”

His thumbs carry away the tears on Lu Yao’s face, and his heart breaks at the dark eye circles under those bright eyes.

Chusheng leans forward and kisses Lu Yao sweetly.

When he pulls away later, Lu Yao is smiling a little, and Chusheng finds his own lips curving upwards in answer to that.

“I’ll do everything I can to make you happy, Lu Yao,” he promises, pressing their foreheads together.

“Everything?”

“Everything,” Chusheng agrees with a laugh.

===

There’s a lot Chusheng has to make up for, but here is where he wants to start.

***

[smokeybrandreviews]

The Weeknd Was Right

I hate the Oscars so much, man. It’s masturbation, self aggrandizing nonsense, just like all the other Hollywood awards shows. Cats are always trying to inject more diversity every three or four years, only when rumblings of how f*cking White everything is, and it’s bullsh*t. I’m glad that Chloe Zhao, Daniel Kaluuya, and Youn Yuh-jung got gold and i adore that my man, LaKeith Stanfield, got the nod. I thought Minari was a little boring but I'd be lying if those performances weren’t on point. I don’t, personally, value the Oscars but the industry does and just getting nominated opens doors for a dude. I adore that Promising Young Woman got so much shine in the categories because that was a dope f*cking movie with so much female energy, it was absurd. I’d say i was surprised by the nod but not so much. Promising Young Woman is a strong f*cking movie that can definitely stand on it’s own but it also checks a bunch of identity boxes so, you know, shoe-in for a om because that’s what Hollywood is now; Millionaire Dog Whistles, all day! Riz Ahmed getting a nom for Best Actor is awesome, even if he had no chance of winning. Dude is an exceptional actor who deserves that recognition, just like Stanfield. Excellent in everything I've ever seen him in. I’m glad Chadick Boseman got the look but he should have won. Dude was terminal with cancer and still turned in one of the best, the best if you ask me, performances of the year. If the Oscars are testament to your craft, and a man is literally dying while putting the rest for the industry to shame, how the f*ck do you pass on hum like that? Are you kidding me? And that’s not the only f*ckery afoot.

Soul is a decent flick It’s beautifully animated and performed well. But it’s a Pixar movie. They’re made from a template. They’re made specifically to win awards. That’s Disney’s category and, it your name isn’t Dreamworks, you have no shot as usurping their throne. Even if your name is Dreamworks, there’s still a good chance you’re taking home the silver. Pixar makes great films, not going to lie about that at all, but Soul is not one of them. It’s adequate. It’s a production film. And it won because of that. Pixar is a a company man and it shows. If these things were honest, Wolfwalkers would have won. That film was gorgeous, exceptionally acted, beautifully animated, and had a killer title track to boot. More than anything, Wolfwalkers was a bastion of uniqueness and originality. It is the diametric opposite of what Soul, is. Hand drawn, filled with passion, vibrantly colored, and presented with pure love. Wolfwalkers was, hands down, the best animated feature to be released last year but it lost to Soul because #OscarsoWhite. That’s the only thing i can reason for the L. Wolfwalkers was the superior film in every regard but Soul was about a Black dude. It effectively won the diversity Oscar.

Sh*t like that is why i can’t stand these ridiculous, self aggrandizing, pageants of conceit. How the f*ck can any f these “awards” be taken seriously when it’s all just schmoozing and bribes behind the seen? How is their any merit to these accolades when they are basically bought and paid for? I knew this sh*t was a joke when Gwyneth Paltrow won hers for Shakespeare in Love. Up against Cate Blanchett for Elizabeth and motherf*cking Oscar win factory, Meryl Streep, Paltrow wins? With that performance? Are you serious? Of course the Oscars are corrupt. After Harvey Weinstein got Metoo’d and all of the “campaigning” got exposed, everyone knew what i knew. Interestingly enough, Paltrow was one of the wins he got through said campaigning so, you know, the fix has been proven. The thing is, they still do it. They still hand out Oscar gold, an award meant to recognize exceptional performances in the arts, through wining and dining. Never mind the Academy’s problematic history with race. Never mind it’s problematic history of make-up Oscars. Never mind all of the transparent biases that aggressive sway ballots. The fact that the Oscar Campaign still exists, after being so publicly exposed as a tool to steal deserved wins from performances more deserving, is f*cking ridiculous. The Oscars are corrupt. Just like the Grammys. Just like the Emmys. Just like any of these “awards shows” people have decided not to watch. Get your sh*t together, Hollywood. No one cares what you think anymore.

[andrebearakovsky]

Capitals W Magazine: The Fanciness Scale

So my friend just gave me a copy of the Capitals W magazine, and oh man is there some content in here. Every player has his own page, and everyone is photographed in their own styles, from the super casual to the incredibly fancy. And after looking at them all, I felt the intense need to share my opinions about them all with you, as well as rank them on the casual/fancy scale. So below I have a review/interpretation of every player’s outfit, with photos I took of the magazine lying on my desk, along with their rating on the fanciness scale, with 1 being the most casual and 10 being the most fancy (note: this is not a rating of how “good” it is, just how fancy).

And most of this will be under the cut, cause boy will this be long.

Michal Kempny

Starting off strong. With Michal Kempny, there is no other option than to look good. He’s hot and sophisticated. The suit. The pose. The hair. The gaze. The mahogany background. I have no complaints here.

Fanciness rating: 10/10

TJ Oshie

TJ also opts for a suit, one which he admits in the attached article he did not pick out himself. A suit is a suit, but the colors feel strange to me and he gets points off for those shoes. It’s like he’s trying to have what Kempny has, but he just don’t have it. Also that pose makes this look feel a lot more casual.

Fanciness rating: 8/10

Radko Gudas

I’m a fan of Dadko’s tasteful weekend look. It looks like he’s ready to host a barbecue; but not like a small, casual barbecue for just your close friends, more like a big Labor Day barbecue that you invite everyone you know and also your in-laws to.

Fanciness rating: 4/10

Brendan Leipsic

I have never seen Brendan wear anything other than yoga pants and nothing looks to have changed here. I genuinely believe this is the outfit he wears every day, and not even a photoshoot can force him into nicer clothing. I can appreciate the attitude.

Fanciness rating: 1/10

Jakub Vrana

I can’t take this as seriously as I should because this pose is just too funny to me. It’s like he’s trying to be cool but oh man is he failing. I do love this jacket though. This is a jacket you put on deliberately for a Look. We’ve passed beyond the casual, but we’re not too fancy just yet, we’re still in jeans. This is an outfit for a fun night on the town with the boys.

Fanciness rating: 6/10

Garnet Hathaway

I had to lie down and have a moment to myself when I saw this photo. It’s as if he looked into my soul and said “I know exactly what you, specifically, want.” The suit. The vest - also the fact that the vest is blue is nice. The hair curl. The smirk off into the middle distance. The fucking carrying the suit jacket over the shoulder. This man went to a preppy college in New England and you can tell. This is every man I have ever wanted to sweep me off my feet. The attempts to keep my libido in check are failing. Please marry me instantly.

Fanciness rating: 11/10 yes i am biased

Tom Wilson

At first glance, this outfit looks well put together, but upon closer inspection, all it really is is a black t-shirt, black jeans, and sneakers. How does he make it look so good? Is it the pose? I think it’s just the fact that Tom is a hunk. Overall, this is an every day outfit, but like, a put-together one that looks nice.

Fanciness rating: 4/10

Nic Dowd

This is similar to the Vrana look. This is a very nice jacket, and when he puts on this jacket I know we’re going out to have a nice evening, but not too intense. Or maybe that’s just the vibe Nic Dowd himself gives off. Either way: excellent outfit.

Fanciness rating: 6/10

Lars Eller

This is the pinnacle of fanciness. Lars was told they were doing a photoshoot and went “this is my moment.” The suit is excellent. I love the colors. He, a pale blond Dane, does not look washed out. His hair is perfect. But what really makes it here is the pose. He’s a tryhard, but he knows exactly what he’s doing. This is a fancy man.

Fanciness rating: 10/10

Nicklas Backstrom

Who told him to stand like this. What even is this pose. I can’t get over this. “This is exactly how a human would pose.” And the outfit - a polo shirt and what appear to be slacks, right in the middle of fancy and casual. Whatever, the outfit is secondary to the completely unnatural pose here.

Fanciness rating: 5/10

Braden Holtby

How do I even begin to rate Braden Holtby. This outfit is certainly not “fancy,” but it is absolutely not casual, not in the slightest; Braden probably spent two full hours picking this outfit. Fashion is very important to him, and he has a very clear sense of style. This is a quintessential Braden Holtby outfit. The flared-open shirt, the hat, the sunglasses, the bracelets, the rings. The lounging pose. The fact that he’s resting his arm on a stack of books to show you how hipster he is. All that’s missing is his guitar. I love him, but I cannot even dream of rating him on the same scale as everyone else, because he is on a different plane than everyone else.

Fanciness rating: too cool for all of us

Evgeny Kuznetsov

Soft! Soft!!! Soft!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Fanciness rating: 3/10

Jonas Siegenthaler

Much like Tom, he looks put-together, but it’s just a black sweater. Simple is key, and it works here for Jonas. A comfortable look, an every day look, but one that looks nice.

Fanciness rating: 4/10

Ilya Samsonov

Team baby put on a suit, and he looks good! I like the checkers, the tie is a good color, the shoes are nice. He’s very tall, and the suit is a good choice to show off his long legs; the standing pose also helps show off how tall it is. He looks good. This is a good suit, a good picture. Very fancy, and I feel like a proud mama. Point deducted because his hair just a little bit messy, and the leaning against a wall just a tad casual.

Fanciness rating: 9/10

Travis Boyd

This picture just screams “I am highly uncomfortable and I would rather be anywhere else right now than here doing a photoshoot.” Someone save him. Not fancy in the slightest, but still gets a hair above Brendan Leipsic because this is still a put-together outfit that you can go out to a sit-down dinner in. 

Fanciness rating: 2/10

Carl Hagelin

This is an outfit made for going out, but definitely not to a fancy place. This is what every adult male in your family wears when you’re on family vacation at the beach and you decide to go out to dinner.

Fanciness rating: 5/10

John Carlson

This one is a bit more difficult because it’s certainly not fancy, there is a far too much denim for that, but it’s not casual, because there is a deliberate Look going on here. All I can really focus on is the fact that he is squinting really hard and maybe this photo should have been taken inside.

Fanciness rating: 5.5/10

Nick Jensen

This would get more points if it weren’t for the rip in his jeans. I can’t get over the rip in the jeans. What are you trying to go for here. You would look so put together; the button-up and the jeans actually look pretty nice, but what are you going to do with that rip in your knee, Nick. What are you going to do.

Fanciness rating: 4.5/10 author’s biases against nick jensen may be evident

Dmitry Orlov

I’m in love with everything about this outfit tbh. The shirt and the shoes? Killer. It looks great, it looks pretty dressed up; about as fancy as a Cap could be without wearing a suit. The black outfit contrasting with the white marble background really helps up the fanciness factor. Also, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Dima wear any color other than black, ever. Which is fine - he knows his colors, and his color is The Void.

Fanciness rating: 7/10

Richard Panik

Getting some real Don Draper vibes here, but I’m okay with that. Maybe it’s his very angular face. He’s gone with the black and gray tones, which work for the vibe he’s going for. It’s a cool and sexy pose, and it doesn’t even feel ridiculous. I feel like he’s inviting me to come into a room in a 1960s lounge filled with cigar smoke and whiskey, and I might say yes.

Fanciness rating: 10/10

Alex Ovechkin

Frankly I’m surprised Ovi didn’t come in wearing sweatpants or sweans, so this is pretty fancy for him. The nice shirt and the jeans are a solid look, but I just know he’s wearing flip flops on his feet, I saw the behind the scenes video. The flip flops really bring the fanciness score down. I forgive him though, this is pretty good for him.

