#watched gang tends bar today just feeling beautiful

[warlenys]

always sunny, 16x05.

[harryforvogue]

hi! here’s a blurb from this universe about how harry and fleur get angry when the other person is hurt. it’s pretty short, just 3k words! mentions of blood and other physical injuries.

read the other blurbs for this pairing here.

***

The day started off so well, Fleur thinks, watching Harry walk into the bathroom with a blank expression, putting all the necessary equipment besides her bleeding thigh. A beautiful morning matched with perfect moods. Some great morning sex, good breakfast, and a plan to hijack a gang meeting to get information and then get the hell out of there. That’s all there was to it, and it kicked off quite well, until now. Fleur is unsure who she’s more worried about when it comes to facing Harry’s wrath: herself or the man who injured her.

Harry brings a chair in the bathroom and sits down, taking her leg and slowly resting her foot in his lap. The stretch causes her to the hiss, but he pays no attention to it, providing her with nothing but the tightening of his fingers.

The tension. The tension is fucking thick. She realizes now how Harry must feel when she angrily cleans up his wounds. The last time he took care of her like this was well over a year ago when Amie had broken her arm and given her a concussion, and though the pain doesn’t even come close to the pain right now, the look in Harry’s eyes makes up for it. His normal clear eyes are cloudy with anger and vengeance, though she’s unsure if the last bit is directed at her or the man from the bar.

Still, she tries her luck and attempts to make conversation. “I guess I won’t be able to wear this dress again,” she mutters, leaning back against the mirror above the sink. Harry rips into a packet of gloves and skillfully puts them on, glancing up at her.

“The blood will come out,” he says stiffly, placing a hand around her ankle to steady her. He uncovers the wound and takes a deep breath to remind himself that he’s a man with a decent amount of patience, (though the vein in his neck doesn’t fool her, reminding her what he’s capable of) and then bends down to get to work.

Disinfectant comes first, the worst part. He holds her down as he pours some over the cut. Fleur winces and lifts her head to scold him, but the concentrated look on his face stops the swear words from leaving her mouth. Now’s not the time. Her leg twitches and she tries to remove it from his lap, but his grip tightens.

As he cleans the blood around the gash before tending to the actual wound.

Fleur sighs. “So. What did you do today?”

“Not get myself nearly killed,” is his snarky reply.

“That’s impressive considering your history.”

He shoots her a warning look. “More than what you did today. Tell me, why did you think it was a smart idea to go into an undercover mission without a weapon?”

“I had a weapon,” she informs him. “I had a knife concealed right against my thigh.” The weapon is now in the sink, blood staining the silver material.

“Right,” Harry answers sarcastically. “And how did that go for you? Couldn’t have tucked a gun in there?”

Fleur looks down at the thin material of her dress, irritated. “No, unless you wanted it to be obvious I had a gun. Not to mention I got patted down before I entered.”

Harry raises his head. “You got patted down before entering a bar?”

“Turns out, the bar hides criminals, or at least guards them as they meet. I went into it completely blind. The only way they didn’t find the knife was because I tucked it into the waistband of my underwear and then kicked the man before he touched me there.” She leans back against the mirror again, grimacing at the pain when he presses cotton against her wound. “And don’t lecture me on not being smart when you exist.”

“When I exist,” he mutters incredulously. “Don’t compare us. I take risks, but they’re deliberate and planned. This was just stupid of you.”

It doesn’t matter that her and Harry are together. Nobody calls her stupid without paying for it. She draws her leg back a bit and attempts a kick in his ribs to knock his air out, but he catches her ankle and firmly brings it back down to his lap. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Don’t call me stupid or I’ll hurt you,” she snaps, raising her other leg to kick him. His instincts aid him, not wanting to be pierced by her heel. He takes her calves and roughly slides her towards him, leaning in.

“I will call you whatever I want because it's true. You were stupid and I’m fucking angry at you for it. Now shut up or I’ll send you to bed like this.”

“Send me to bed? You’re not my father.” She moves her body back on the counter and rests like before. “I’d kill you if you were always like this, you know?”

“I’d kill you right now if you weren’t hurt,” he promises.

“As if.”

Though his words are piercing and harsh, his movements are careful and, dare she say it, gentle. His hands hold her leg down as he cleans it meticulously and then begins to bandage it, rolling out just the right amount before pressing it over the clean cotton. He rolls the bandage slowly, making sure not to leave any room for air to sneak in, checking on all sides of her leg to ensure it’s rolling on smoothly.

Fleur watches him, wincing again when he tightens the bandage to the point of blocking her blood circulation, but then stops and fixes it. His eyes are intense, working with complete concentration, and while she can see the frustration on his face, his hands say otherwise.

Perhaps Fleur was a little too confident going into this mission, however, this doesn’t mean he has the right to be angry with her, not after all the times she’s had to clean him up. Which, she’d like to add, has been way more times. He’s had to endure her yelling at him for returning with black eyes, fractured bones, and bruises that don’t end for miles and stay for weeks. She’s worried about internal damages and permanent injuries. He’s just had to worry about a gash on the fleshy part of her thigh.

Finally, Harry’s finished, but he doesn’t move her leg away. With furrowed brows, he runs his hand over her smooth leg, looking down at how his pale skin contrasts against hers. His blue and green veins versus her smooth tan skin. Polar opposites. His hand journeys further up, caressing her ankle and then her calves, and then grazing his fingers barely over her bandage.

“What if the knife hit your vein? What would you do then?” he demands quietly.

“Die and not be lectured like a fucking child.”

She can tell he’s restraining himself from saying something even more hurtful. His fingers continue over her knee and then the hollow area underneath, simply examining the skin as if he’s drawing conclusions and about to diagnose her. 

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” he says softly after a few moments, eyes flickering over to her face. Her eyes are closed, enjoying the feel of his hands.

At his words, she opens her eyes and shakes her head. “No. Got the motherfucker before he could stab me.”

The corner of Harry’s lips twitch. “Really showed him, huh?”

“Of course. He’s paying for the damages for the bar, too.”

“Yeah? Not you?”

“I wasn’t the one who instigated the fight.”

“Who said so? The police?”

“Yes. All I had to do was show them my badge.”

Harry nods, smiling a bit. His hands massage her tense ankle. “But, you were the one who started the fight, weren’t you?”

“Of course. I’m always on the offensive.”

He quirks a brow. “Clearly. Just wish you didn’t have to get hurt when being on the offense. It’s alright to play other positions too.”

Fleur painfully removes her leg from his thigh and replaces it with her other, sighing at the warmth of his hands when he immediately attaches them to her leg. He removes her shoe and sets them besides the chair on the floor. “I don’t like playing other positions. I’m too stubborn to play defense.”

“How about the mediator?”

“You think I want to be the mediator?” She narrows her eyes challengingly. “Come on, Styles. Do you know nothing about me? I want to fight.”

“I know,” he says tiredly. “I know you like to fight, but maybe there are other methods to get your way.”

“I don’t want to be peaceful.”

“I don’t mean being peaceful. But, you know, maybe assess the situation a bit before you jump right in.”

Fleur can’t help but laugh dryly, pushing herself off the counter, limping towards him. She winces as she lowers herself into his lap, being guided by his strong hands that she half depends on. Her face is pinched into a look of both irritation and anger, but when she relaxes into his arms, she sighs and rolls her tense neck.

“You,” she says quietly, “have no right to tell me to assess a situation before jumping in. You’re not any better than me.”

Harry sighs, and cups her back, leaning back in his chair, staring at her from under his lashes. “Fleur. You are so unfair to me. This is incredibly unfair.”

“So?” she says, dragging her hands over his chest, shrugging. “I don’t care. I thought we both agreed that you are definitely the bigger risk taker.”

“For good reason. I always make it out alive.”

Fleur raises an eyebrow, shuffling closer to him, sliding her hands into his hair. “I made it out alive, too.”

She’s got him there. He leans his head back against the chair and closes his eyes briefly before opening them and biting the inside of his cheek. “Fine. I am also being unfair. Is it my fault though, if I don’t want to see my girlfriend hurt?”

“I don’t like seeing you hurt either, Harry. There’s definitely something wrong with us, you know? For getting angry at each other for getting hurt.”

“What do you suppose we do about it?” he smiles, tilting his head when she leans in to softly press her lips to his jaw and then to his throat. As he speaks, the vibrations rumble through her. “Honestly, I don’t think you’ll change and that’s okay, because I won’t change either. I’m always going to be angry when you get hurt.”

“Do you think that’s healthy?” Fleur murmurs, kissing all the way to his ear. “That we’re so angry.”

He stifles a laugh at her tickling lips. “No, but I don’t want it any other way.”

“Of course you don’t. Are my kisses making you less angry, Harry?”

Harry slides her closer to his torso, sitting up a bit more to accommodate her as her seat. He leans in for a kiss, tilting his head to the side, pressing his lips softly against hers. One of his hands snakes into her hair, holding the back of her neck firmly. He smiles when she feels her arms loop around his own neck, tugging her body closer to him even though there’s barely any room. She tastes faintly of alcohol, and the thin material of her dress feels like silk against his hand.

“God,” he whispers, scratching her scalp with his nails, “I fucking love you. I don’t want to see you hurt, Fleur. I’d rather feel that pain times a thousand than see you hurt.”

“I know,” she murmurs, holding his jaw in her hands. “I don’t want to see you hurt either, but I don’t think we have a choice. We just have to get used to it.”

“I’m never going to get used to seeing you hurt. Every time, it’s like I've hurt myself. Like a bullet to the gut. It’s such a painful blow, baby.”