Fanciness rating: 5/10

BONUS:

Why are you in my home. 0/10

[impala-dreamer]

Some Enchanted Evening

SPN FanFic

~Jensen tries out something new and you can't help but fall in love all over again.~

Jensen/Michael x Reader

2,517 Words

Warnings: NSFW. Roleplay, Fingering, Smutty Goodness.

A/N: A very old wip finally finished! For PORN WARS with @covered-byroses! Also one of my favorite things to write: the actor slipping into character for sexy times. *screams* I do hope you enjoy, smut responsibly (tm), and please remember that feedback is a wonderful thing :)

Feedback is GOLD ~ My Masterlist ~ Become A Patreon

“I’m glad you’re home early this year. Christmas is lonely without you.”

Jensen shut and locked the door behind him before turning to you with a soft smile. “I’m always home for Christmas.”

You nodded and peeled off your coat, tossing it onto the couch. “Yes, but you’re early this year. I get you for a few extra days and… I don’t know. That makes me happy.”

When you turned around, he was there, scooping you up into his big arms, his hands dancing around the curve of your waist. “I’m glad.” His eyes narrowed in on your lips and you gave in, lifting your chin to his.

“Oh, my,” you teased, looking up above your heads to the sprig of mistletoe dangling from a rafter. “Who put that there?”

Jensen followed your eyes upwards and then gave a little chuckle, his chest shaking against yours as he pulled you closer. “You know you don’t need mistletoe to get a kiss from me…”

“No,” you agreed, “but a little insurance never hurt anybody.”

“Kids with your mom all night?”

“Yep..”

“Excellent.”

His kiss was soft and dizzying, almost pulling you off of your feet as he backed away from it; your lips in desperate pursuit of more.

“Mmm.” You sighed when he was gone, pressing your lips together to savor the last hint of him. “Where you goin’?” you asked in a daze watching as he turned away to remove his overcoat.

“Nowhere. I’m all yours.” His smile was sure to be the death of you, all plush lips with a hint of teeth, eyes crinkling in the corners; perfection.

Jensen made you wait, slowly folding his coat and laying it to rest on the back of the couch. He was dressed to the nines, classic black tuxedo with bowtie and a stripe down the leg, his shoes polished to death, shining even in the low living room light. He popped the button on his jacket and lifted his eyes to yours.

“What?”

“It’s like you don’t even know how gorgeous you are,” you said with an air of annoyance. “Walking around in a tux like you own the place.”

Jensen laughed outright and nodded. “Well, you said the party was black tie.” His palms lifted to Heaven as he gestured to himself. “You don’t like this one?”

You kicked off one of your heels and dropped three inches onto the carpet. “Oh, no, I do. Is it new?”

He gave a noncommittal shrug and grinned. “I may have swiped it.”

The other shoe was kicked away. “Swiped it?”

He straightened up and adjusted the bowtie with careful fingers, his smile dropping to a hard line, his eyes widening slightly. “Don’t you recognize it?” His voice changed faintly and your breath caught.

“Babe,” you began, swallowing hard against the excitement growing in your belly. “Did you steal Michael’s tuxedo?”

“I may have.”

Biting your lip, you turned away and shook your head, determined to tease him for such a ridiculous thing. “Of all the things to take from the set, you take a tuxedo! Come on. I told you I want the whiskey tumblers from the Bunker!”

Jensen toed off his shoes behind you and laughed. “I can’t take those, you know that. We still use them. And no one’s going to miss a tuxedo.”

“It’s not like you don’t have three in the closet,” you scolded, reaching up and around to try and catch the zipper of your dress.

His fingers closed slowly around yours and you gasped at the sudden approach. “Yes,” he whispered, leaning to your ear as he gently lead the zipper down your spine, “but I know you like this one.”

“I do?”

His breath was hot on your neck. “I know you had a thing for Michael…”

An awkward laugh pushed its way out your lips. “I what? No. That’s…no.”

Jensen slid the fabric from your right shoulder and bent his lips to cover your bare skin with a kiss. “Oh, I know you did.”

You could feel the goosebumps rise beneath his lips, feel the tingling wave that followed his fingertips as they brushed across the nape of your neck. “Preposterous.”

His voice dropped suddenly and your heartbeat picked up speed. “Don’t deny it, Y/N.”

Trying to keep up the game, you spun around quickly, leaving his touch and backing away. “No. Stop it.”

Jensen was back for a moment and he laughed. “What’s wrong? You don’t want to play?”

“I mean…”

His eyes had you trapped, there was no way around it. He could pretend to be the boogie man for all you cared, you just wanted him. Anyway, he was right; something about Michael had excited you more than you’d ever admitted. There was a darkness to the character that you’d never seen in your husband’s eyes before and it was incredibly intriguing.

He startled you out of your thoughts with a small step forward, black socks on white carpet, perfect. “No?”

“I do,” you said a little too quickly, your nerves apparent in the shaky tone of your voice. “I just… I don’t know. I want Jensen, not Michael.”

Slowly, he shook his head and took another step. “You’re lying.” His voice dropped again.

“I’m not.”

His eyes widened. “I know you wanted him.”

You took a step back, trying to contain the smile tickling your lips. “No.”

Jensen’s mouth went slack, his lips parting gently. “I know you loved the way he...talked.” His tone changed immediately, words slowly tumbling off his tongue like a song. “The way he...moved…” He stood straight up and let Michael take over; his shoulders dropping, hands falling to his sides. He cocked his head and every drop of resistance left your body in a single exhale.

“Please…” There was no request, just a simple plea. For more, for less, you couldn’t decide. All you knew was that his blank yet hungry eyes traveling your body made your blood boil.

Another step and you were against the wall; skin chilling as the cold paint bit into you. His toes hit yours and you shivered, trying not to look up, to keep yourself from falling completely into his eyes.

“Look at you,” he said in a deep whisper as his right hand hovered over your shoulder. “You're...trembling.” A devilish smirk turned his lips. “Good." His touch landed on your jaw; long, hot fingers splaying across your face, lifting your chin to him. “Look at me.”

The shiver ceased but your body still moved, muscles clenching between your legs at the soft yet dominant tone to his usually sweet voice. Your eyes fluttered open and you sucked in a hard breath.

“Jensen…”

His fingers pulsed on your cheek, suggesting his annoyance. “No.”  

“Michael.”

As soon as you said it, everything changed. The tension left your shoulders and you slumped against the wall, caught between the cold hardness behind and the warm chest that pressed into yours.

“That’s better.” His lips swept across yours and your eyes fell closed again, losing all protest in his kiss.

His hips rolled against yours as his hands pushed through your hair, pulling it roughly while his tongue invaded your mouth, taking what he wanted. You moaned into him, fingers curling around the lapels of his jacket. You felt him smile against your lips and he pulled away, looking down upon you with darkened eyes.

“What do you want?” he asked, mocking himself, but doing it so well.

You bit your lip, eyes dancing across his handsome face while you reached for a suitable answer. “I… don’t know.”

Jensen leaned back and shoved his hand between your thighs, pressing his palm up against your pussy. “I think you know,” he growled; middle finger turning upwards to trace your slick line through the silk. “I can feel your answer, Y/N.” Another slide of his finger and you felt your pussy clench; your thighs pulling shut against his thick wrist. “Tell me.”  

“I want…”

The heel of his hand pushed against your clit, stealing your words.

Jensen rubbed a little harder and dipped his chin to meet your wavering eyeline. “Yes?”

“I...want…”

His thumb curled around the elastic hem that lay tucked in the crease of your leg, pulling the silk aside. “Say it. Let me hear your desire.”

The word came out in a breath of hopeless lust, meeting the slow thrust of his middle finger into your slick entrance. “You.”

Jensen smiled knowingly and raised a brow. “There,” he said softly. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Another finger pushed inside and you moaned in reply. “No.”

His smirk was surreal, just enough to tug at his cheeks and give you a peek of his perfect teeth. “It gets easier and easier, my pet,” he said, voice thick like honey, “when you give yourself to me.”

The deep plunge of his warm fingers closed your eyes, sending sparks behind them. You let yourself go, clinging to his jacket as your legs lost their strength.

Jensen watched in awe as you crumbled, finding it hard to stay in character as you trembled upon his hand. He kissed you hard, pulling at your lips with a desperate hunger, invading your mouth with his bourbon scented tongue. With his free hand, he stripped away the black fabric covering your chest and dipped his lips to your neck, making his way downward with wet kisses as his fingertips trespassed beyond the lace at your breast.

A tweak of your nipple had you moaning desperately and Jensen growled. “So eager, aren’t you?” Lips locked around the sensitive flesh and you mewed with desire as his teeth scraped your nipple.

“Please!”

Jensen left your breast with a wet pop. “Such a simple thing, you humans...so...delicate, fragile.” His hand covered you, thick fingers reaching around to palm your tit. “Just bundles of nerves...cells...all working together in harmony. But if you manipulate the flesh just so...” He squeezed your breast as he pressed two slick fingers against your clit and your eyes rolled. “Something magical happens.”

You breathed heavily, pleasure running through each blood vessel. “God…”

Jensen sneered and pinched hard at both buttons. “My father has nothing to do with this.” He hit the S with a loud hiss and your knees gave up, folding beneath you.

Big arms braced your back and lead you across the floor. Hot fingers nudged you this way and that, keeping you locked in a lustful trance. Your eyes were clouded and your lips hung wide; out of breath and needy.

“Stop.”

Jensen moved you to stand at the foot of the bed and you held still, swaying gently as if caught in a heavenly breeze as he popped the clasp on your bra and tugged down your panties.

“On the bed,” he ordered, melodic voice washing over you. Your body seemed to move without you even asking it to; you didn’t need to...Michael already had.

You lay on your back, hands and arms at your sides, head tilted so you could watch him. He was calm, too calm, emerald eyes surveying every hill and valley of your naked body, all laid out and ready for him. You felt your nipples stiffen as he watched on, felt the flood begin anew between your thighs.

Slowly, he began to strip, taking care with the tux as if it were made of pure spun gold. He untied the tie.

“Look at you, reduced to nothing more than a mindless little thing…”

He shrugged the jacket from his broad shoulders and placed it carefully across the top of the dresser.

“Pussy dripping and hungry. Play with it...slowly.”

Your hand slid automatically between your legs as you spread them wider, opening up for him as he undressed.

Shirt tails bloomed from his belt, leather slid away with a dramatic whip, cufflinks chimed as they met again on the bureau.

“How does it feel? Touching yourself for me, letting me see everything like this?”

Your breath shuddered and you pushed a finger deep inside. “F-feels so good.”

Button by button, his shirt opened, revealing a perfect white tee clinging tightly to firm muscles. Your mouth watered as you watched him watching you, anticipation driving you wild.

“You’re about to feel even better…”

Slacks fell, cotton dropped, and the tight white tee hit the floor.

“Please, Michael.”

Jensen grinned smugly as you addressed the angel. He was on you in a flash, sliding onto the bed like a jungle cat, gliding between your legs and startling you with a kiss. He dropped down on top of you, crushing the air from your lungs, and nothing else in the world seemed to matter.

“What do you want?” he asked again, running out of lines, things to say, and wanting to hear your desire.

You closed your legs around his hips and reached for his juicy lips with yours. “Please!”

Jensen growled. “Tell me.”

You swallowed hard and took a breath, steadying your voice but not your pulse. “I want you to fuck me,” you answered with a shiver. “Hard.”

Face like a statue but a twinkle in his eye, Jensen pushed up on his big arms and nudged at your pussy, the tip of his cock slamming again and again into your throbbing clit. He held back until your nails dug deep into his shoulders and then slid down until his thick cock disappeared.

“Fuck!”  

One hand under your left knee, Jensen lifted you up, angling your body just right. The angel fell away as he worked, leaving behind the man you knew and loved.

“Fuck, baby, so fucking hot.” He panted, chin tucking into his chest as he labored, his hips grinding into your flesh, beading sweat beginning to glisten on his brow and shoulders. “Jesus...fuck!” He held the word, jaw clenching as he nearly came, trying to hold back, keep going for you.