“I know,” she repeats, running the back of her fingers against his face. The light scruff tickles. “I hate it too. When you come home and I undress you and you have bruises all over you. And cuts. And you’re clearly in pain. I just… I just want to torture whoever’s done that to you. It makes me so...” she leans in for a kiss to his neck, “fucking angry. Every time you come home and I take off your clothes, I’m just thinking fuck’s sake please don’t let there be any bruises, and then when there are, I just want to give you more.”

“More bruises for being hurt?” he laughs quietly, holding the back of her head as she continues kissing him.

“Yes. I want to hurt you for being hurt.”

“I can tell you that I’d enjoy being hurt by you.”

“Of course you fucking would, you masochist.” She bares her teeth gently and bites down on his throat, forcing a mark onto his skin. As a result, he breathes heavily and holds her head more firmly.

“Harder,” he nearly begs, tilting his head for more. She eagerly agrees, holding him in place as she continues to mark him. “Fuck’s sake. That’s how you want to bruise me?”

“Yes,” she says, barely over a whisper, slowly dragging her hands down to where his belt is, tucking her fingers into his pants and pulling him firmly against her with the strength she has left. “I want to hurt you so bad.”

“I’d let you if there wasn’t the possibility of you bleeding all over my leg, Fleur,” he chuckles, leaning back to look at her. “You’re in pain, aren’t you?”

“No,” she answers stubbornly, leaning in for a kiss, but he holds her jaw tightly and keeps her in place.

“We’ll just take it slow tonight.”

Fleur’s dark eyes light up, her curly hair bouncing as she nods, tucking herself closer to him. “Yes. Let’s go to our room.”

Harry laughs again, shaking his head. “Absolutely not. I am not sleeping with you while you have a wound like that.”

Her eyes become stormy. “What? Why? We’ve done worse.”

“Have we?” 

“Yes. Remember when we had sex when you fractured your wrist?”

“Fleur, you went down on me. We didn’t have sex.”

“Same thing.”

“No, because I didn’t have to use my hand. You have the weirdest fucking brain, I swear. Come on, let’s go to my room and I’ll take care of you. And then we’ll talk about who hurt you so I can plan their murder.”

Fleur sighs when Harry pushes her off, keeping an arm tucked around her. She leans heavily on him as she limps to their room, wincing with pain. Once she’s sat on their bed, Harry disappears to get her painkillers and water. After making sure she takes both pills, he hoists her up and unzips her dress, letting it fall to her feet.

“Fuck’s sake,” he mutters, first checking the bandage and then the rest of her. She smiles, nudging him when he walks in front of her and trails his fingers gently over her collarbones. “Shame about the dress.”

“I know. It was so pretty.” He’s not meeting her eyes.

“We’ll see if we can get the blood out. I’d be lying if I said I wasn't thinking about you in this dress all day.”

Fleur smiles, laying her hand on his, rubbing his knuckles gently. They’re lightly bruised from his last mission, and she tilts her head down to kiss them. “You sure you don’t want me to sleep in it?”

“No. But we should get some clothes on you.” Harry turns to walk to the closet, but her hand stops him, tugging him back.

“We don’t need to wear anything,” she tells him, throwing her arms around him. “Take your clothes off.”

“That’s not how it’s going to work, my love. If your wound gets infected somehow, you’ll probably get a fever.” He bends down to softly kiss her hair. “Just want you to be safe. Not cold.”

“Aren’t I always safe with you?”

Harry regards her carefully. “Now I’m beginning to think you’re drunk.”

She sighs and drops her arms and sits down. “My patience is wearing thin, Styles.” Harry smiles and takes his shirt off, gently guiding her body through it as if she’s a dress up doll. She hugs the black shirt to her chest warmly. “Thank you.”

“Shut up.” He comes back with her sweatpants and gently puts it on her too, wary of her wound. “Alright. Warm?”

“Yes.”

He tucks her into bed and then walks around, slipping himself. He wastes no time reaching out for her and delicately laying her against his chest, slipping an arm over her waist carefully. She presses her nose against the hollow of his throat and sighs softly, leaning up to press a single kiss to his throat. Her body pressed against his, his sturdy chest acting as a pillow for her. His hand rubs her back softly, slipping under her shirt a few times to warm her better, resting his cheek against her curly hair, having to spit out some strands twice.

“I love you,” Fleur murmurs sleepily, resting an arm over his torso. “Do you know that?”

“I do,” he answers softly, kissing her forehead. “It takes me by surprise everyday. And I’m going to show you how much I love you tomorrow.”

“Mm. You’re going to kill the asshole, aren’t you?”

“Not kill,” he assures her, though she’s not very convinced in her drowsy state, closing his eyes. “Just going to make sure he knows who he’s messed with.”

[xo-cuteplosion-xo]

Hi hi again can i get scenario where dazai has a calm and polite s/o and they bump into chuuya, when chuuya finds out that they are his s/o he asks them why do they like him. s/o talks about he's so good to her and everything about dazai without knowing that dazai was listening the whole time and u know just some fluff please :)) thank you

Honey |Dazai x Calm/polite Reader|

Today’s sunset was extraordinarily beautiful. Maybe, it was the nice moment that you and your boyfriend were finally spending. The past weeks had been built with stressful turns and boorish circles. Tonight marked the end of such things. The red of the sunset fading as you step into the bar. It was normal for you to arrive early but for Dazai to get there moments before the clock turned to mark him late. Hanging your jacket up you walked over to the bar. Taking a seat you ordered the usual two drinks for you and Dazai. Thinking about it now this was a weird place for a date, though on another hand it wasn’t. He does often find himself at bars while you're off doing things. It’s a habit of his, but usually, it’s the Lupin he recommends. You had never been here before. 

Deciding to down a drink or two while you waited, you struck a conversation up with the person working tonight's shift. You were always quite polite, if they asked you to shut up you would have. They never said such things though. How could they when you smiled so polite, flashing a brightness to their day. You even politely held yourself. The chime of the door opening caused you to politely bow your head before looking over to see who it was. Expecting it to be Dazai who was already just over a minute late you were shocked to see a different male. Without sighing or showing anything but a calm polite expression, you turned and faced back to the bar to further the conversation.

Asking for another drink you smiled sweetly, taking small sips as to not chug the drink. Looking at the clock you became slightly worried, it wasn’t unknown Dazai tended to be late to such meetings, but it was abnormal for him to be late to one of your dates. Especially since there is hardly ever time to spend much alone time together. “Waiting on somebody?” the ginger beside you asked as he ordered a glass of wine. Swishing it in his hand you made the connection. 

Politely you nodded your head. Despite how you disapproved of the mafia executive you never showed anything but a clam polite expression. “I am, is there a reason a mafioso like yourself is interested?” you looked to him, keeping the polite tone to your voice.

Chuuya merely shrugged, leaning back to swallow his glass in one go. “Didn’t think you drank.” he shrugged, watching you shrug and turn back to your drink. Taking another sip you shivered already feeling light in the head.

Deciding to give the small male a reply, you set the glass back down, letting the ice clink lightly against the glass in the silence. “Well, I don’t normally drink, but dates do tend to wind up in quick places like this.” shrugging once again you lifted the glass to your lips again.

Chuuya may be a ball of fire ready to explode at any given moment, but he wasn’t an idiot, not a big one at least. It was a given that based on being here your date had to be somebody who didn’t mind places located in the middle of conflicts. Neither mafia territory nor safe, this bar was one of many who served cops, gangs, mafioso's, and even detectives. It had no obligation, so spilling information was never a problem. The only thing silencing them from spilling anything they heard, would be fear. If he had to make a wild guess, it would be somebody you worked close to, somebody with enough risk to end up in a place like this. Nearly spitting the drops of wine in his mouth from his lips, he swallowed coughing lightly. “Don’t tell me, somebody like you, a huge pushover, with Dazai?” 

Turning to him, you tilted your head before shaking it lightly with disapproval. “First, it would be appreciated if you could be a bit polite. I’m not a pushover. I'm simply collected and know how to act respectfully, even to those who I don't agree with, such as you.” you paused to finish your glass and ask for another refill. Time had passed quickly, and you noticed Dazai was now four minutes late. “Second, Dazai and I are none of your business, Mr. Nakahara-san.” 

It bothered him how weirdly respectful you were. Since everybody called him Chuuya, it was weird that he could never get you to use the first name. No matter how many times he screamed at you to just call him Chuuya. “Why do you even like him? He’s a suicidal maniac with no sense of loyalty.” 

Sighing you looked to the ceiling, taking yet another sip of the drink you’d ordered. “Why? That’s easy, he’s cold at first but underneath he’s kind. He’s closed off but if you can break into the shell there is so much there. He’s good-looking, strong, protective. He knows how to respect boundaries. He’s actually rather loyal when he wants to be. He goes to great lengths to protect the ones he cares about. His jokes can be cringe and dark, but they make me smile. Then, the suicidal part, he’s genuinely depressed, but it’s alright because I’m there for him now. He’s there for me when I break down, so I support him on bad days. He’s an amazing person once you get past all the walls.” there was a slight blush to your cheeks as you spoke.

Despite having so many more praises to say, hands hung over your shoulders. A pair of lips reaching to your ear. “Do say more~” it wasn’t meant to be seductive, more, a playful tease.

Turning red you turned to face the brunette you had been talking on and on about. His glimmering eyes looking to yours as he stood up straight. Chuuya was up and gone in moments. “I don’t have the energy to deal with you today.” Dazai didn’t pay him any mind. Taking the seat next to you with a smile.

“Sorry for being so late! I got held back at the office. Stupid Kunikida and his determination to get me to file reports.” pouting as he took a sip of the drink laid before him, you snickered. Moving to mess with his hair you moved past the initial embarrassment.