“Come on, Jen,” you breathed, grabbing his ass and pulling him in deeper. “Please. Please. I wanna cum with you.”

His cheeks puffed with a heavy exhale and his lips puckered into a perfect circle, his eyes wide and locked on yours. He nodded and you bit your lip, waiting for the snap of bliss.

“Fuck, I’m cumming!” His voice echoed through the room as his hips slowed and Jensen dropped his fingers to your clit, pulling you over with him.

Your cunt pulsed around him, pushing and pulling him through his orgasm, and when at last he pulled away, you screeched through grit teeth as a flood of mingled cum poured from your body.

“Fuckin’ hell, Jen.”

He collapsed beside you, nearly smacking you in the face with a wayward arm as he landed. “That was... fucking awesome.”

It took some effort to roll, but you did, pushing your face into his sweaty chest. “Mhm. I… I like Mikey.”

Jensen laughed. “I noticed.”

“But,” you said, snuggling closer and pecking his cheek, “I like Jensen better.”

His blush was adorable and he reached for your lips. “Me too.”

2019 Forever Tags:

@akshi8278 @amanda-teaches @arses21434 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @because-imma-lady-assface @burningcoffeetimetravel @colagirl5 @cosicas-cuquis @cosmicfire72 @courtney-elizabeth-winchester @covered-byroses @crashdevlin @dean-winchesters-bacon @deansenwackles @deansgirl215 @deanmonandnegansbitch   @dolphincliffs @dubuforeveralone @emilyshurley @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008 @eternal-elir @feelmyroarrrr @flamencodiva @focusonspn @gayspacenerd @hella-aj-the-trickers-son @herbologystudent252 @hobby27 @ilsawasanacrobat @justcallmeasmodeus @katymacsupernatural @lastactiontricia @maddiepants @mariekoukie6661 @meganwinchester1999 @missjenniferb @mrswhozeewhatsis @mysticmaxie @onethirstyunicorn @our-jensen-ackles-love @peridot-rose @pisces-cutie @risingphoenix761 @roonyxx @roxyspearing @sandlee44 @shadowkat-83 @spnbaby-67 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @spnficgirl @supernaturaldean67 @supernatural-took-me-over @thehardcoveraddict @tmiships4life @wegoddessofhell @winchesterprincessbride

[smokeybrand]

The Weeknd Was Right

I hate the Oscars so much, man. It’s masturbation, self aggrandizing nonsense, just like all the other Hollywood awards shows. Cats are always trying to inject more diversity every three or four years, only when rumblings of how f*cking White everything is, and it’s bullsh*t. I’m glad that Chloe Zhao, Daniel Kaluuya, and Youn Yuh-jung got gold and i adore that my man, LaKeith Stanfield, got the nod. I thought Minari was a little boring but I'd be lying if those performances weren’t on point. I don’t, personally, value the Oscars but the industry does and just getting nominated opens doors for a dude. I adore that Promising Young Woman got so much shine in the categories because that was a dope f*cking movie with so much female energy, it was absurd. I’d say i was surprised by the nod but not so much. Promising Young Woman is a strong f*cking movie that can definitely stand on it’s own but it also checks a bunch of identity boxes so, you know, shoe-in for a om because that’s what Hollywood is now; Millionaire Dog Whistles, all day! Riz Ahmed getting a nom for Best Actor is awesome, even if he had no chance of winning. Dude is an exceptional actor who deserves that recognition, just like Stanfield. Excellent in everything I've ever seen him in. I’m glad Chadick Boseman got the look but he should have won. Dude was terminal with cancer and still turned in one of the best, the best if you ask me, performances of the year. If the Oscars are testament to your craft, and a man is literally dying while putting the rest for the industry to shame, how the f*ck do you pass on hum like that? Are you kidding me? And that’s not the only f*ckery afoot.

Soul is a decent flick It’s beautifully animated and performed well. But it’s a Pixar movie. They’re made from a template. They’re made specifically to win awards. That’s Disney’s category and, it your name isn’t Dreamworks, you have no shot as usurping their throne. Even if your name is Dreamworks, there’s still a good chance you’re taking home the silver. Pixar makes great films, not going to lie about that at all, but Soul is not one of them. It’s adequate. It’s a production film. And it won because of that. Pixar is a a company man and it shows. If these things were honest, Wolfwalkers would have won. That film was gorgeous, exceptionally acted, beautifully animated, and had a killer title track to boot. More than anything, Wolfwalkers was a bastion of uniqueness and originality. It is the diametric opposite of what Soul, is. Hand drawn, filled with passion, vibrantly colored, and presented with pure love. Wolfwalkers was, hands down, the best animated feature to be released last year but it lost to Soul because #OscarsoWhite. That’s the only thing i can reason for the L. Wolfwalkers was the superior film in every regard but Soul was about a Black dude. It effectively won the diversity Oscar.

Sh*t like that is why i can’t stand these ridiculous, self aggrandizing, pageants of conceit. How the f*ck can any f these “awards” be taken seriously when it’s all just schmoozing and bribes behind the seen? How is their any merit to these accolades when they are basically bought and paid for? I knew this sh*t was a joke when Gwyneth Paltrow won hers for Shakespeare in Love. Up against Cate Blanchett for Elizabeth and motherf*cking Oscar win factory, Meryl Streep, Paltrow wins? With that performance? Are you serious? Of course the Oscars are corrupt. After Harvey Weinstein got Metoo’d and all of the “campaigning” got exposed, everyone knew what i knew. Interestingly enough, Paltrow was one of the wins he got through said campaigning so, you know, the fix has been proven. The thing is, they still do it. They still hand out Oscar gold, an award meant to recognize exceptional performances in the arts, through wining and dining. Never mind the Academy’s problematic history with race. Never mind it’s problematic history of make-up Oscars. Never mind all of the transparent biases that aggressive sway ballots. The fact that the Oscar Campaign still exists, after being so publicly exposed as a tool to steal deserved wins from performances more deserving, is f*cking ridiculous. The Oscars are corrupt. Just like the Grammys. Just like the Emmys. Just like any of these “awards shows” people have decided not to watch. Get your sh*t together, Hollywood. No one cares what you think anymore.

[kpopfanfictrash]

Scholars and Slackers

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Namjoon / Reader

Word Count: 1,802

AU: Podcast

Dialogue Prompt: "I’ll be honest, I’m not fan of how tall he is. He could be like inch shorter, really. "

↳ part of my AU drabble game

“You know what’s the worst part about this podcast?” 

Leaning into his microphone, Namjoon adjusts his headset.

“No,” you say, propping both feet on his desk. Namjoon glares because he hates when you do that, but you don’t put them down. As you both know, his bark is worse than his bite. “Tell me, RM. What is the worst part about having this podcast?”

“The money. You know what they say. Mo money, mo problems.”

“Oh, right.” Seriously, you nod. “Sponsors are killing themselves to be heard on our campus-only podcast. Which – by the way.” You pause. “Drink Red Bull. This message is brought to you by… Red Bull.”

Namjoon snorts. “Yeah, you’re right. The problem is definitely not the money. In case any of you needed reminding, we’re just two broke college kids like yourself. Donate today!”

“If you’re waiting for a noble argument, we have none,” you add. “Keep us fed – or more accurately, help us get drunk at Klein’s on Friday nights. That’s where your donations are going. To alcohol.”

“We’re college kids first, humans second.”

“Anyways.” Leaning back, you wriggle your toes on Namjoon’s desk. “If money isn’t the problem, what is?”

“It’s your fucking feet on my desk.” Namjoon groans, his expression souring. “I know this is a podcast, so our listeners can’t see what Viola is doing – but she’s currently seated at my beautiful, hand-crafted desk with her shoes on top of my carefully taken notes.”

Viola is your podcast name and RM is Namjoon’s.

Viola, after the Shakespearian character of said nomenclature, your favorite of all he has written. The moniker seemed appropriate when you two began this podcast, since you met while watching the campus production of Othello. (It was terrible. You gave it two out of five damned handkerchiefs. Namjoon gave it one.)

Unimpressed, you glance at his desk. “He’s lying,” you say. “My feet are currently on top of a crumpled bag of those gross flavored Lay’s and what seems to be a diary. Ooo!” you gasp. “Anyone wanna hear RM’s deepest thoughts?”

The question is rhetorical since you aren’t live, but Namjoon snatches his notebook away like you are. 

“No,” he huffs, rolling his eyes. “My deepest thoughts aren’t that exciting. Not that deep, either. One time I thought about the Mariana trench. That was pretty deep.”

“Friday, October 17th.”  You mock-read aloud, in a dramatic tone. “Today I realized we’re all just wisps of time in the universe. All who came before us, all who come after and all who fail to leave their mark upon society – what was the point? Are those who altered history any happier in the beyond?”

“I’ll have you know,” Namjoon interrupts. “I’m currently seated on my bed holding my journal. Viola is reading from nothing.”

“Okay, true enough,” you say with a laugh. “That’s not what RM’s journal says. What it actually says is Monday morning, 7:00 AM. Jacked off in the shower. Monday afternoon, 4:17 PM. Jacked off in my bed. Monday night, 11:49 PM –”

With a loud thwacking sound, Namjoon hits you with his journal. 

“They get the point, Viola!” he says, making you snort with laughter.

The sight of his eyes crinkled, face squished makes your heart do a backflip. Fuck, are you in love with him. You have been ever since the week of your first, official podcast. 

It’s difficult to pinpoint the exact moment. Maybe the first time Namjoon ignored your rambling bullshit and pointed out exactly what you were thinking. Maybe when you ended the podcast and realized you’d talked for over an hour about nothing. Or maybe later than that, with your feet propped on his desk and his smile giving you heartburn.

Whatever the moment was, the result is a giant crush on your best friend. One you can do nothing about, since your podcast (Scholars and Slackers – two guesses as to which one you are) is a massive success on your campus. You didn’t expect it to be. What began as a mostly reviews hour – campus productions, local restaurants and the like – soon developed into something you never imagined. Namely, your friendship.

Viola and RM are known on campus, even if Y/N and Namjoon are not. Their friend chemistry is infamous and the spine of the podcast. It’d be suicidal to risk a relationship because, while Namjoon is correct and neither one of you is rolling in cash, the podcast does generate a substantial amount of income towards student loans. Things would be hard if the podcast suddenly came to an end.

Shifting forward, you crack open your laptop. “Let’s see,” you say, scrolling through last week’s comments. “I’m reading the comments from last episode and damn, some of y’all are thirsty.”

Namjoon chuckles. “Are they asking you to take your top off again?”

“No, but again.” You blink, shaking your head. “I don’t understand. You can’t even see me!” you say, as Namjoon starts to crack up. “Do you really want to subject RM to torture that badly?”

Abruptly, Namjoon’s laughter stops. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he says into the mic. “I think we should ask RM what he thinks before dismissing the topic so quickly.”

“Pass,” you say, waving his suggestion aside. “Anyways, here’s a comment asking how tall RM is.” Pausing, you frame Namjoon with your hands. “I mean, he’s tall. I couldn’t fit him in a bread box, if that’s what you’re asking. I’ll be honest, though, I’m not a fan of how tall he is.”

Namjoon sits up straighter. “No?”

“Nah. He could be like, an inch shorter, really.”

“And why is that?”

“The nook.”

“I’m sorry, the what?”

“You know.” You wave a hand. “The nook! The spot beneath a person’s arm where the other person fits. It’d be ideal if you were just a little shorter, RM, since right now your nook is just too tall. It’s hard to snuggle.”

Namjoon stares at you, mouth agape. “I – what? When have we snuggled?”

“We haven’t. I’m just guessing based off height ratios.”

“I...” Namjoon makes a strange, choked sound. “This is ridiculous. Come here. I’m going to disprove your dumb nook theory.”

“Come there?”

“Yes.”

“Why?

“I’m going to snuggle you, you ass.”

“RM. You are not snuggling me during our very serious podcast, just to prove a point.”