“Maybe if you did some of it, he'd be less grumpy all the time! A-also, how long were you there?” you mumbled, once more becoming embarrassed as you thought about him overheating all the things you said about him.

One of his deadly, overconfident, and almost sadistic smirks crossed his lips. “I was there the entire time~” he purred, leaning to kiss your cheek with his lips.

Huffing in embarrassment it was your turn to pout. “You could have come up to me and said hi when you walked in.”

He merely snickered, messing your hair up as he shrugged. “But it was so entertaining and heart-warming to hear you say such nice things about me!” he’d never say it, but his heart had paced a million miles and his cheeks had become roses themselves. He’d never received compliments or praise like that before. 

The two of you spent the rest of the night exchanging laughs and pestering one another. Embarrassing the other in any given chance before leaving the bar to spend some cuddles and quality time together at your apartment.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Brooklyn 99 AU? If you haven’t seen that, just think like an Office or Parks and Rec-esque work sitcom

“Make Terry do it,” Santiago whispered.  “He’s good at babysitting.”

“Make Terry do what?”  Jeffords looked up from his yogurt, expression concerned.

The informal conference in the precinct break room exchanged a glance.

“We may have arrested a few underage tourists from out of town,” Peralta said.  “They may or may not have been drunk, but, uh...”

Peralta glanced at Boyle.  “But we left them unsupervised in the back of the police van for, like, two minutes,” Boyle explained quickly.  “So by the time we got the breathalyzer working, they were all sober.”

“They all puked?” Scully asked, appalled.

Santiago shook her head sadly.  “They all morphed.”

“Wait.  You mean...”  Jeffords craned his neck to look out across the main room.  He caught a glimpse of the group of kids currently sitting in the Nine-Nine’s holding cell, and his expression went slack in horror.  “No.  No.  No, Terry has not had nearly enough low-fat peach-mango yogurt to deal with this today.”

“They’re famous!”  Peralta made jazz hands at the rest of the squad.  “That’s kind of cool, right?  That Marco kid’s a movie star, Tobias definitely counts as a cryptid, and... the others... do stuff...”

“Yeah.”  Santiago crossed her arms.  “They kill people.”

“There was a war on!” Peralta protested.  “Aliens invaded, Boyle’s mom got possessed by a scary slug thing and tried to kill me —”

“She said she was sorry for mistaking the Sharing for a ferret-themed lomage fanclub,” Boyle said.

“Yeah, no, anyone could make that mistake.”  Peralta pivoted back to Santiago.  “The point is, they killed people as part of a war.  And that, like, doesn’t count or something.”

“What’d they do?” Jeffords asked.

"It was only a few murders,” Boyle said.

“Today!”  Jeffords gestured to the front room, where the delinquents in question were clearly sitting in their holding cell.  “Why’d we arrest them?”

Santiago pulled out her phone, calling up the relevant statement.  “They’re claiming they were provoked when, quote, ‘Some guy wolf-whistled Cassie, and then that guy’s biker gang objected to Rachel’s attempts to rip his arms off and feed them to him, and really it was their fault all along.’”  She looked up.  “Signed Jake Berenson.  Which begs the question: did we get ID from any of them?”

“They all morphed,” Boyle pointed out.  “Who else could it possibly be?”

“So that explains the entire cell’s worth of muscular guys with mild-to-moderate grizzly bear wounds downstairs,” Scully said, staring upward in wonder.

“That’s it, we’re all babysitting them,” Jeffords declared.  “And by that, I mean that we’re getting them out of our hair as fast as we legally can, whether or not we charge them with anything in the process.”

“Agreed,” Santiago said, shoving open the door to the main room.

The scene in the holding cell was... not pandemonium.  Jake and Cassie were sitting on the bench at the back of the cell, Cassie’s head leaning on Jake’s shoulder.  Rachel leaned against the bars, picking at her nails.  Tobias sat on the crossbar next to her, preening.  All in all, the kids seemed to be cooperating, which was a mercy.  It wasn’t like the Nine-Nine had the budget for even one-tenth of the equipment necessary to actually contain an Animorph, after all.

Still, it was probably for the best that some wise soul had moved all the other prisoners downstairs.

“...and you can conceal up to 15 knives in the interior pockets alone,” Diaz was telling Marco.  He watched with rapt fascination, leaning over her desk, as she unfolded a butterfly knife one-handed and then swung it closed again.

“Rosa, did you let him out of the cell?” Santiago asked, exasperated.

“Nope.”  Diaz shrugged.  “Must’ve broken out on his own.”

“He didn’t break anything,” Jake called from inside the cell.  “Marco has not damaged or defaced any government property, nor have any of the rest of us.”

“And yet somehow, there are not one but two delinquents meandering unrestrained around my precinct.”  Holt had emerged from his office, and was now looking slowly from Marco to Ax.

“Yeeeaaah, he’s not technically under arrest.”  Peralta jerked his chin at Ax.  “Seeing as he’s not from Earth, we probably can’t arrest him?  And even if we can, it definitely wouldn’t be worth the headache of trying to charge him with anything in intergalactic courts.”

“If you’re not under arrest, you may leave,” Holt told Ax sternly.

Ax straightened up from where he had been eating... something... off the floor of the microwave.  “I am not going anywhere without my friends!”

“That’s so beautiful.”  Boyle swooned against the door frame.  “It’s like you share a six-way love whose unmatched intensity pours out of you...”

“Not in front of the kids, Charles,” Peralta said.

“What?  I was just—”

“If you’re allowed to leave, could you at least go get us some hot dogs or something?” Rachel asked Ax, ignoring the cops.

“Nah, hot dogs are a Chicago thing,” Jake pointed out.  “Go for knishes, or pizza, or... what else is in New York?”

“Those little paper packets of honey-roasted peanuts,” Cassie suggested.

Everyone glanced over when there was a loud thud from across the room, and then back to the conversation when they realized it was just Marco trying, and failing, to get one of Diaz’s knives to stick in the surface of her desk.

«Tacos.»  Tobias looked unerringly at Scully.  «There has to be a taco truck around here somewhere, right?»

“Don’t you worry.”  Scully pulled his partner to his feet, gasping at the effort of unsticking Hitchcock from his comfortable chair.  “Me and Hitchcock’ll show him all the best food trucks in Brooklyn.”

“How many — any — are there?” Ax asked eagerly.

“Two hundred seven, if you don’t count pushcarts or ice cream vendors,” Hitchcock said immediately.

“We shall return with a bounty as great as three sets of human arms can bear,” Ax promised Rachel.

She flashed him a thumbs-up.

“Hot wings!” Cassie called.  “That’s a New York thing, right?  Hot wings?”

“Have we got a sauce for you,” Scully promised, a hand on Ax’s shoulder.

Jeffords ran to intercept them at the door.  “You can’t just wander in and out of the precinct with suspects, Scully!”

«If you don’t like Ax coming and going, you could always just arrest him,» Tobias said acidly.

There was a long silence.  During this silence, Ax slipped out the door with Hitchcock and Scully behind him.

“Kids these days and their attitudes,” Jeffords complained, spinning around too late to intercept Ax and then turning back to give Tobias his sternest stare.  “I should speak to your parents or guardians, young man.”

Tobias laughed.  «Joke’s on you, since I don’t have any parents or guardians.»

“What?”  Jeffords ran forward to press himself against the bars, appalled.  “Do you want to come home with me?  Cagney and Lacey keep telling me they want an older brother, and Sharon makes excellent chicken cacciatore — you don’t have any food allergies, do you?”

“He’s ours and you can’t have him,” Rachel snapped, standing up to get in Jeffords’s face.  She didn’t seem to care much that she had to tilt her head back at a 45-degree angle to make eye contact, and somehow succeeded in conveying that she was looking down at him.

“Duuuuuuude!” Marco exclaimed loudly from across the room.  “You really mean it?”

“Sure.”  Diaz rested a hand on the hatchet that lay across her desk.  “I teach people how to throw ‘em all the time.”

“Marco!”  Rachel turned away to whack on the bars.  “Quit fraternizing with the enemy.”

Peralta gasped loudly.  “We’re the enemy?” he asked in delight.  “Are we your nemeses?  Does this mean that we’re as scary as the Yeerk Empire?”

“Why?”  Jake stood up, making eye contact through the bars.  “Do you want to be?  Are you saying that you’re controllers?”  He took a step forward, not breaking his stare.  “Or was that just an expression of sympathy for their cause?”

“Uh.”  Peralta laughed nervously.  He’d taken several steps back in the last few seconds.  “You know what, never mind.  We’re cool, right?  Alllllll cool.  Super cool.  The coolest.”

“That’s easy to say for someone currently holding us against our will.”  Jake still sounded unamused.  “We have complied fully with your demands up until now, and will continue to do so unless you give us a reason not to.”

“Are you threatening my detective?” Holt asked, very mildly.

“Are you charging me with additional crimes?”  Jake’s voice wasn’t mild at all.

“Have I mentioned that I’m a big fan of you guys’s work?” Peralta asked, making a grand gesture to include all of the Animorphs.  “Because I’m thinking maybe that didn’t come through.  Huge fan.  Love the way you squash those yeerks.  It’s a delight having you here.”

“Of course we’ll go along with whatever you think is best, Officers.”  Jake sat back down.  He had yet to look away from Peralta.

“Amy I think I changed my mind about having kids,” Perlata said all in one breath, smiling and nodding as he continued to back away from the cell.

“No, chicks dig hatchets,” Diaz was explaining to Marco.  “Guys tend to get all weird about it if you start flinging weaponry around.”