“Why not?”

“Because!”

“Viola, shut up and let me put you under my arm!”

“You sound like you’re going to give me a noogie,” you yelp, frantically moving away. “Hard pass.”

Rolling his eyes, Namjoon flops back on the bed. 

“Fine,” he grumbles, scrolling through some more comments. “Hey, look. I found another request for your top to be removed!”

“RM. That one is from your username.”

“It is not!”

The rest of the hour passes this way. You manage to get to the point eventually, reviewing a new café off campus which you felt had great atmosphere, adequate coffee. Namjoon refuted that atmosphere shouldn’t even be a requisite in food ranking and you spiraled from there.

Once finished, you remove your headset and sigh. “Another excellent podcast,” you say, sticking your hand out in his direction.

Namjoon stares at the extended appendage. “Are we concluding a business interview?”

“No, silly. I don’t want you to shake my hand, I want you to kiss it.”

Namjoon snorts, batting your arm away. As he stands and yawns, he stretches both arms overhead. The motion exposes a tanned strip of skin and, cheeks heating, you quickly look away. Rather than stare at your gigantic crush/best friend, you scroll through more comments. The oddest pattern has emerged as of late, even though you and Namjoon have yet to discuss it.

Most of the comments are related to content. People point out things they found funny, relatable or disagree with. Occasionally, people troll for someone to remove their shirt or do push-ups on air. Then, there’s the recent wave which seem to be multiplying by the week.

Jenny918: When will Viola and RM just kiss already??

hOOKEDonPhoenix: y’all if they aren’t dating within the year, I’ll eat my own hand

irredeemableDreamer: the tension is so thick in that room u need a HACKSAW to get through it

Jaw clenched, you read them all. 

You can only assume Namjoon’s seen them, but he’s never mentioned their presence. He’s never said anything about them at all and so, neither have you. It does make you wonder though, if your listeners are able to hear something you don’t. They all seem to theorize a tension which doesn’t exist.

Standing up from your chair, you push this from mind. Perhaps they just don’t have opposite sex friends of their own.

Slinging your bag over one shoulder, you shut your laptop and slip this inside. “Alright,” you say, glancing at Namjoon. “I have to go finish an essay. Lemme know if you need help editing.”

He nods, one arm behind his head. Namjoon’s glasses are on, squinting at the bright computer screen. 

“Sounds good.”

You wave, halfway into the hall when he speaks up behind you.

“Y/N?”

Paused on the threshold, you turn back. “Yeah?”

Namjoon’s expression is uncertain. Unusual, for him. Typically, you’re the mess and he’s the pulled-together one. Right now though, Namjoon seems to be dissecting a complicated math problem in his head.

“Would you want to…” Trailing off, he hesitates.

Although you wait for his sentence to finish, Namjoon seems to check himself. He bites down on his cheek, stifling the words.

After another long moment, you arch a brow. “Would I want to what?”

He inhales and glances away. “Uh, would you want to listen to the podcast before I post?”

Oddly disappointed by this, you nod. “Yeah, that’s fine. Just email me when you’re done.”

Offering a half-hearted wave, you leave. It could be your imagination but as the door shuts behind you, you swear that you hear Namjoon groan. The sound echoes in your mind down the hall, since you feel exactly the same.

The only difference is he’s groaning because he needs to edit an hour-long podcast and you’re groaning because you need to get your feelings for your best friend under control. If random listeners can hear the obviousness of your crush, you’re more transparent than you thought. It’s only a matter of time before Namjoon confronts you and when he does, you don’t know what you’ll say.

Thinking this, your lip quirks. Pulling your phone from your pocket, you log in with a URL Namjoon knows nothing about.

QueenMab01: RM, take your shirt off!!!!

Grinning widely, you return your phone to your pocket.

↳ part of my AU drabble game

© kpopfanfictrash, 2019. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[regalloki]

Memories

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: It’s the last night before Bucky’s departure to go fight in the war, so you visit the Stark Expo together along with Steve. It’s your last date, so you make some memories to look back to while he’s away.

Warnings: a whole ton of fluff 

Author’s note: Bucky’s backstory is based on the TFA tie-in comic and the Captain America and Bucky comics cause we see very little of his life pre-TFA (the mcu has done us wrong tbh). Also the reader can be read as gender neutral!

Word count: 2196

18 March, 1943

It was the day before he’d leave. He had just received his orders, being appointed sergeant of the 107th. Admittedly, you were a tad bit bitter. You weren’t worried for him, per se. Bucky was capable in hand-to-hand combat and an excellent marksman as well and could very well hold his own against men stronger than him. He was a natural, after all, having a knack for that sort of stuff. He was the three-time YMCA welterweight boxing champion, so, surely, he knew how to put up one hell of a good fight. During training in Wisconsin, he quickly and steadily rose up the hierarchy and the ranks to earn the title of sergeant. He would indubitably be a valuable asset to his regiment. However, watching him go was, for you, nothing short of tormenting.

You caught sight of Bucky heading towards you, charming as ever, sporting that beguiling cheeky grin that made your knees buckle. He looked positively stunning and you caught yourself unabashedly checking him out. His confident strut, cocky posture and calm nature added to the undaunted and self-assured allure, but the gleam in his entrancing baby blues, the slight tip of his head and the lovesick subconscious smile he didn’t manage to conceal after quickly catching a glimpse of you were a dead giveaway of his feigned composure.

Beneath that cool, tough and charming veneer, Bucky was an utter sweetheart. He wouldn’t be caught dead admitting it, but he was more silly and sentimental than he came across as. A huge sop, Bucky had a thing for being close to you. He liked falling asleep on you, listening to your heart beat or the low, soothing vibrations of your chest whenever you’d softly hum some made-up tune to lull him into a peaceful slumber. His hand had practically molded against your own. He was by all means a sucker for hand holding, but he’d rather not be seen. He had a reputation to withhold, after all. However, he managed to sneak his calloused hand in yours here and there, under a table or during those long cuddle sessions he liked after a particularly hard day when you were both alone at last. Bucky also had a weak spot for kisses. He tried his utmost to be stealthy and clandestine in public, but he oftentimes yielded to his desire and would slyly steal a few. If there’s one thing Bucky relished more than kissing you, it was being kissed by you. When you two were alone during the scarce downtime you’d get, all types of kisses were in order. Cheek kisses, mouth kisses, forehead kisses, neck kisses. They made Bucky feel enveloped by a welcoming surge of warmth and tenderness. He savored those moments, for they made him feel loved and cherished. It was safe to say he was absolutely smitten.

You took great joy in calling him out for how sensitive he is. His cheeks would immediately blush a gentle shade of tomato red and he would hang his head low in a desperate attempt to hide his toothy, broad smile he spectacularly failed to hold back and collect himself. But he knew it was absolute nonsense and all in good fun. He was aware of how fond you were of his clinginess and how cute you thought his gimmicks are.

“Hi, darling”, he greeted you, the low trill of his voice alone enough to make your heart skip a beat. He hugged you, briefly and slyly grazing his lips against your cheek.

He looked quite dapper in his uniform. Undoubtedly, he cleaned up nicely, you had to give him that. You were had been accustomed to a considerably ruggier look. His hair tended to be a messy halo around his head and strands would pop up here and there to frame and accentuate his handsome features. He sometimes even boasted a few bruises or marks, tell-tale signs of some recent tussle. He was never the one to shy out of a fight, although Steve was usually the one to get himself caught up in one and Bucky would be the one to defend his friend- and get a few good licks in before drawing Steve away.

You handed them their tickets to the Stark Expo. Bucky was ecstatic to find out he would be around in Brooklyn long enough to be able to go. You decided to get tickets for the two of you and Steve, something like a parting gift for Bucky. You smiled at the memory of when you told him you could all go together. His eyes went wide and he seemed so thrilled. You’ve lost count of how many times he thanked you. 

The two of you started walking side by side, stealing glances and smiles. Further down the road, you met with Steve. The three of you started catching up. Bucky told you all about Becca’s baking disaster and Steve’s latest misadventure in the back of an alley that morning. You giggled at Bucky’s frustration and at Steve’s endeavor to justify his shenanigans. 

“Buck- Bucky! Hear me out! That jerk was being disrespectful and he made that woman cry! What was I supposed to do-”

“Try not to get into a fight, that’s what! It’s been, what, the third time I’ve found you getting beat up in an alley or behind some diner just this month! I’m worried for you, Steve! I won’t be here to bail you out!”

“But-”

“Can’t you for once just do as your told? You know what? You may be my best friend but you also make for one hell of a pain in my ass, Rogers.”

You stifled a giggle at the two friends bickering. Before you knew it, the three of you arrived at the Expo. It was jaw-dropping and imposing. The lights, the inventions, the fireworks. Howard Stark sure knew how to put on a sensational show.

The inventions displayed at the Expo were astonishing and unprecedented. Flying cars, synthetic bodies, futuristic engines. You watched as Bucky marveled at the expeditions. He looked like a kid in a candy store, eyes wide and gleaming with excitement and mouth agape in wonder. The childlike enthusiasm and amazement in his eyes made you smile uncontrollably. You loved seeing him happy.

After a while, Steve left and Bucky went after him, concerned for him. Steve seemed in a bit of a haze, as if something was troubling him. He decided to not join you for the rest of the night.

“You know, he tried to enlist again this mornin’. God knows how many times he’s tried. He’s dead set on joining the army.”, Bucky explained.

“It kind of reminds me of someone”, you retorted.

“I’m just scared he’s way in over his head. War’s more brutal than some backalley. And if he keeps lying on enlistment forms they’ll either catch him or, God forbid, take him. It really gets on my nerves how thick-headed he is.”, Bucky said, looking down on his shoes.

“You know how Steve is. He has always had a fight in him. So have you. Steve wants to fight for what he believes is right. That’s his calling.”

“I’m worried sick he’ll get hurt and I won’t be there for him. He’s pretty keen on doing stupid  things.”

“You’re a good friend, Buck.”

The two of you strolled around the Expo. Bucky, all giddy and excited, ran around telling you all about the fascinating inventions. He surely loved showing off to you.  After a while, the conversation drifted elsewhere.

“Aren’t you scared? I mean, you said it yourself, war is brutal.”, you asked.

“I am. I couldn’t possibly not be.”, he chuckled almost nervously. “But it’s my duty to fight, the way it was my father’s before me. That’s one of the reasons I enlisted, you know. I wanted to finally make him proud. I had caused enough problems for him, especially after Ma died.”

“I don’t think that’s true. George loved you”

“I always got into trouble. After she passed away, I had to pretend everything is fine for Becca’s sake. But deep down I was scared and angry. Angry at everyone and everything. I would constantly get into fights, not unlike Steve. Maybe that’s why I’m so protective of him. I don’t want him to make the mistakes I did.”, he continued, head hanging down low. “Dad made a point of telling me how let down he was in me when I would come home wounded and bruised, but I don’t blame him. It’s just… His last words to me, before the accident, still ring in my head. ‘I’m disappointed in you, Bucky. You’ve really let me down here.’”, he muttered.

“You were a kid, Buck. You were processing so much grief and anger. You needed a way to unleash it. Sure, it wasn’t the best one. But you learned and grew from all this pain.”, you encouraged him.

“You’re pretty great, you know that?”, he chuckled, seemingly less on edge now. “I’ll miss you”

“You’re not too bad yourself, Barnes.”

“I’ll miss home, you know. You, Steve, Becca. But, at least, the thought of returning home will keep me going. God, I’ll miss you”

The two of you walked and talked for what seemed like hours, having a sincere heart to heart. After some time, you came across a photobooth. You both wanted to commemorate that night, so Bucky suggested taking a few pictures and you happily agreed.

You sat in the small, crammed space side by side. You placed your hand on his thigh, somewhat cheekily and he laid his head on your shoulder. You started taking pictures. While you were preoccupied with making silly faces for the camera, Bucky was busy keeping his eyes on you. You could feel his gaze on you, and, before you knew it, he laid a loving kiss on your cheek. He caught you by surprise, and the gentle touch of his lips on your cheek resulted in a toothy, ear-to-ear grin spreading across yours. You turned to him, seeing him beam at you adoringly. 