“Oh yeah, that makes sense.”  He was still hanging on her every word.

“The trick with guys is to pull out a little bit of that feelings shit.”  Seeing the expression on his face, she shook her head.  “You don’t have to go full-hog and reveal your real name on the first date or anything.”

Marco laughed.  “Oh good.  Because I am not looking for that kind of commitment.  I usually don’t want any commitment to anyone, ever.”

“Good policy.”  Diaz clapped him on the arm.  “Nah, with dudes it only takes a little bit of sappy stuff.  I’m talking a moderate-tier confession, like...”  She considered for a second.  “I keep one of my knives hidden in my boot, and it doesn’t set off metal detectors when I gotta work government buildings.”

“Uh-huh.”  Marco bent over the sheet of paper on his lap, scribbling frantically.

“Are you taking notes?” Rachel called, disgusted.

“More importantly, is he taking notes on the back of his own arrest form?”  Santiago rushed across the room to rescue the rest of the paperwork from Marco’s defacing.

“Nah, it’s cool.”  Diaz held up the back side of Marco’s paper.  “It’s just the arrest sheet where Peralta made four attempts to spell ‘Aximili’ before declaring that we probably couldn’t arrest an alien anyway.”

“Those two events were entirely unrelated!” Peralta said loudly.

“Of course, we all believe you.”  Santiago leaned over to pat him on the arm.

“If they can’t arrest Ax, can they arrest you?” Cassie asked Tobias.

He shrugged, or at least it looked like that’s what he did.  «They still haven’t processed me, so I suspect not.»

“We are going to process you,” Boyle said, “just as soon as we figure out how to scan your fingerprints.”

«But I’m not under arrest yet, am I?»

“Aren’t you guys legally required to release him, then?”  Cassie turned back to the room at large.

“We can hang on to all of you for twenty-four hours,” Santiago called back.

“The question is,” Peralta muttered, “do we want to?”

“I’m gonna keep this one around to bring me iced coffees and gas up my motorcycle.”  Diaz was watching Marco polish one of her axes.  “For a kid, he’s pretty dope.”

Marco gasped, a hand over his heart.  “You don’t mean it!”

She held up a finger.  “Too sappy.”

“I have a hatchet?”  He held it up in offering.

“Better.”

“Speaking of our legal rights,” Rachel said, “can I call my mom?  She’s a lawyer, after all.”

“Yeah, well my mom’s a teacher,” Peralta said immediately.  “And you don’t hear me bragging about it.”

“That’s not the point.”  Santiago sighed loudly.

“The point is,” Holt interjected, “she asked for a lawyer, and we need to provide her with one.”

«Can your mom be my lawyer too?» Tobias asked.

Rachel shrugged.  “Sure.  I think.  Jake already took his phone call, and Cassie wasted hers on checking in at the hospital—”

“I just wanted to be sure that we didn’t permanently injure that man,” Cassie said mildly.  “Only showed him the error of his ways.”

“You did that, all right,” Diaz said.  “I like your style, for what it’s worth.”

Rachel rolled her eyes.

“I like your style,” Marco breathed, staring up at Diaz.  “Teach me everything.”

“You want to be a cop?” Cassie asked him.

“What?  No!”  Marco turned quickly to Diaz.  “No offense, it’s nothing personal, they don’t mean it, but also...”

“Nah, it’s cool.  You’re a smart kid,” Diaz said.  “Cops are losers.”

“Excuse you,” Santiago said, “Could a loser win both the ‘Most Organized Seminar’ and ‘Highly Relevant Community Announcements’ awards from the same commissioner in one year?”  She gestured pointedly to a matching set of plaques on her desk.  “Checkmate.”

“I have brought a bounty of wings!” Ax declared.  At least, it was presumably Ax speaking from behind the teetering stack of take-out boxes that went clear over his head and somehow didn’t include the four additional plastic bags of Chinese food hanging off his arms.

«Ax-Man, you are a god among insects,» Tobias said.

“Not on top of the binders!”  Santiago lunged to shield them with a drawer before Ax’s tower of food boxes could topple onto the front desk.

“Can I have some?” Peralta asked wistfully, watching as Ax slotted an entire pizza box through the bars to where Jake and Cassie could pry it open.

“Here Jakey, we got you a tub of Wing Slut sauce.”  Scully set it reverently on Peralta’s desk.

“Really, you shouldn’t have.”  Peralta scooted his chair back several inches, eyeing the tub with suspicion.

As the better part of the Nine-Nine watched in horrified fascination, Tobias tossed his head back and swallowed a Buffalo wing whole.  After a second he made a hacking sound and spit up the bone, now completely cleaned of all meat.

“You eat wings?” Boyle asked, leaning in to peer through the bars.  “Is that cannibalism?”

“It’s an open question,” Cassie said.  She folded a paper plate taco-style to protect the lo mein inside, sliding it out to Ax.  “Can you make sure Marco eats something with lots of carbs before he goes hatchet throwing?”

Ax took the plate, saluting her with his free hand.  “The sauce is most excellent, sell-lent, when consumed through a straw,” he told Peralta in a conspiratorial whisper as he went by.

Peralta pushed to his feet.  “Yep, I am never having kids, and I am never eating food ever again.”

“Human bodies do not continue living if you do not consume sufficient nutrients.”  Ax pointedly set the lo mein in front of Marco.

“Ha!” Peralta said.  “That’s what everyone said about drinking water, and yet!”

Marco grabbed a handful of noodles straight off the plate and dropped them in his mouth.  “The bagels might be better here, but you can’t beat California’s Chinese takeout,” he concluded after chewing for several seconds.  “Sorry,” he added, glancing up at Diaz.

“If you suck up any harder, you’re going to injure something,” Rachel snarked.

“Why, are you jealous?”  Marco batted his eyelashes at her.

“No, she just remembers that we’re all under arrest right now,” Jake said loudly.  “And that we’re under no obligation to say or do anything without a lawyer.”

“Which is why I’m here.  To ensure you do not talk yourself into any more trouble than you already have.”

Everyone turned to look at the newcomer.

“Hi Aunt Naomi,” Jake said, voice small.

Rachel rounded on him.  “You used your phone call to contact my mom?”

Jake held up both hands.  “I didn’t say anything about the alcohol!”

“Alleged alcohol,” Naomi said loudly.  “Which these minors have not admitted to purchasing or consuming, because they have not made any statement admissible in a court of law, because you have been holding them all here illegally without an advocate.”

“Ma’am, I think you’ll find that we made every effort to secure advocacy and legal representation for these children with all due haste.”  Holt moved smoothly across the room to shake her hand, and then ushered her into a chair.  “Detective Peralta deemed it necessary to hold them here for their own safety until such time as we could obtain statements from everyone involved.”

“Has anyone pressed charges yet?”  Naomi sat in the folding chair like a queen on a throne, and glared at Holt until he — with a wincing glance at the dust on the seat — sat across from her.

“No, ma’am.  The only person likely to do so is still at the hospital,” Holt explained.

“Oh yeah, he said he wasn’t going to,” Cassie called over.

“What,” Peralta said, laughing.  “You just called him on the phone and talked him out of it?  Just like that?”

Cassie shrugged.  “I asked nicely.”

“It’s Cassie,” Marco told Diaz in a stage-whisper.  “She does stuff like that.”

“Hardcore.”  Diaz looked Cassie over.

“But I’m still more hardcore than her, right?”

“Too desperate.”

“I have four knives?”

“Better.  Only four?”

“Where else am I gonna put them?  I can’t morph and wear a leather coat at the same time.”

“Point.”

“If they’re not being charged with anything,” Naomi said overtop all of this, “and they’ve already given their statements, then you need to release them from custody.”

“I’m not comfortable doing that if we’re not releasing them into the hands of a parent or legal guardian,” Holt said.  “I’m given to understand from their earlier statements that Jake is your nephew and Rachel is your daughter?”

Naomi nodded.

“Then I can only release those two to you.”  Holt seemed genuinely regretful that this was the case.  Then again, it was Holt, so it was hard to tell for sure.

«Look, if Jake can go with his aunt, I can go with my uncle, right?» Tobias said.

“Yes, that would be acceptable,” Holt said.

“Thank you, human captain.”  Ax gave a small bow to Holt.  “I accept this responsibility.”

“Wait, wait.”  Santiago looked Ax over.  “No, we’re not going to just... How old are you, anyway?”

“I am eight-six years old,” Ax announced.

“Eighty-six,” she repeated.

Ax stared back at her, implacable.

Holt sighed.  “Obviously, he is referencing the fact that andalite years are approximately point-two-four-one-zero-nine times the length of human years.  However, since the law does not specify whose years one must count in order to determine whether an individual is over the age of eighteen, I believe I take his point.”

“Does this mean I’m eighty-six too?” Marco asked quickly.

“Were you born on Earth?”  Santiago raised her eyebrows at him.

“Uh.”  He glanced at Diaz.  “Wouldn’t you like to know!”

Diaz gave him a subtle fist-bump.

“My son is not an adult, nor does he mean to indicate that he wishes to be charged as an adult,” Naomi said quickly.

“‘Son’?” Marco squeaked.

“‘Son’?” Holt asked, frowning.

“Yes?”  Peralta stuck his head up, took stock of the scene, and quickly sat back down.

“Son.”  Naomi stared straight at Holt.  “In fact, I will be taking all four of my children, both adoptive and biological, when I leave here today.”

“You adopted me?” Marco demanded.  “Do I get a say in this?”

“Do you have proof to back up your assertion that you are these children’s mother?”  Holt hadn’t broken Naomi’s stare either.

“The way I see it, you have two choices.”  Naomi reached into her purse, pulling out one of her own business cards and setting it on the desk between them.  “Either you allow us to walk out of here, in which case I promise you’ll never see any of us again... Or you continue to hold these minors without formal charges and without counsel, in which case I promise to pursue legal action against whatever stray bricks of this precinct are left standing after my daughter and her friends exercise their legal right to exit the building with as much force as they deem necessary.  Which option would you prefer?”

“See?” Jake whispered loudly to Rachel.  “I knew I made the right call by calling your mom.”

“I take your point,” Holt said, after a moment of consideration.  “Very well, you and your children may leave.  Do keep them out of trouble in the future, won’t you?”

“Thank you for your cooperation, Captain Holt.”  Naomi shook his hand.

Boyle was quickly fumbling for the lock on the cell door.  “Can I have your autograph?” he asked Rachel as she went by.

Rachel looked him up and down, and then kept going without a word.

“Here, I’ll do it.”  Cassie took the paper and sharpie from him.

“Can you make it out to ‘Nikolaj’?” Boyle asked, eyes wide.

“Maybe.”  She uncapped the pen.  “Can you spell that?”

“N-I-K-O-L-A-J, oh and can you add something about always listening to his dreams, and also the music of Diana Ross?”

Slowly, Cassie looked up at Boyle.  She capped the pen — she’d settled for “to Nikolaj, from Cassie” — and handed everything back to him.

“Marco, dude, we’re going,” Jake said.  He currently had both arms around Marco’s waist and was pulling him backward from Diaz’s desk.

“But... but...”  Marco looked up at Diaz.  “Call me?”  Immediately he shook his head and said, “too desperate?”

She smirked.  “Nah, you’re cool.”

He let out a lovelorn sigh and went limp, which was all the excuse Jake needed to haul him over one shoulder and head out of the building.  Cassie and Ax followed, Tobias fluttering up to land on Rachel’s shoulder as she headed out too.  Naomi brought up the rear, casting a pointed look around the room as she went.

“Man,” Jeffords sighed, “I should’ve gotten an autograph for my kids too.”  And then he rounded on Peralta, midway through sneaking the Wing Sluts sauce tub into the trash can.  “What did we learn today, Peralta?”

He considered.  “Lawyers suck?”

“No!” Jeffords said.  “Well, they do, but... Santiago?”

She looked up from where she’d been making an incident report to this exact effect.  “Next time we’re thinking about arresting a whole batch of superpowered child soldiers on questionable misdemeanor charges... don’t?”

Holt nodded gravely.  “Well said, Santiago.”

[londonfog-chan]

Passione x Reader: Sudoh Buck AU

This was too fucking good to let it rot in AO3 so now you all have to be subjected to my JoJo thirst. All characters aged up (otherwise how the fuck would they have this job??)

...

“So you’re not working my shift???”

“No... you’re actually my relief.”

Your best friend is clocking out just as you’re going to clock in. She looks dolefully up at you, nearly in tears from how the day has treated her. It’s her last shift for the week at the Passione Street location for Sudoh Buck, but you’re not sure why it was she had such a horrible time.

“He’s so mean!” She whispers as you lean down next to her.

“Who?!”

“The one on drive thru. He kept kicking me off bar because I made too many mistakes. I don’t know what I’m going to do for a whole three weeks with these people. I miss our store.”

The system is unavailable for you to punch in on the computer, so you’ll have to hunt down the punch communication log and you’re not exactly enthralled to be asking the dudes at the front. One of the guys, silver haired giant with neon lipstick, fucking glared you down when you went to the back. Had it not been for your coworker from the old store (Kimmy) walking out to say goodbye you’re sure he would have pummeled you.

“Yeah?” You ask, slightly bristling as your friend continues to look sad. “Well fuck me I guess. I’ll have to find out where that damn book is and go talk to one of them, and then you’ll be out and I’ll have to deal with this shit all by myself. At least you had the luxury of working with our crew...”

You can’t help the bitterness in your voice even though you know your friend is hurt. It’s been one fucking thing after another. You kept asking everyone where to go, and after being ignored and given a gang face, you’re not altogether sure you like Passione location after all... it’s in a location where you used to live as a child, not too far a commute from your current house where you live with your mother, and it’s the newest location established. But the newness is a fucking facade. You already have a bad impression by how they treated your friend, you can’t imagine they’re taking too kindly to being invaded by a new store. A friend working the S. Platinum location told you the other day he heard some blonde bastard of a shift complaining that the Ogre Street crew was stealing all the tips from the regular crew.

From a customer’s perspective, this is a coffee drinker’s paradise. Everything looks bright and new, when you walk into the cafe area, the front where they have the registers and the pastry case is on one big countertop that’s shared with the espresso bar and cold bar. In back of the bar is the drive thru window, and at the end of the espresso bar there’s some seating arrangements where customers can watch their drinks being made. It’s a typical Sudoh Buck color scheme. Lots of greys and white, the customers flock to it looking to get their fix, but under the facade there’s apparently a bastard crew working it. On top of that, the remodel for your location is going to take longer than anticipated. What else can you do but just rough it out with strangers you don’t even know?

“Well... I guess I’ll go home now.” Your friend murmurs sadly.

“Yeah. Bye.”

Your friend gets up and gathers her things, looking at you wistfully before mouthing “good luck”. In a few seconds she’s gone, and you’re standing there in an unfamiliar back office, apron in hand, wondering how on earth you’re going to survive the first day without anyone from your old store to help you.

“Oh hi there!”

An unusually cheerful voice jolts you out of your stupor as you come face to face with an unfamiliar associate. He looks fairly young, black messy hair held back with a bandana, and he looks you up and down with a sly look in his violet eyes.

“You’re one of the baristas from Ogre Street Mall yeah? Are you looking for the book?” He asks, cocking his head to the side as he ties up the strings of his apron. His black metal name tag has green chalk marker on it too small to make out, so you can’t tell his name right away.

“Yeah, I started a few months ago at that location. And yes, that would be helpful.” You tell him your name, and you can’t help the jump in your pulse when you hear him roll it off his tongue.

“That’s a pretty cute name.” He flirts, coming up on you with his fist up. “Nice to meet ya, I’m Narancia.”

You have to smile as you fist bump him (hey, it’s impolite to leave a homeboy hanging). Immediately you feel the strongest connection to him; Narancia is the first helpful and friendly face you’ve met so far in this location. And if he’s this cute and working a shift with you, you fully intend to stick by him wherever he goes.

“That’s not a bad name either my guy.” You smile. “Now about that book...”

“Come with me to front, we keep the book by the register in case anyone can’t get into the system.” He casually drapes an arm around your shoulder and you instinctually lean into him.

Hey, no one’s ever flirted with you before at work, and there’s no harm in it if you’re single. You know he’s probably smiling wider than fuck, but you could really care less at this point. Embarrassment ended when work jaded you. When you’re working 36 hours a week for minimum wage you tend to lose things like dignity.

“Here, make sure you check off this part with ‘New Store Labor’. Want me to get the ASM so he can tell you where to go?”

“That’d be great.” You insist. “I really appreciate you.”

“Stay right there!”

He runs off to the same isolated corner where you can hear the guys running drive thru taking orders. Before you write your name in the book, you notice that Narancia doesn’t clock in on the computer. The entire week is him filling out his punches in the book, one of many indicators that he was a barista who hated the new update for the punch log on the iPads. This indicates he’s the best kind of barista: the lazy fuck who can shortcut anything and come out on top. A few others prefer the book too, and you can’t help but admire the immaculate handwriting of this “Leone Abbacchio”, and you wonder if they’re as nice as their handwriting.

While you write in your punch, some dude with a funny looking orange beanie looks at you from his spot by the convection ovens, and you notice he’s muttering to himself on what looks like a gaming headset. When you make eye contact with him, he looks away as though he’s been caught committing a crime, saved by the loud beeping of the oven. He takes the tongs he’s holding and takes out some croissants, bagging them and putting stickers on the front before running them past you.

Narancia seems to be taking his sweet ass time with the assistant store manager. There’s another young looking guy, a blonde, at the point of sales system, the cafe is dead but bar is bumping, you can see other baristas pumping out drinks like their lives depend on it. Occasionally one will hand a drink off to a counter out of sight (probably to neon lipstick asshole who gang faced you earlier). The blonde leans against the counter, looking at you up and down the same way Narancia did. Vaguely you wonder: why did your friend say these guys were assholes? The blond and Narancia, along with the warming guy, seem perfectly content to check you out, and frankly you’re enjoying the attention. Fuck a duck, the guys here are hot!

“You’re the barista from Ogre Street?”

The question comes from the blonde at the POS system. You nod.

“Yessir. Just coming on board until the remodel happens.” You reply. “What’s your name?”

“Call me Fugo. You?”

He smiles when you tell him your name, but evidently you’re going to have to wait your turn to talk to him. That’s the beauty of working a coffee shop, customers just crawl out of the woodwork and line up at the POS system, and you smile when you hear Fugo’s very lovely “Welcome to Sudoh Buck, what may I get started for you today?”. It’s pretty awkward just chilling out by the pastry case. Typically you just jump into the first unmanned task when you walk into your store, but this is entirely new territory. Even the espresso machines are different here, you heard talk that soon all the new Sudoh Buck locations are getting what’s called Mastrena 4’s, whatever the shit that means. All you know is it’s supposed to make things a hell of a lot easier, and that you have to have it mastered before the remodel is completed.

“Sorry we kept you waiting for so long, you must be so confused.”