You could never get over how utterly and ridiculously impeccable and downright perfect he looked. His features were flawless. His piercing eyes were a breathtaking bright, steely blue. They glimmered in moments like these, when he was serene and content. The affectionate looks he gave you made your heart skip several beats. His rosy lips were soft and his kisses were tender and so sweet, you thought he could give you toothaches by merely kissing you. His nose was cute as a button and it took genuine effort on your part to not gently peck it with every chance you get. His hair was a velvety and silky mess with a few curls here and there framing his face and you wanted to gently card your hair through it and mess it up even more. His jaw strong jaw and cute little buttchin were the cherry on top. Bucky called to mind those Hollywood actors audiences swooned at. He was truly a sight for sore eyes.

You ogled at him long enough that a faint blush rose on his cheeks. He looked ravishing and irresistible so, without delay, you fondly grasped his neck and drove him into a passionate kiss on the lips. It wasn’t rushed or heated, but delicate and mellow. He leaned into your touch, craving it, and lowly hummed in content and satisfaction, as he cupped and caressed your cheek.

He pulled away with a delighted smile on his face. Both your hearts were bursting at their seams with pure, sheer love and affection for each other. That love transcended anything superficial, like looks or charm. Bucky had a heart of gold and sometimes it was too heavy for his own good. He cared so much for others that it took a toll on himself. But he was sincerely kind hearted and caring. You genuinely admired and appreciated him for that. He’s extremely loyal and devoted. He never gave up on anyone, not Steve nor his sister nor you. He was thrice as strong emotionally as he was physically, having to go through all that pain and despair and still be his sister’s rock. Bucky was an angel and he deserved the purest and sweetest love there is. And you wanted nothing more than to give him that.

Bucky grabbed the photos with a small smile on his features.

“You look nice”, he complemented.

“Not nearly as nice as you”, you replied, the words escaping your mouth before you knew it.

The grin disappeared from his lips in realization. The night was drawing to a close and he’d never get to share one with you for the foreseeable future. He started holding onto those photos a little harder now. 

“There you go.”, he said. moving his hand to give them to you.

“Keep them”, you retorted. “To remember me while you’re away.”

“To be frank, sweetheart, I don’t think I’d be able to forget you. In fact, I think I’d struggle to think of something else.”, he chuckled. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Buck.”

[erekiosuncreativeideas]

Reliving An Old Nightmare - Chapter 19

<= Chapter 18

Summary : Snatcher and Vanessa have a little talk. Also available on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/22337299/chapters/58399249

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NEW CHAPTER !! I hope you'll like it !

Thank you so much for all your comments ! I need to reply to them, but I've read them, several times ! I'm so happy you like this fanfiction so much ! I'll reply to them later because I'm really sick right now (might be a really painful throat infection, I have no idea), but know that I really wanted to thank you all for your lovely comments !! You have no idea how much it motivates me !

HAPPY READING !

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Chapter 19

Snatcher’s eyes widened as he saw Vanessa entering the room, dressed in her green nightshirt. Guilt was clearly visible on her face as she avoided the shade’s eyes, staring at the floor instead. And, in her hands was the kid’s hat, completely undamaged. But something felt wrong, different… And it didn’t take long for the ghost to notice why: the Queen’s hands looked very much different than human ones. The skin was black and her fingers had gotten thinner, sharper. The tips of her fingers ended much more like claws than regular nails, all black as well. Those hands seemed like they belonged to a monster rather than a person.

And Vanessa having these claws only made the spirit panic. It was like before, just like back then, when she-

The Queen looked up once again and met his eyes for the first time. Snatcher’s breath got caught in his throat as numerous memories kept appearing in his mind, almost blinding him. It was too much, too much… He had hoped his words would make her leave but now he felt extremely vulnerable, especially with him incapacitated and her having hands like these. Knowing Vanessa was behind the door was one thing, but… Seeing her in person, with those claws, while he was unable to move… This was not the same.

Just like the little girl to his side, Snatcher was absolutely terrified. Yet, there was something strange about the expression on Vanessa’s face. And as he stared at her silently, he could feel that her attitude wasn’t the same as before. On the contrary, instead of glaring at him, she seemed… Embarrassed? Ashamed?

Vanessa had never looked this way before. At least, not in a sincere way.

The woman made a few steps towards them and Snatcher could feel his whole body tensing up immediately. She was going to hurt him, wasn’t she? She was going to freeze him to death, he was sure of it! He couldn’t go through all of this again!

And then he heard a scared whimper on his right, which suddenly reminded him of the brat’s presence. Said brat was doing her best to get far, far away from the Queen, in vain. Shackled to the wall like she was, there was absolutely no way she could protect herself against the spirit’s evil ex. The kid was just as much in danger than he was. Maybe more, because why would Vanessa care about a child she didn’t even know?

Snatcher would not allow it.

The spirit gritted his teeth (fangs?) and hissed at Vanessa menacingly. Even if he still had a semi-human body now, he hoped to seem threatening enough to dissuade his ex from coming closer. He still didn’t have his powers, he couldn’t feel the usual energy inside of his chest, but she didn’t know that. Luckily for Snatcher, he was an excellent actor.

-“Don’t you dare take another step,” he growled, baring his fangs and almost not recognizing his own voice. He felt like he had been human for so long that he almost forgot how his voice sounded like as a ghost. It had only been a few days, but it was already too much.

Surprisingly enough, Vanessa listened to him and stopped. She winced at the tone of his voice and glanced away once again. What? The shade was utterly confused by her behaviour. She had lied to him and yelled at him a few hours ago! And now she was acting like she felt bad? Why?! This didn’t make any sense!

Seconds passed in deafening silence. The shade really expected her to attack them at any moment but she remained motionless, waiting patiently. He had thought she would glare at the kid but she didn’t. On the contrary, she had given her a sorry look, instead of looking daggers at the brat. She always used to do that when they were alive, when someone got a little too close to him, though he had always tried his best to ignore it.

Then what was going on? Why wasn’t she reacting badly to the kid? Her anger about himself, he wouldn’t be surprised, but the child had been caught with him! Why wasn’t she mad about them trying to escape too? He didn’t understand!

The shade was about to ask what were her true intents but was cut short when she started to speak, breaking the silence that had fallen into the cellar:

-“I’m sorry,” she murmured, clenching her fingers on the hat she was holding. Her expression was full of a guilt Snatcher had never seen on her. The apology hit Snatcher like a train: Vanessa… Never apologized. She had done so in the last few days yet it had never been this formal.

Something was different. Snatcher’s fear was soon replaced by his anger coming back full force, seeing as they apparently weren’t in immediate danger anymore:

-“You’re sorry?” he repeated, emphasizing the last word as if it were poisonous: “For what? Locking us in here? Keeping us trapped in this doomed timeline? For having killed everyone?”

He scoffed bitterly and continued with a voice full of sarcasm:

-“You know, I’m starting to get confused, because you haven’t done a single good thing since the moment we came here!” he paused and then corrected himself, darkly: “No, actually, that’s wrong. You haven’t done a single good thing since the moment I met you.”

The words clearly had an effect on Vanessa, as she looked away once more, while the air around them cooled down. Maybe the spirit should have kept his mouth shut, considering how vulnerable they were against the Ice Queen. But to the ghost’s extreme bewilderment, she only looked upset and not angry at his claims.

Eventually, she started talking again, staring at her shoes as tears rolled on her cheeks:

-“You’re right. I haven’t.” The shade’s eyes widened at her words, as she continued: “I failed, I did everything wrong. Every possible mistake there was to make, I made it. And… I’m sorry. For everything.”

Snatcher couldn’t believe it. He didn’t want to believe it. What was she even saying? Did she even realize how much it was too late for this? Subcon Village had been destroyed, everyone had been killed, and she had murdered him! And after hundreds of years spent in pure denial, she was apologizing to him? This was absolutely ridiculous!

Oh no, no, this wouldn’t be that easy for her, he didn’t want it to be. And yet, he had wanted a “sorry” for so, so long…

-“Are you even hearing yourself talking right now?” questioned the spirit, both livid and astonished at the same time: “It’s too late! You can’t change anything!” He then pointed to his shackles with a nod of his head: “Even this! What’s the point of apologizing if you just want us dead?! Is it because you want to feel better about yourself?”

He scoffed again before glaring at her, his eyes full of hatred:

-“Trust me, you don’t deserve it.”

Vanessa lowered her head as more tears left her eyes. Her fingers squeezed the hat she was holding, not moving an inch. She was doing her best not to cry, which only confused Snatcher even more: why would she hold back? It wasn’t like she had tried the other times in the last few days! Was she trying to appear pitiful so he could feel sorry for her? The spirit frowned at the thought in disgust. She was pitiful but he would never, never feel sorry for her. Never, not after what she had done and what she was trying to do in the present.

After a few seconds, the Queen rubbed her eyes with her sleeve and sniffed loudly.

She then asked, looking at him with despair:

-“I want to believe you, I really do… About all of this being fake,” she confessed, closing her eyes: “I want to do the right thing for once, but… How can I know you’re telling the truth?”

Contrary to their other arguments, Vanessa seemed truly sincere. He could see in her expression that she was actually asking him and not fighting his claims as she did in the previous hours. However, that didn’t change the fact that she was still trying to keep the situation as it was, no matter how horrible it was. Who chained their former lover in their basement?! And chaining a child with them?

Snatcher gritted his fangs while the hatless kid was completely silent and motionless, afraid of what was happening. The ghost didn’t blame her.

He then nodded to himself and then to Vanessa’s hands, feeling his frustration growing dangerously.

-“Do we look human to you?” he questioned back, fiercely: “Does it strike you as something real? Because it certainly doesn’t for me. Just use your head for once!”

The Queen lowered his eyes to glance at her own hands before looking away, as if she had been trying to ignore this as much as possible.

-“He told me… He told me it was only temporary…” The spirit’s ex tried to justify herself, but Snatcher would not stand hearing her excuses. No more. No more of that.

-“Oh yeah? And then what’s going to happen? Everything is going to turn back to normal as if nothing had ever happened? Is that what this guy told you? How much naive can you be, Vanessa?”

She frowned at his remark but didn’t try to argue this point. It probably meant she already knew something was wrong. She was just too desperate and blatantly refused to see the truth. And it was all the shade needed to prove his point:

-“You know he’s lying to you. You’ve seen those distortions too. So what do you need to finally see that you’re being manipulated? Do I need to die again because you’re deluding yourself?! Is that it?!”

-“No!” retorted Vanessa with a scream, only to quickly put her hands over her mouth. She then looked all around herself, as if she was scared about something. Or… Someone.

The realization then hit Snatcher: Vanessa probably hadn’t told “Simeon” she was there. But why?

-“Why are you here, Vanessa?” finally asked the spirit, calmly this time: “What do you want from me?”

The Ice Queen remained silent a few seconds, cringing as if she was confused herself by her presence here. She eventually found back the courage to answer the shade, starting to sob:

-“Why does this have to be fake?” she wondered aloud as she cried even more: “Why couldn’t I fix everything? I just want us to be happy, like before!”

Her last sentence hurt Snatcher much more than what he had expected. Not because he was pitying her, far from it, but because… The ghost hadn’t been really happy when he was alive, now that he was thinking about it. Yes, he had been madly in love with Vanessa, wanting nothing more than to live with her for the rest of his life (which he finally did, HAH), yet… There had been so many red flags, so many little things that had made this relationship extremely toxic for him. Whether it was Vanessa bleaching and cutting his hair, forbidding his favourite dish in the manor, preventing him from talking to other people… It had been so suffocating, yet he had been so blindly in love with her that he had never said anything against it. Or, well, he had tried, only to have Vanessa yelling at him afterwards.