You’re pulled out of your stupor and suddenly face to face with the most gorgeous assistant store manager you’ve ever seen in your life. He’s got what your coworkers would call a “Karen” haircut, but he wears it well, and apparently he doesn’t mind it all too much that you’re staring at him like he’s a piece of meat in a butcher shop. He’s tall, all legs and arms with broad shoulders in a black turtleneck sweater. Narancia is almost overshadowed by the ASM’s beauty (he returns wearing the same headset as the guy on oven duty), but you sneak a glance at him too just for a minute.

“Y-yea... I mean, no it’s cool. I just, it’s like was anyone going to tell me what to do? Or was I supposed to have a sense of purpose myself?”

... Jesus Christ on a crutch... you note that the ASM must really appreciate your blunt humor, because his blue eyes are even smiling as he laughs. Narancia can’t help but laugh too, and with both men looking like snacks whenever they smile you’re about to drop from being so weak in the knees.

“I think you’ll be a great fit here.” The ASM smiles, “My name is Bruno Buccellati. You are...”

Your name rolling off his tongue makes you weak again. Oh lort... how does any barista get work done around here with all this man candy???

“Before we start, what position are you most comfortable with?” Bruno asks.

You’re about ten seconds from blurting out something nasty: spit roast sounds nice, Narancia and oven guy can watch.

“Ok...” you steel yourself, fully prepared with a speech you’d rehearsed in the car only an hour before. “I’m gonna keep it real with you chief, I don’t know how to do anything in a drive thru, and I don’t know how to run the new Mastrenas. If someone can show me I can do bar, otherwise I’m down to help on cold.”

Bruno seems to take this into consideration, looking over at the line that’s forming on front. Narancia looks too, immediately hopping onto bar where he starts steaming milk and pulling espresso shots from the machine without anyone having to ask him. His quick response triggers that look in Bruno’s eyes, and he nods you over towards the bar.

“I think I’ll have you with Narancia on cold bar for now. He’s going to be cafe and drive thru bar, so whatever he needs help with, just pull the stickers and he can show you where everything is. We’ll kill this line, and then I can give you a more permanent assignment. How’s that sound?”

“Gotcha!”

You instantly spring into action, much more confident now that you have direction. Narancia is pulling stickers out of a square machine and pasting them to cups, handing the plastic ones to you where you spring into action. Getting into a sequence, you start a drink, begin another one, work on the first, then start a third, going on like this until you’ve got a rhythm. Pumping out teas, fraps, refreshers, anything iced at all. Your hands fly over your work, and you almost don’t hear the praises that are being showered on you.

“Damn look at her go!” Whistles Narancia, “Hey Mista! Check out bar star over here!”

The guy from warming is over your shoulder as you hand out a drink, calling out Tom’s 20 ounce passion hibiscus tea. He smiles at you for a split second, too dazzling for words, then runs back to the oven when his headset lights up.

Vaguely you wonder how the hell your friend had such a rough time here at this location when there’s so much nice man candy to look at.

[marvel-ousnesss]

The pirate and the witch (part one)

Pairing: Harry Hook x daughter of Narissa!reader

Word count: 2477

Summary: Y/N, an orphan VK who was taken to Auradon at a young age, returns to her old home by request of the crown prince. However, things tend to go south at the Isle of the Lost. 

Warning: Mild cursing 

A:/N: Okayy, here goes nothing. This is my first fic and I'm really excited about it. Comments and feedback (and title suggestions 'cause I suck) are appreciated. I think the whole story might have five or six parts which I'll be posting ASAP. 

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE DISNEY DESCENDANTS CHARACTERS NOR THE SANDERSON SISTERS. All credit goes to the creators, writers, and producers. Same with the HP charms, credit goes to J.K Rowling. 

Part two       Part three         Part four       Masterlist

I can’t believe I agreed to do this. Of all places, it had to be the Isle of the Lost. I look at the empty sky as I waltz my way through the lonely, and dark alleys; desperately trying to forget that the clock is about to strike midnight. 

Even though I’m currently in one of the scariest places that I can actually think of, I pay attention to every detail as I walk. Particularly, I notice the poor construction of the buildings and the few people that I see asleep against walls or trash containers. Every minute that goes on here makes me wanna go back, yet I’m motivated to help make this a better place — or, at least that's what I tell myself. 

Last week, my friend Ben approached me after a meeting he had with his father. He wouldn’t stop talking about how terrible the conditions at the Isle are and insisting on doing something about it before the preparations for his coronation. So we talked to my parents, the king and queen of Maldonia, and concluded that we needed to see the situation first hand to come up with a good set of solutions. But, given that Ben’s parents would never let him go, I begged mine to allow me, arguing that I could blend in, being a VK myself. 

I grew up in Auradon, and not on the Isle, because my mother died years ago, in another realm. According to Fairy Godmother, she was one of the most dangerous villains ever seen, and one of the evilest. Yet, instead of abandoning my on the Isle, like most would have done, —and after some arguing between royals— the king and queen of Auradon allowed Queen Tiana and King Naveen to raise me as their daughter; but I never forgot the piece of The Isle that runs through my veins. 

By this, I mean my magic. According to my parents, my mother was a very powerful witch. So, when I turned twelve and officially celebrated eight years on Auradon, I asked the king and queen for permission to learn magic; which they granted, under very specific parameters. 

Since my powers have a dark nature, or so says Fairy Godmother, she asked the three forest fairies, Fauna, Flora, and Merryweather, to tutor me at their cottage —this being the only place where I’m allowed to use my powers. 

….. 

I arrive at the small loft —or should I say hideout— that the royal guard of Maldonia had prepared for me, and take off my black cloak, setting it on the bed, right next to the few notes I have taken. Finally, after the longest day that I’ve had in a while, I let myself fall on the firm bed and drift off to sleep. 

Woken up by the sound of my alarm, I get up and get ready, repeating the steps of my plan like my life depended on it —who knows, it may. 

Fairy Godmother warned me about the gang rivalry that has been going on for a while and told me about some VKs who have shown to be the most dangerous. 

The one she talked about the most is Mal, daughter of Maleficent. Apparently, she is the leader of the most feared squad of the Isle; which happens to be formed by none other than the children of Jafar, Cruella de Vil, the evil queen, and well, Maleficent. 

Aside from them, the headmistress mentioned the pirate crew that hangs near the docks, which is the biggest competition for the so-called ‘Core Four’. It’s most known members are Uma, Ursula’s daughter; Gil, son of Gaston; and Harry Hook, Captain Hook’s son (obviously). According to my notes, Uma is the captain and Hook is her loyal first mate. 

I should be fine, as long as I stay away from their little gang battle. But, being as stubborn as I am, I decide that being part of this will be the ultimate Isle experience. 

I do my best to blend in as I stroll down the market and grab a few things, earning a few glares and weird looks as I pay for them. I don’t like being the center of attention, so I put on my hood and avoid all eyes. Preparing to head back, I grab a small bread loaf from a stall to my right and, when the woman behind it is about to protest, I hand her a few gold coins. 

Then, I abandon the market, unaware of the two sets of eyes that I have on my back, those belonging to a certain Arabian young thief and the son of Cruella de Vil. 

I become aware of their steps lurking behind me when I’m a few blocks away from the market, so I walk faster and then I find myself running from them. I manage to keep them quite far until the two of them jump their ways to the ceilings above me. 

I curse Fairy Godmother for not telling me about Carlos’ talent with parkour. She said he was dangerous because of his way with technology, nothing more. Yet, here I am, running from a thief and a thirteen-year-old geek who happens to be a fucking ninja. 

I run and run, without looking up or behind me. I’ve always been pretty active, so I lose them after a few minutes. Nevertheless, I don’t stop running and continue in whatever direction my feet are taking me. 

…… 

I should’ve taken a right. That way, I would’ve arrived at my place ten minutes ago; but my dumb ass decided to take a wrong turn so I ended up in the Sanderson sisters’ hut. And, just before I turned on my heel to make an exit, I find the three awful witches standing right in front of me, displaying wicked and hungry grins.

—What have we here?— inquires the redhead, — seems like today’s our lucky day, sisters. They’re both a teeny tiny bit big, but that’s what you get here. Kids are running out these days. 

I try to run but my feet fail me, and I feel an electric shock running through me before blacking out. The last thing I hear is a chorus of excited voices singing ‘double food delivery, double food delivery,’ and a strong thunder of psychotic laughter. 

I wake up in a small, round cage that hangs from a bronze chain, next to a boy who I recognize as a member of Ursula’s daughter’s pirate crew. What’s his name? Henry, Howard, Helio? Harry, the first mate, that’s it! Anyway, I look around for a possible exit, but find nothing but the front door, which is right next to the cauldron and the three witches —who remain oblivious to me being awake. 

Minutes go by and they remain carried away by whatever they are brewing; at least until my cage mate decides to wake up all grumpy. 

—Hit my nappeer, them howling witches…— he grumbles, trailing off; but it seems enough to draw their attention. 

With wide eyes and wicked grins, they make their way to us with their arms intertwined. When they are close enough, the youngest takes a look at us and licks her lips and the raven-haired one pushes her nose against the bars and sniffs us, sighing in content when she’s had her fill.

— They’re so cute, Winnie, can we keep them, pretty please?— she asks, jumping in her place a couple times. 

—You can play with them until the potion is ready, but not a second more. Do remember, — she sing-songs. — Youth and beauty, beauty and youth. 

—Hear that? We’re gonna have a good time!— States the ebony-haired witch, as she pokes Harry, who’s still semi-conscious, with a wooden stick. That seems to fully wake him 

— Oi, watch it!— he hisses while trying to dodge the harmless, yet annoying tip. He doesn’t have much success due to the lack of space, which amuses me a bit.