He had never been happy. The bad things had outweighed the good ones, more and more as time went by. He just loved her too much to care about it at the time.

Sorrow replaced his anger as he looked at her, right in her eyes:

-“You know it’s too late,” he replied, seeing her face contort with sadness as she heard his words: “It doesn’t work like that.”

-“Then what should I do to make you forgive me?!” she cried out, though more quietly than before. It was obvious she wanted to be redeemed, but how could someone be forgiven after the murder of an entire village over a small misunderstanding?

Vanessa’s words presented him an opportunity to take advantage of her despair, telling her he would forgive her if she freed them… Yet, for an unknown reason, Snatcher couldn’t. He felt like this was his only chance at making his ex realize that she had to take responsibility for her behaviour. Deep inside of him, he knew he would never get a chance like this again.

For the very first time in both their life and afterlife, Vanessa was ready to listen to him.

Snatcher lowered his head. But would she understand?

-“There’s nothing you can do,” he answered with a sad tone: “You can’t do things just so I can forgive you. It doesn’t work like that.”

-“… So you won’t forgive me?” Vanessa seemed heartbroken, though he had expected that with his answer.

-“I don’t think I ever will. Not if you refuse to change.”

The woman remained silent for a minute, visibly doing her best not to cry more. But soon, she was sobbing again, as Snatcher and the hatless kid were watching her. There was nothing they could do and, even if there was, it wasn’t their job.

Vanessa was the one who needed to change, by her own will, not because of someone else. She needed to understand that her actions had consequences and that it wasn’t always possible to erase the past. Both figuratively and literally.

Eventually, after a few more minutes, she calmed herself down, taking deep breathes. The shade had expected her to leave after the conclusion of their discussion, but Vanessa did something else entirely. She reached inside the top hat and took something out of it. It was a small and shiny object that the shade recognized instantly.

The key of those shackles.

-“W-what…?” stuttered the spirit, extremely confused by the recent turns of the events.

Vanessa sniffed again and nodded, a new determination replacing the melancholy on her face.

-“Okay,” she murmured, taking a few more steps towards them: “I trust you.”

The Queen then approached the key and put it inside the lock, opening Snatcher shackles one by one, leaving the spirit absolutely confused but relieved at the same time.

Vanessa had listened to him. For the first time, she had accepted to trust him. This realization brought him a strange feeling of satisfaction, of comfort. He couldn’t help but feel like a huge weight had disappeared from his tired shoulders, a weight he had carried for centuries without even knowing it had been there in the first place.

Vanessa then freed the kid next to him, who seemed much more reassured now that Vanessa had agreed to help them. The woman apologized to the little girl, telling her she was sorry for keeping her locked in here.

In the meantime, the shade rubbed at his wrist nervously, trying his best to ignore the sensation left on his purple “skin”. Somehow, he felt like the shackles were still there, even though they had been taken off.

He had no idea if it was because of his trauma coming back at him… Or if it was just his body returning more and more to his spectral form. After all, he had often felt the shackles on his wrists, even centuries after his death… He stared at his hands, not knowing what to think.

... His body hurt so much.

Snatcher’s thoughts were cut short as the kid tugged his cape gently. The way she was staring at him showed how worry she was for him.

-“You okay, Snatcher?” asked the little girl, concerned.

Vanessa stared at them, not knowing what to do with herself. The ghost couldn’t tell if she was confused about their relationship or the way the child called him. He doubted his ex had learnt he had thrown his old identity through the window, so the latter possibility made sense. She didn’t ask anything about it, though.

-“I’m fine,” answered Snatcher, yet he wasn’t. But he didn’t want to think about it at the moment. All he wanted was to get out of this timeline, once and for all.

He turned back to Vanessa, very much determined with this last thought:

-“So… Who’s the guy behind Simeon?” he questioned.

They needed to know their enemy before doing anything else. They were going to escape this time rift, Snatcher would make sure of it.

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Hope you liked this chapter ! I'll try writing the 22th chapter if my throat gets better. I doubt it will but I think the 22th chapter will be finished soon so... If the inspiration comes tonight, I'll write a little bit !

Chapter 20 =>

[nicolewrites]

i don’t have enough money for chicken nuggets

for emi, who told me this vine had big Ingrid energy and because I needed a break from writing space fic~

Rating: G+ Genre: Friendship Characters: Sylvain Jose Gautier & Ingrid Brandl Galatea  Words: 2,089

They’ve both had not-so-amazing days so Sylvain makes a better than excellent suggestion. / roommates au

AO3

Ingrid is lying on the floor of the apartment when Sylvain gets home. He’s absolutely exhausted and he’s pretty sure he’s got a crick in his neck that will literally never go away thanks to being hunched over a desk in the library for almost eight hours. He almost doesn’t see Ingrid on the ground until he sees Mercedes sitting on the couch, flipping through one of Ingrid’s veterinary science books. 

Sylvain pauses and stares at Mercedes and then he catches sight of the sushi socks that are peeking around the side of the couch. He knows those socks because he bought those socks for Ingrid for her birthday last year. Sylvain waves to Mercedes and she smiles at him brightly in return. He walks up and leans over the couch, taking in the sight of his roommate lying face down on their floor. 

“Everything okay?” he asks. The question is open and directed to either Mercedes or Ingrid, whoever feels more up to answering it. 

“Ingrid has had a rough day,” Mercedes supplies helpfully. 

Sylvain raises an eyebrow. “Oh? What kind of bad day?”

“My supervisor rejected my most recent project plan,” Ingrid grumbles, not even lifting her head up. “I stayed up literally all night finishing it and the only thing he said to me was that the conclusion needed work before he could approve it and that he wanted a new draft by Thursday.”

Mercedes smiles sympathetically. “I ran into Ingrid on campus after I dropped Annie off and gave her a ride back here.” She checks her watch. “I do need to run to the hospital to drop off something before tomorrow.”

Mercedes stands up and walks over to him, patting his arm. Sylvain smiles at her, looking between his miserable, blob-shaped roommate and their mutual friend. 

“Thanks for staying, Mercie,” he says quietly.

“My pleasure,” she replies. 

Mercedes drifts past him and head for the door of their apartment and then Sylvain is left staring down at his grumpy roommate who is still lying face-down on the rug. 

“Ingrid,” he says, “surely there are more comfortable places to mope?”

“Too far away,” she grumbles. 

He rolls his eyes and finally walks around the couch. He bends down and grabs her under the arms and literally hauls her up. Ingrid shrieks and immediately flails in his grip. Her leg swings out, kicking at his shin and Sylvain grunts. Unfortunately, due to his own tiredness, he isn’t quite ready for a flailing Ingrid and she manages to take them both out, sending them crashing to the couch. 

Sylvain twists so he doesn’t land on top of Ingrid and they land side by side on the couch. Also unfortunately, the couch is not built for two people and since Sylvain lands closer to the edge, he immediately rolls off of it, landing straight on his ass. Ingrid sits up on the couch, blinking her wide green eyes at him. 

Sylvain’s tailbone hurts from the sudden impact, but he bursts out laughing. Ingrid laughs too, swinging her legs down so she’s sitting properly on the couch. She leans forward, her lips curling into a half-smirk. 

“Nicely done,” she teases. 

He rolls his eyes at her and pushes himself to his feet using the edge of the couch and the coffee table. “Hey, I was just trying to help you. You’re the one who flipped out.”

Ingrid shoves him as he sits on the couch next to her. “Whatever. I was comfortable.”

“No, you weren’t,” he counters. “The floor is wood. The rug is thin. There is no way that was comfortable.

Ingrid huffs and tugs on the sleeves of the hoodie she’s wearing, pulling them down over her hands. “I was lazy, then,” she corrects herself. 

She twists, reclining on the couch and throwing her feet up across his lap. Sylvain gets a good look at the hoodie she’s wearing and he blinks in surprise as he recognizes it. It’s an old dark teal hoodie with their high school crest in white. There’s a black ink stain on the right sleeve from where Felix broke a pen when Sylvain had been in his senior year. 

“That’s my hoodie,” he says dumbly, still staring at it. 

Ingrid blinks and looks at the sweater. She seems just as surprised as he is to see that it is. “Oh, it is, isn’t it.”

Sylvain stares. “It’s been missing since I was in my freshman year of undergrad! How do you have it?”

Ingrid taps her chin as she thinks about it. “You know, I think you left it at my house when you went off to university and I meant to give it back, but I just forgot to.”

Sylvain rubs his forehead. “Wait so we’ve been living together for four years and I haven’t seen you wear it?”

She looks down, her ears turning pink. “I, uh, normally sleep in it, not wear it out and around.”

Sylvain feels his own neck get hot and he clears his throat. “Yeah, uh, right.”

He drops his gaze down to his lap where Ingrid’s sock-clad feet are resting. The socks are navy blue and covered in cartoon pieces of sushi. He had thought they were hilarious when he saw them in December so he had bought them and sat on them for a month until her birthday. Ingrid had cracked up as soon as she had opened the present because they were socks, but she wore them fairly often. 

“I like your socks,” he says dumbly. 

She just laughs. “They’re comfortable. I’m still sad you didn’t buy those matching hot dog ones the other day.”

Sylvain practically snorts a laugh. “God, but those were ugly. There’s a difference between cute graphic socks and bright yellow graphic socks with wieners on them.”

She wrinkles her nose. “How do you make that sound dirty?”

Sylvain blinks and lifts his hand from where it had rested on her ankle without thinking. “I guess it kind of did, didn’t it.”

Ingrid rolls her eyes and swings her feet off his lap, standing up. She walks back around the couch into the kitchen and opens the fridge. Sylvain turns, throwing an arm over the back of the couch to watch her as she rifles around in the fridge. After a second, she shuts the fridge and twists her face into what Sylvain can only call a pout. 

“Fuck,” she grumbles. 

Sylvain chuckles. “You all out?”

Ingrid brushes some of her short hair behind her ear. “I definitely told Felix yesterday that I would make dinner tonight since he has fencing, but I also definitely forgot to buy anything that’s actually worth eating for dinner tonight.”

Sylvain stood up, stretching his arms above his head. His shoulders popped satisfyingly and he strode into the kitchen. He stepped around his roommate to the fridge and opened it, scanning his own side of the fridge. 

Similar to Ingrid, he also seemed to be lacking in actual edible food. There was some milk and a tub of yogurt as well as a couple of bell peppers, but no protein and nothing that he actually wanted to eat after having spent a full day in the library studying corporate law. And since it seemed Ingrid had had just as poor a day as he had, he knew there was something they could do that would cheer both of them up. 

“Text Felix and ask what he wants from McDonald’s,” Sylvain suggests to Ingrid, closing the fridge. 

He leaves the kitchen and heads down the hallway towards his room. Ingrid stares at him for a moment before she chases him, following him all the way to the door of his room. She stops in the doorway and stares at him as he strips off his shirt, pulling on a dark grey long-sleeved t-shirt. He turns around and sees Ingrid is still staring at him. 

“McDonald’s?” she repeats, sounding confused. 

Sylvain tugs his shirt down to straighten it and grins. “Sure! You’re telling me you don’t want to relieve the stupidest things we did in high school tonight?”

Ingrid’s mouth opens and closes and then she frowns. “I didn’t budget this in this week.”

Sylvain rolls his eyes and walks over to her, throwing an arm around her shoulder and spinning her around, guiding her back down the hall towards the front door of the apartment. “Don’t worry about it. It’s literally just fast food. I can cover you.”

Ingrid sighs, but her interest in getting cheap fast food is apparently stronger than her dislike of Sylvain paying for things since she doesn’t resist as he leads them to the front of their apartment. He grabs his keys and wallet from his bag at the door and pulls on his shoes. Ingrid slows down as she walks to the door, typing a message out on her phone to Felix. 

Sylvain straightens up and waits for her by the door, spinning his keys on his lanyard idly. Ingrid slides her sock-clad feet into athletics scuffs and shoves her hands into the pockets of her poached sweater. Sylvain grins and opens the door, leading the way out of the apartment. Ingrid pauses as they leave to lock the door but then she follows him to the elevator. 

Sylvain unlocks his car and slides into the driver’s side. Ingrid gets into the passenger side and he starts the engine. His car’s Bluetooth beeps, confirming its connection to his phone and he steals a glance at Ingrid, smirking. Immediately, her brow knits in suspicion. 

“Play the High School Musical soundtrack,” Sylvain says gleefully. 

Ingrid groans and drops her arms and head forward onto the dashboard. “Oh my god, Sylvain.”

“Hey, we’re emulating being stupid high school days, aren’t we?”

The music from the first song in the movie starts playing over his car’s speakers as he pulls out of the parking lot. Ingrid leans back from the dashboard and glares at the speaker. Sylvain just smiles to himself and turns the volume up louder. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Ingrid grumbles. “A twenty-five-year-old man and you put on High School Musical in your car.”

“Only with you,” he teases back. “Besides, it’s not like we all didn’t absolutely love this movie when we were younger.”

Ingrid huffs. “When I was eleven, maybe.”

Sylvain laughs. “Aw, come on, I was just trying to distract you. Get your mind of everything.”

He steals a glance from her as he stops at a red light. She looks less annoyed when he says that, her green eyes softening. 

“Yeah, I know,” she mumbles. “I appreciate it.”

He takes one hand off the wheel and pats her shoulder. “You’ll knock him dead next time, Ingrid,” he assures. “If I can get my studiously lazy ass into Law School, you can knock your supervisor dead with this project plan. Besides, even if it takes a few more days, it’s not going to derail your entire Masters.”

She huffs out a breath. “I know, it’s just frustrating.” She turns towards him and it takes every ounce of driving knowledge he has to keep his eyes on the road and not to meet her gaze. “Weren’t you supposed to be busy tonight?”

“Nah,” he says. “I was going to go on a date, but I called it off earlier when I was three hours deep in corporate law with no end in sight.”

Ingrid shudders. “Oh god. How long were you even at the library today?”

He shrugs and turns on his turn signal to turn right into the McDonald’s parking lot. “Too long,” he grumbles.

Ingrid laughs at him. “Yeah, I don’t think I’m the only one who needed this break.”

Sylvain shrugs. “Hey, I’m just hungry.”

She fiddles with the sleeve of the hoodie as he parks and he turns towards her, grinning. 

“If I buy you a 50-pack of nuggets can I have my hoodie back?”

She scoffs. “No way. This is mine now.”

He snaps his fingers, but he can’t disguise the amused look on his face. “Darn,” he drawls sarcastically, killing the engine. “Guess I’ll just have to play the High School Musical 2 soundtrack on the way back to the apartment.”

He yanks his keys free and jumps out of the car before Ingrid can lash out and whack him. He jogs away from the car towards the McDonald’s laughing. She staggers out of his car, scowling. 

“Sylvain!”

He picks up the pace, letting his laugh carry back to her. It feels good. 

[ashwayssunny]

carry that weight.

hello! here’s a lil fic that nobody asked for. aka, dennis spends the night on the couch. set during “the gang gets romantic,” so it’s tagged for spoilers! warnings for brief mentions of v*miting, drug use, and dennis-typical creepiness.

Like most nights, he couldn’t sleep. He’d felt a headache building for hours, had known it would be a nasty one as soon as the woman Mac had unceremoniously decided to pair him with revealed she was no single woman after all. He wasn’t sure if he’d lost interest in the scheme then, or if he’d simply never had any to begin with. Either way, he’d had to swallow his complaints. It would’ve been so simple - should’ve been so simple - for him to crawl into Mac’s bed, drift away, and forget the scheme altogether, but the way his skin burned like he’d laid down on a bed of hot coals told him it simply would not be. 

The couch was not meant to host an overnight guest. It was uncomfortable on the best of days, and today was not one of its best days. It was cold, the leather warped and torn in odd places, and so lumpy, Dennis felt as if he were trying to get comfortable on the head of a giant mushroom. He was cold, too, as he always was, and the throw blanket he must’ve stolen from his sister no less than ten years ago offered him no support. He dreaded the way his back would ache in the morning, and the thought of it was almost enough to send him running back to Mac’s room with his tail between his legs. Almost. 

The woman - Lisa, he remembered vaguely, though he’d thought he’d made it a rule for himself that knowing their names cheapened the experience - was attractive enough. Slender figure, inauspicious features, a face he’d forget once it wriggled out from underneath him. He liked redheads. Mac knew that, of course. Mac seemed to know many things about him; Dennis didn’t know why that surprised him after nearly twenty-five years of cohabitation. I know you, man, Mac had said to him once in a way that sounded quite like he was saying something else. Dennis remembered fighting back tears for the first time since childhood. Mac was so close, he thought, just in the other room, nothing but paint and drywall between them. If Dennis concentrated hard enough, he could make out the sound of him snoring obscenely; he pictured Mac’s arms and legs tossed haphazardly over themselves, knew he was drooling into his one and only pillowcase-less pillow. He wondered, if he had stayed, if Mac would be drooling into his shoulder instead. 

Dennis rolled onto his side, pushing those thoughts away. The current occupants of his room seemed to still be awake; the walls in their apartment would certainly win no awards for protecting anyone’s privacy, and despite his best efforts to soundproof the room, sound escaped just as frequently and as forcefully as so many failed sexual escapades that passed through that very same door. Twenty-five years’ worth of sexual escapades. Dennis tried not to think too hard about how long twenty-five years truly was. Until recently, he’d been twenty-five in his head, willfully ignorant of the passage of time, but now as he stared down the reality of being nearly twice that age, the bliss that came with his willful ignorance had all but disappeared. At twenty-five, he could shoot tequila till the sun came up, sleep for a few hours, and go on about his day, rinsing and repeating each night in a pattern that became as comfortable and familiar to him as waking up and falling asleep. He would always vomit, of course, because a weak stomach and an easily triggered gag reflex was something, among other things he didn’t care to admit, he shared with his twin sister. Now he was lucky if vomiting was all that came of nights like that. After thirty-five, his hangovers seemed to evolve, lasting days and robbing him of usefulness for what seemed like weeks, like months, like years. Now, pushing forty-five, it was not so easy to rinse and repeat. 

A brief but unmistakable sob came from his room, and Dennis rolled his eyes but was secretly grateful for distraction. His thoughts returned to the woman, Lisa. He remembered trying to stare at her. It wasn’t unusual; he often studied his targets, drank them in like a smooth crème de menthe. He knew it made them uneasy, and he’d liked it that way. But his eyes kept drifting, and it was jarring to him in a way he could not pinpoint. He didn’t feel anything when he looked at her; then again, he didn’t feel anything when he looked at any of them, but a deep, burning lust that boiled in his brain and in his stomach and told him he would combust if he didn’t touch someone was ever-present. Or it had been. It wasn’t now, and that was most jarring of all. Lisa was attractive enough; sweet-faced, red-haired, curvy in the best places, and totally, completely uninteresting to him. He wondered if something in him was broken for good this time, if he could never get it back, if he even wanted to get it back. If he even wanted anything at all. 

Another sob choked its way through the silence of their apartment, grating on Dennis’s eardrums. He groaned aloud, hating Mac for putting him through this. He considered turning on the TV in the living room and popping in a Rambo DVD just to rattle him awake with the sound of gunfire. When more muffled whimpering made him clench his fists tightly to his body, he decided he needed some other noise, anything else, to drown it out. He reached for his phone across the coffee table, sliding past the home screen and opening his Spotify app. With shaky hands, he pressed the ‘shuffle’ button on a Rock Classics playlist, closing his eyes and placing his phone next to his ear. Soft, simple piano chords started to loosen the knot in his chest, and when Paul McCartney’s sweet voice began to dance against his eardrum, he smiled in spite of himself. His eyes drifted shut. “Once there was a way to get back homeward,” Paul sang, “once there was a way to get back home...”

He’d tried to look at her legs. He’d forced himself to stare. They were nice enough, as was the curve of her ass, but he felt no familiar twinge of desire. Why couldn’t he just look at her legs? Instead, he felt fear. Months could by at times without him feeling anything at all, and though that frightened him, he knew he could substitute physical arousal for emotion with a relatively high rate of success. It didn’t make him feel happy, but it made him feel something. And that counted. Every drop of water in the desert of his emotional terrain was appreciated, was needed. Like any desert, he could dry up for months, not a feeling in sight, but once the rainy season began, it ran its course with such forceful agony, he wondered if the therapist he’d seen with Dee so many years ago was on to something after all. 

“Sleep, pretty darling, do not cry...”

Why had he agreed to the scheme at all? As the verses repeated, he turned the question over and over in his mind, poking holes in his own arguments, tearing down his own defenses. Obviously he’d done the scheme to satisfy Mac, but... why? Dennis bristled at the thought of Mac having purposefully booked a married couple to force Dennis into his room, but his reaction to the unfortunate existence of Lisa’s husband seemed genuine. Dennis knew Mac well enough to know when he was lying. He paused, considering that thought. He’d seen Mac lie through his teeth a thousand times, and he was bad at it because Dennis knew that he wore his heart on his sleeve, but how many others knew that about him? How many others could sniff out Mac’s lies, pick his laugh out of a crowd of a thousand, recognize even the faintest hint of his scent when Mac’s clothes inevitably mixed with some of his own in the wash? I know you, man, Mac’s voice whispered in his head. 

Lisa, he said to himself. He needed to think about Lisa. Lisa, with her red hair and her red, snotty nose and her husband. Dennis nearly scoffed. What a ridiculous thing to want to have. Perhaps if he tried hard enough, conjured Lisa’s face above Jackie DeNardo’s chest, it would work. He could rub out a quick one and be asleep in twenty minutes. For whatever reason, however, his mind’s eye could not linger on her. Lisa’s face warped and changed shape, shifting into something so unrecognizable, he could not remember it at all. What was it he’d said to Mac earlier? That this whole thing felt desperate, felt unlike him? Odd, he conceded, for a man who once purchased a boat to help him attract women. But Dennis had run the same course, danced the same steps so many times between twenty-five and forty-five, he’d finally begun to dream about packing up his tap shoes and retiring the show for good. Performing, yes, it was all a performance - albeit an excellent one, he gave himself - but a performance nonetheless, and one he feared may finally be better left to a younger man. But perhaps he could do it. Dennis Reynolds had done everything in his life with grace, with poise and mystique. Why should aging be any different? He could retire the skin of his old self like a baseball jersey; some ill-fitting thing at which he could look back and smile but no longer had the power to squeeze him to fit its mold. Yes, that would be nice. 

The drums cascaded like a waterfall down the track and forced in a new tune. “Boy, you’re gonna carry that weight, carry that weight a long time...”

And what would be left there, in the empty space between the old Dennis and the new? Dennis swallowed hard without meaning to as another face took shape in his mind, a much more familiar face. Mac smiled at him so sweetly that morning, his giddiness about scheming together again palpable in the air. Mac smiled at him earlier, too, lying next to him silently, their arms brushing just enough to set that part of Dennis’s skin on fire. Mac had always looked at him that way. It made him seem younger. Dennis wondered if perhaps that was because it reminded him of high school, of smoking pot underneath the stadium bleachers, of Mac staying late at his house and beating him for fifteen rounds of Killer Instinct just so he wouldn’t have to go home. Mac still looked at him that way, even when that Dennis and the Dennis he was now seemed lifetimes apart. 

“Boy, you’re gonna carry that weight, carry that weight a long time...”

Feet moving before he even made the conscious decision, Dennis slinked off the couch, feeling his way through the darkness until his fingers curled around Mac’s doorknob. Yes, maybe he’d done the scheme to make Mac happy, to spend time with him, to make-believe their friendship hadn’t taken a turn for the worst in recent years. Dennis knew he had to shoulder most of the blame, but perhaps it didn’t have to be that way. He was so tired of performing, so tired of playing a character that nobody, especially Mac, believed in anymore. And if Mac already knew him, truly knew him in the way that he had so long feared being known, then why play the character at all? 