—Ooh… a feisty one! — grins the blonde one. —Too bad we can’t keep you, handsome; it would’ve been delicious. 

The look on her face seems to be full of physical hunger, but I detect a not so faint tint of lust in her demeanor. The reason why, with those words and the witch’s obvious intentions, my face contours in disgust, which I immediately regret. 

—What’s your problem, dear one— she says, as she surrounds the cage, — don’t like me talking ‘bout your little boyfriend like that? Didn’t mommy teach you to share?—. When she’s right behind me, she sneaks a bony hand through my hair and grabs a fistful, to which I reply with a groan. 

As she is about to continue the teasing, Winnifred calls her sisters. 

—We can’t feed them the potion yet — she scowls.

—Well, duh… my playtime hasn’t finished— replies the blonde. 

—no, Sarah, were missing the knotgrass, the fluxweed, and the rat foot— clarifies the third sister, with her pointy nose buried in the cauldrons aroma, — it hasn’t turned green yet. 

—At least one of you isn’t completely dense. Come on, sisters, off to the market we go. 

As if on cue, they head to the door and close it behind them.

A faint ‘don’t go anywhere’ is heard from outside, followed by another chorus of wicked laughter. 

…….. 

—Gaunnie hook ‘em— spits the pirate, stretching his arm in a miserable attempt at grabbing the hook that lays on the floor beneath us. 

I shrug, and then proceed to peak my nails, — Might wanna get out of here first, Hooky. 

—Any ideas on how, lassie?— he asks between gritted teeth, growing impatient and tired of failing at hook fishing. 

— A few, actually, but the sight of you in front of me, struggling like that, is quite lovely and entertaining. 

With my comment, his demeanor changes completely, becoming cockier and self-assured. This, although he’s still desperately trying to recover his signature weapon. 

—Then come to the docks with me,— he smirks, as he changes positions to find himself sitting in front of the lock, and begins picking it with a rake that he had inside his left boot, — we’ll get hammered with me crew and, you know, keep the heid. 

As he works,  his nose wrinkles, his brows come together in concentration, and his lips tighten in a thin line. 

 —As tempting as that sounds, I do have things to do.

It would be convenient to go with him. Ben and King did me specific instructions for my little trip, and this would make it easier. However, it just wouldn’t be my type of scene. I feel like I’ve had enough ‘new experiences’ for a few years, maybe.

—Aww, lass, ya hurting my feelings,— he fake pouts and, to no avail, tries to use a different rake. 

 —Feelings? Didn’t see that one coming,— I mock, gently pushing him to the side, and claim my turn with the tricky lock. 

He’s about to complain, but I shush him and close my eyes. Due to the wards placed on the Isle, my magic is significantly weaker than it is on Auradon, but I can concentrate enough to channel it thanks to a locket that the king gave me for emergencies. 

I grin as the cage opens itself, and immediately jump down, followed by my slightly shocked companion. Before he can, I grab the hook by the handle, and point the tip at him, just to swiftly turn it around for him to grab. 

With his hook safely in his hand, he approaches the table and grabs a book, together with what seems to be a shell necklace. Then, he catches up with me outside the front door. We walk in silence for a few blocks, given that there is only one way out, and he breaks the silences that lingered between us. 

—So, you know me name, yet I don’t know yours— he glances at me with curiosity and caution, —ain’t fair, lassie. 

—What can I say, Hook, you are quite famous around here. I, on the other hand, am quite a lone wolf.

—Haven’t given me an answer yet, doll face,

— Name’s Y/N, daughter of queen Narissa.

—Y/N,— he tries it out, —and how come you have magic?

—Let’s say I found a loophole in the barrier. 

—Uma’s gonna love this, — he says, giving me a smirk. 

—Assuming I go with you, that is. I said I had things to do — I quirk a brow at him. 

Before he can reply, we hear three sets of boots approaching us in a rhythmic pattern. It can only be them. 

— Shit, — grumbles the pirate, then he grabs my arm and pulls me behind him and into a dark corner. 

We remain silent as the steps die down, and then continue walking. 

—Now that was close, thanks Harry,— I say, patting his left shoulder. 

—Ya know how to properly thank me, lass,— he shrugs. His cockiness is beginning to become annoying but, to be honest, I cannot say that I don’t enjoy flirting. So, I decided to follow his game. 

—Kind of sad, really,

— Away on, dollface, the hell ya mean by that? 

I give him a sigh and shrug, — I just thought your game was better. Can’t believe that you sway every girl off her feet with a thick accent and a smirk. 

— I did just save yer little witchy ass. You’re a buck eejit if that ain’t impressive. 

— Not a ‘buck eejit’, whatever that shit means. — I chuckle dryly, — I’m just not gonna fall for your oh so great pirate act. 

He shrugs, seemingly unbothered, — same here, doll, mysterious past ‘n shit gets boring real fast.

— Yet, here you are, still following some like a lost puppy. 

Between flirting, bickering, and some laughter in between, we arrive at the corner that connects the docks to the way to my place. 

— As much as I enjoy your gentlemanly antics, time to part ways. 

— You’ll come to the ship tonight, I know it. 

— You know, you’re not even my type, Harry— I claim. 

He is kind of my type, you know? Handsome, witty, cocky, and fun to be with. Not totally boyfriend material, but maybe just for a good time; a rest from Auradon’s Perfect Peachy Prince wannabes. 

Without a second glance, I start walking to the building I slept in but, before I’m out of view, I hear him say,—You do one me one, little witch,— and I grin. 

— See you ‘round, Hook, — I reply over my shoulder. 

[stealinghero]

I don't think i've seen this yet, but maybe a scenario where jigen tries to teach his crush how to shoot and it's like, a super intimate situation. :3c

I just like Jigen. He’s super funny to write for!! And of course he would be too much of a pro to admit he’s enjoying watching his crush under the xecuse of teaching. But in the end.... he’s a man. ^___^ Poor Jigen. And I kept this sfw. XP

“Why?”

Of course. His only question was this. After all the time being with the gang you had proven to be skilled with a knife and in close combat. But whenever you saw Lupin or Jigen shooting their guns, you could feel the jealousy. You wanted to be that cool! Or at least able to hit something that wasn’t an ally.

“Because I can’t,” you dead-panned.

He looked at you, cleaning his Magnum with calm hands.

“Sure. What gun do you want to use?”

Eh?! Of course you knew there were different models, but weren’t they all the same in the end?

“I thought of yours?”

He snorted and laid the gun on the table before turning to you with a laugh.

“Sure. And break your pretty face with the recoil.”

“It can’t be that bad! You do it all the time!”

“I’m shooting from the hip, with the right stance, having a different stance for shooting on eyelevel.”

You felt dumb now.

“Then what would you tell me to take?”

“A knife,” he grinned at you with good natured malice.

“I want to be able to shoot a gun, Jigen!”

“And I wouldn’t trust you with one.”

“Why?”

“Because you can’t shoot.”

You punched him in the upper arm, making him wince playfully.

“Fine, fine! Before you beat me unconscious, I will teach you,” he finally gave in under fits of laughter.

 “This is the Smith and Wesson M&P380 Shield EZ 2.0. It’s easy to handle for a beginner and it doesn’t have such a strong recoil. Hold it.”

You stared at the gun Jigen offered you, before taking it carefully and almost letting it crash to the floor.

“It’s heavy!” you wondered aloud, making Jigen laugh.

“524 grams. It’s not that heavy. A good weight for a beginner like you.”

“What about your Magnum?”

“975 grams, unloaded.”

“Why is it so heavy?”

“Do you want to shoot or to learn the physics of a gun?”

“Shoot,” you admitted, saving the questions for later.

“I’m saving you a lot of time, so don’t be too disappointed, okay?” he told you, taking your hand and shoving your fingers into the right position.

“This gun doesn’t have a thumb safety, I will show you later what that means. For you it’s easier to use it.”

You nodded, slowly getting used to the weight in your hand.

“Safety first, so it’s unloaded for now. Just try and hold it like this…” he reached around you and raised your arm to eye level.

“And then the trigger, right?”

“You are going to hold it for now.”

Already your strength showed, or to say it better: your lack of strength. Just to hold the weight of this thing at the end of your outstretched arm was taxing enough and now Jigen had begun to press here and there on your arm to relax your shoulder and tensed muscles.

“Are you kidding me? How am I supposed to shoot like this?” you asked him annoyed.

“You aren’t. This is just to tell your body to relax when holding a gun. Humans tend to stiffen up when holding one.”

“Humans,” you imitated Jigen with a laugh. He looked at you and huffed.

“You want to learn it?”

“I just want to shoot.”

After a second he gave up and took the gun. With a swift movement he loaded it and had given it back to you.

“Back there is your target. Line up the…”

You had already pulled the trigger.

 “Will you listen to me now?”

Jigen had found what he was looking for in the freezer and turned back to you, handing you a pack of frozen peas.

You covered your bruised face with it and whined at the pain.

At least you had learned your lesson to listen to the instructions before firing.

 This time you wanted to be sure. Your knuckles had turned white, but as long as you had the gun under control, everything should be alright.

“Relax. I will help you.” Again Jigen positioned you with unlimited patience. But this time you actually listened to his advices, loosening your grip a bit, relaxing the elbow, taking a better stance. Finally it felt a bit better than before. Still unused to this stance, you wobbled a bit as soon as he took off his hands of you.

He had just laughed at you, asking you to hold this stance for 5 minutes. And you were ready to kill him. This was hard work!