Dennis assuredly but slowly creaked open Mac’s door, shuffling forward until he nearly tripped over the bare mattress. Mac was snoring, but the sound was familiar, and Dennis was suddenly tired enough to deal with it. He laid down as quietly as possible, but Mac’s cheap old mattress practically screamed beneath him, and Mac rolled over, eyes wide and stark white in the darkness, searching until he found Dennis’s face. 

“Den?” he asked. “What are you doing?” 

“Shhhh, go to sleep,” Dennis said, slipping his legs underneath Mac’s blanket. He curled his arms inward on his chest, contouring his body to fit around Mac’s shape without actually touching him. Mac didn’t protest, only sighed softly and inched just a bit closer. “The couch was killing my back,” Dennis whispered, and Mac chuckled. 

“Figured,” he yawned, rolling back over. Dennis’s eyes popped open, and he stared at the back of Mac’s head for a long moment before swallowing and letting out a little yawn himself. He released the tension he’d been holding since that morning in his jaw, and with the familiar scent of Mac’s hair gel on their shared pillow consuming him, sleep finally came. 

[stevenuniversallyreviews]

Episode 123: Room for Ruby

“It's sunny now, but it can always rain later.”

Catch and Release really did change everything. I’ve already discussed it as a paradigm shift, transforming the concept of what the Crystal Gems are: before, a quartet with Steven as the rookie, and after, a fluid group where Steven has some seniority. We’re in an era where Connie, a full-fledged human, is a Crystal Gem. Bismuth, who already was a Crystal Gem but got reintroduced and then left behind, will return as a member of the modern iteration. And two former enemies, Peridot and Lapis, have joined the group (the latter unofficially). So who’s to say a ruby soldier wouldn’t fit in?

Granted, Charlyne Yi’s performs a ruby that’s a little too forgiving, and power combo Raven Molisee (of the highly expressive Molisee’n’Villeco) and Jesse Zuke (of the barnmaster duo Zuke’n’Florido) exaggerate her face and words to the point where it’s at least a little suspicious from the start. But Navy, cleverly named for the gem on her navel just as Army is named for her arm gem, has always been friendly and chipper compared to the other rubies in her squad. It’s believable, despite us never witnessing it, that the other rubies are mean to her for this attitude. And because this is a ridiculous character, it was always possible that her ridiculously jolly attitude was sincere.

That Navy is lying the whole time is irrelevant to the wonder of a show that makes us believe that she might join up. Her betrayal might be predictable, but our status quo is as capable of change as the planet our heroes love; it’s a similar sensation to Alone at Sea, where even though nothing drastic happens there’s a real possibility that Lapis might relapse and go back to Malachite. It’s so much better than an episode where we know from the start that the character-of-the-week will depart by the end of the story.

Navy’s chipper behavior is variably cute and questionable, but I love the massive hint that is the rain sequence. Gems become Crystal Gems when exposed to water, so Navy gets her own little baptism as part of the orientation. But because she’s a false convert, we get artificial rain for her artificial reaction. Yi sells absurd joy as well as absurd frustration, but there’s a cloud hanging over this moment that becomes clearer on rewatch. 

Despite beginning with Steven and Garnet, then bringing Navy along for the ride, Room for Ruby becomes a Lapis Lazuli episode as soon as we head back to the barn. Navy is as one-dimensional as it gets before the reveal, blithely accepting everything that comes her way and seeming incapable of feeling negative emotions, so she needs an external opponent if we want this episode to have a plot. Yes, it’d be fun to see this goofball being a goofball for eleven minutes, but thankfully Steven Universe is willing to go deeper.

Peridot’s bossiness and desire to impress makes her an excellent candidate to teach Navy the ropes, and both can bond with fellow shorty Steven over a shared go-get’em mindset. So it makes sense that our wet blanket is Lapis, who first distrusts Navy and then gets fed up with how easy everything is for her. She’s trying, but seeing another foe-turned-friend have such a smooth go of it isn’t easy, and exploring those emotions of jealousy and inadequacy allows for a wonderful last hurrah before Lapis abandons Earth in Raising the Barn.

Lapis has a tricky role to play here, as she’s straddling the line between protagonist and antagonist depending on how much you trust Navy. Our hero/villain is portrayed sympathetically, as we’re reminded of her traumas and her slow but steady recovery process; she might come across as petty, but it’s understandable pettiness when Navy breezes by in areas where Lapis has struggled. And it helps that unlike fellow Ornery Lapis episode Barn Mates, Navy doesn’t seem to get upset at the negativity; this isn’t Peridot trying to win over a stubborn holdout, it’s a spacy ruby who ignores the venom. But at the same time, Lapis is the only protester in the Navy Parade, and her clash with Steven’s goal of bringing in a new friend makes her a huge bummer. 

Which is why I love this episode’s lesson so much: that it’s sometimes okay to be a huge bummer.

It’s okay because everyone’s going through the world at their own pace, and whether you’re clinically depressed, a survivor of trauma, or you’re just plain sad, it doesn’t make you less worthy than folks in a happier mood. Lapis attempts patience and understanding despite her annoyance, and only snaps when Navy’s attitude turns sickly sweet; feelings of inferiority are hard to work through, but it doesn’t make it okay to be a jerk the whole time. Even after the outburst, Lapis is quick to reassure Navy, acknowledging that it’s an internal problem and apologizing. She wants to like the newcomer, but as soon as she senses the forced perkiness it’s hard for her not to notice that something’s off.

A good twist is something that makes you rethink the plot, but a great twist does this duty while being enjoyable as a plot point on its own merits. The execution of Navy’s betrayal is marvelous, even as it becomes more and more obvious that it’s coming. After spending the whole episode geeking out about Earth stuff, Navy not-so-subtly suggests that she wants to go back to her ship. Steven not only falls for it, but is down to press a huge button without asking follow-up questions; it may seem inconsistent with his growing maturity, but it makes sense that an excitable kid is lost in the joy of making a new friend. The stranger area for me is his exclamation that the Crystal Gems “finally” have a pilot, as if Pearl hasn’t been successfully navigating spaceships this whole time, but again, he’s caught up in the moment.

The twist-within-a-twist is that while Navy has been plotting against our heroes this whole time, her demeanor isn’t part of the act. Yi's transition from earnest giddiness on land versus manic giddiness post-betrayal is worth the price of admission, especially as she merrily explains that she opted not to just steal the ship because she wanted to watch the Crystal Gems suffer. 

And of course, this brings about Lapis’s triumphant laughter at being proven right. Jennifer Paz is awesome throughout the episode, restraining herself when necessary for big bursts of energy to hit home, and it culminates in the sheer joy that comes from righteous vindication. We could’ve gotten a somber moment of Steven’s anguish at being tricked, similar to what we got after Peridot’s duplicity in Message Received, but Lapis allows us a sense of relief despite things going horribly. 

In an episode featuring a character as unsubtle as Navy (being tricky doesn’t stop her from being loud and hammy), I love the quieter story we get from Garnet. We only get a nudge that Navy’s story appeals to Ruby and Sapphire, but we don’t need more than that, so I’m glad we don’t get more. Yes, it would be fun to see Ruby hanging out with Navy, but the episode’s focus is elsewhere and we don’t indulge in fanservice that would take away from the plot. The two balloons Garnet brings at the end are color-coded for convenience, so we don’t need anyone to tell us that the optimistic red message is Ruby’s hopes and the apologetic blue message is Sapphire’s realism. It’s not a novel observation that Steven Universe respects the audience enough to not hold our hands, but it’s still appreciated.

(Also appreciated is a soft moment of Garnet bonding with Steven independent of the plot as they make wishes; Steven may be growing up fast, but he’s still allowed to be a kid sometimes instead of spending every episode in teen angst mode.)

In terms of criticisms, I’m a little torn about the pacing: Room for Ruby meanders a bit in that second act, even though I understand its purpose. Lapis needs to have her tolerance for Navy strained to a breaking point so she’s not throwing a tantrum out of nowhere, so we need multiple examples of frustrating glee. But it does get a little boring on rewatch to have the point driven home again and again that Navy is a perfect little angel, even if it’s all building up to the twist that she’s anything but.

Still, I can’t help but enjoy the nostalgia this structure provides, because major plot points aside, the episode fits right in with classic Season 1. We get a simple story that primes us for an obvious conclusion. Steven will find an unusual solution in his cheeseburger backpack. Steven will learn patience when Pearl takes a while to reform. Steven’s beach party with the Gems and the Pizzas will teach the Gems to respect civilians more. Lapis will grow to accept Navy’s differences. But instead, Steven’s improvisation only goes so far, and he’s impatient again as soon as Pearl returns, and the Gems still don’t care about Fish Stew Pizza, and Lapis’s negative outlook was correct. Steven Universe first made its mark by toying with the conventions of episodes with straightforward morals, and it’s nice to see that legacy continue so late in the series. 

The implications of Navy’s actions are soon made clear, as the loss of the Crystal Gems’ only means of space travel (stolen from the very barn where Steven, Greg, and Pearl first experimented with space travel!) makes Steven’s imminent sacrifice that much weightier. But before that shoe drops, we can enjoy one last glimpse of our favorite little ruby.

(I’m kidding of course, our Ruby is the best ruby.)

We’re the one, we’re the ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!

Charlyne Yi hamming it up and Lapis’s grouchiness paying off? What’s not to love?

Top Twenty

Steven and the Stevens

Hit the Diamond

Mirror Gem

Lion 3: Straight to Video

Alone Together

Last One Out of Beach City

The Return

Jailbreak

The Answer

Mindful Education

Sworn to the Sword

Rose’s Scabbard

Earthlings

Mr. Greg

Coach Steven

Giant Woman

Beach City Drift

Winter Forecast

Bismuth

Steven’s Dream

Love ‘em

Laser Light Cannon

Bubble Buddies

Tiger Millionaire

Lion 2: The Movie

Rose’s Room

An Indirect Kiss

Ocean Gem

Space Race

Garnet’s Universe

Warp Tour

The Test

Future Vision

On the Run

Maximum Capacity

Marble Madness

Political Power

Full Disclosure

Joy Ride

Keeping It Together

We Need to Talk

Chille Tid

Cry for Help

Keystone Motel

Catch and Release

When It Rains

Back to the Barn

Steven’s Birthday

It Could’ve Been Great

Message Received

Log Date 7 15 2

Same Old World

The New Lars

Monster Reunion

Alone at Sea

Crack the Whip

Beta

Back to the Moon

Kindergarten Kid

Buddy’s Book

Gem Harvest

Three Gems and a Baby

That Will Be All

The New Crystal Gems

Storm in the Room

Room for Ruby

Like ‘em

Gem Glow

Frybo

Arcade Mania

So Many Birthdays

Lars and the Cool Kids

Onion Trade

Steven the Sword Fighter

Beach Party

Monster Buddies

Keep Beach City Weird

Watermelon Steven

The Message

Open Book

Story for Steven

Shirt Club

Love Letters

Reformed

Rising Tides, Crashing Tides

Onion Friend

Historical Friction

Friend Ship

Nightmare Hospital

Too Far

Barn Mates

Steven Floats

Drop Beat Dad

Too Short to Ride

Restaurant Wars

Kiki’s Pizza Delivery Service

Greg the Babysitter

Gem Hunt

Steven vs. Amethyst

Bubbled

Adventures in Light Distortion

Gem Heist

The Zoo

Rocknaldo

Enh

Cheeseburger Backpack

Together Breakfast

Cat Fingers

Serious Steven

Steven’s Lion

Joking Victim

Secret Team

Say Uncle

Super Watermelon Island

Gem Drill

Know Your Fusion

Future Boy Zoltron

Tiger Philanthropist

No Thanks!

     6. Horror Club      5. Fusion Cuisine      4. House Guest      3. Onion Gang      2. Sadie’s Song      1. Island Adventure