“It’s another dimension from throwing a knife, right?” he asked, watching the clock on the wall.

“It’s hard.”

“That’s why you are getting a gun for beginners.”

Slowly it dawned on you what would have happened when you had taken his Magnum for the first shot. Your nose had bled, yes. And you had a black eye from being hit by the recoiled gun. But if it had been the Magnum? Surely your nose would be broken!

“I get it. I need to practice, right?”

“Learning by doing.” He got up from his chair and took the gun from you.

“Relax and watch.” Slowly he showed you how to load the chamber, unloaded it and shoved the gun to you.

“Do it.”

You imitated his movements, loading the gun successfully, smiling.

“Good. Raise it. Remember the stance.”

Again he patted every spot on your body down to bring you back into the first position and then he grinned. “Hold it for 5 minutes.”

You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of giving up! You would show him what you were made of!!

Weak muscles. That was what you were made of. Weak, shaking muscles, ready to give up after the longest 5 minutes of your life. A loaded gun was a lot more heavier than an unloaded one!

“Ready for your shot?”

You nodded just a bit, fearing to give up your stance and having to do it all over again.

“Raise the gun a bit, hold it steady. Align the two bars here and there. Raise the gun half a centimetre,” he instructed you in a monotone voice, before nodding and saying: “And now lower the gun.”

What was wrong this time?

“Do it for 50 times.”

He hated you, didn’t he?!

“Jigen!” This was enough.

“You want to be a good shot? Your muscles know nothing of shooting. It’s a process of learning and repeating the same moves over and over again. Don’t presume you can raise a gun and hit something.”

You remembered your first shot. Not only had the recoil been to strong for you to handle, you had also missed the target by more than 5 metres.

“Fine.” And you began to count your routine with him watching your every move with a concentrated look.

“50!”

“Let us shoot.” He nodded, accepting your count.

You were done. How should you shoot and handle the recoil after this program?! Your muscles were already shaking and your hands were sweaty.

“You did well. Let me treat you.”

Your gun was taken away, unloaded and packed into a case you would own from now on.

In its place you were given his Magnum.

“She’s a whole other world,” he told you, grinning at your scared look.

“It’s heavy!”

“I’ll show you how to handle this beauty.”

His body was all around you, his hands laid on yours. Slowly he shoved you into the right stance, using his whole body, guiding your fingers with his.

His breath was even, tickling your neck a bit while his eyes were fixated on the opposite wall, focusing on the target.

“Are you ready?” His low voice made your body tense up, hands already sweating in anticipation of what was to come.

“Pull the trigger.” His simple command vibrated in the back of your head and you followed it without thinking twice.

The recoil was so much stronger than you had thought, leaving you as a mess in Jigen’s strong arms.

“That was different,” you told him, amazed by the sheer power of this weapon.

He smiled and let go of you. Was he blushing?

“That’s it for today. You will need to practice a lot more to be an able shooter,” he told you, a bit rushed before taking his gun and leaving you alone.

 Did you just hear your name?

You shook your head, moving along the carpet of the old house. Your first lesson had left you with determination but also with an aching body. A hot shower would be nice now to relax you and your stiff muscles.

Again! Somebody just called your name!

But when you looked around you saw no one. Of course. Lupin had taken off to a date with Fujiko and Goemon had excused himself this morning to meditate in the woods. It was only you and Jigen in this house. And maybe a ghost?!

This time you were sure. Somebody said your name! And it was close.

You stopped and listened. Maybe Jigen needed your help?

“Yes… like that…”

You blushed, realizing what you had heard.

He must be under the shower. Calling your name. Moaning.

Slowly, you crept closer to the bathroom door, not wanting to miss out on this show. And in your mind you were already planning the next training session. He would need to correct your stance a lot more, you decided with all the dirty thoughts playing out.

“Are you joining me now or what?”

His voice made you blush and realize that he was watching you.

Damn, he was good.

[marquis1305]

Modern Au Kaili Tabris’ version of meeting Nico Mahariel. (owned by the dear @hoehoehoelt) because this modern au is now a thing. 

Kaili had chosen to spend her down hours sitting on the roof of their barracks.  

She knew that if she were caught, she would get a demerit, or worse; but couldn't manage to bring herself to care.  

After all, anniversaries deserved special recognition. She had managed to push back the memories throughout most of the day. Facing the Warden's drills, tests, and training with an easy smile. The smile that she had chosen to wear since the day she had been forced to enlist, rather than face jail time.

Here, where she could hide away from the other recruits, she let the smile fall.  

There were no tears, it had always been difficult for her to let enough of her walls shatter to allow for tears. She hums the lullaby that Nelaros had once taught her, in what feels like a lifetime ago.  

"I don't think I have heard that tune before."

Kaili jolts back, hand to her boot knife. Ears flat in warning. Snarling.

"Whoa! Down girl!" Nico Mahariel, Staff Seargent, laughs at her sudden reaction. Hands help up as an offer of peace. "No wonder they warned me not to bother you, and here I thought they were just afraid of a pretty girl."

"As they should be, after all, haven't you heard the rumors about me?" Kaili slowly shifts back to how she was sitting. Body still tense and ready to attack as needed, but hiding behind a calm veneer.  

"Might have, but I won't say which ones unless you tell me the rumors you have heard about me." He plops down beside her, offering up a flask pulled from one of his pockets.  

When she takes it, he moves to let his hair down from the bun it had been forced into during duty hours. Kaili eyes him, then takes his cue, letting her own curls free to form ringlets about her face.  

"Damn, now that's a sight," Nico raises an eyebrow, and a jaunty smirk.

"Don't get used to it staff seargent," she says before taking a swig, then offering the flask back.

"Oh, using ranks, ouch," he laughs and takes his own drink from the flask. "So, are you gonna tell me what you have heard?"

"Only that you seem to spend more days in a sickbed than in the field. And that you are one of the fasted rising enlisted within the Wardens." Her voice is flat, hiding any emotions she might feel towards either account.

"Yeah, debilitating disease," he shrugs, brushing off the implications. "And there was a reason that I was assigned to the Warden Squad despite it. One of the best shots in my clan. Definitely the quickest draw. Was tied for most accurate."

"Makes sense, I suppose. You Dalish seem to favor guerrilla warfare. Don't like getting too close, might cut those pretty tattoos of yours," Kaili smirks over at the Dalish soldier.  

"And I suppose you are a cut purse like the rest of the flat ears?" Nico rises to meet her unspoken challenge.

"Close, but no cigar. I was in a gang, tended to favor black market sales over cutting purses. My own specialty was acquiring the goods." Kaili hugs her knees, looking off towards the sunset. Ignoring that Nico moves closer.  

"That doesn't sound like something that would get you placed in the Wardens?" He presses, genuinely curious at this point.  

"No. What got me placed in this unit was slaughtering every last member of our rival gang. Bunch of rich kids who wanted to play pretend, thought that they were hard. They managed to snatch me and a few girls from my neighborhood when I had my guard down."

Nico looks at her, horror slowly dawning in his eyes.  

"I had a fiancé. Nice guy. Was a senior, like me, but still trying to work and raise enough money to get us both out of the city, get me off the streets. He hated that I did what I did, but never tried to change me. Knew that I was working to support my family, only way that I knew how," she starts shuddering as the memories begin to flood her senses. Unable to even react as Nico places an arm around her. "When they snatched us, my fiancé ran and got my cousins. Managed to find the warehouse where we were being held."

She pauses, choking back the tears that finally come.  

"What happened?" Nico pulls Kaili closer, offering her support.  

She can only answer in the softest of whispers.  

"They shot him. I watched, saw every second of it. My cousin, Vis, finally managed to cut me free from the ropes. Handed me my knives. He and Soris provided cover fire while I cut them all down. Then I went and hunted down their leader and his little buddies. I slit each of their throats."

She takes a shudering breath, and looks up at Nico, finally noticing his closeness. "When the cops showed up, I took the fall. Kept them busy while my cousin's escaped. Had made sure that they passed me their guns before they took off. Prints. Heh. After that, it was either the Wardens or jail time. Figured I could take my chances fighting in the Shem's war, rather than waste my life behind bars."

Nico pulls her tighter to him. Letting her bury her face in his shoulder. He had been here almost a year longer than her, had seen her during her training drills. Had seen her laugh and tease the other recruits. Sure, there had been rumors, but nothing to this extent. If anyone understood how much it hurt to hold that kind of story inside.....  

"I lost someone too. When I caught my... disease. Tamlen,"He shrugs off the stab of pain in his chest with a chuckle. "But that is a story for another day. Wouldn't do for me to just make you feel worse by talking about my own sad tale."

Kaili nods, taking a deep breath to ease the shuddering of her chest. Then pulls back from his hold. Gaze held by his own.  

"It's been one year today."

Nico nods, "I knew it was the anniversary of when you were thrown into our lot. Didn't realize that there was more to it. Figured you were just up here thinking about all the time wasted this past year on drills."

Kaili breathes out a giggle. Then smiles playfully, "I didn't realize you had been keeping track of my time here?"

Nico blushes slightly, then lets his grey gaze heat up. "What can I say, it's not every day that a beautiful, smart, and apparently slightly psychotic recruit comes in; sweeping everyone of their feet."

"Flatterer." Kaili deadpans.  

Chuckling, Nico brings Kaili closer still. Completely wrapping her in his arms. "If you didn't like it, I have no doubt you would have been able to take me down by now."

Kaili narrows her eyes at him, then simply nods. Letting her head fall back against his chest. She just barely holds back the flinch as he runs a hand over her curls.  His other hand rubbing circles around her back.

Instead, she starts humming her lullaby again.  Playing with the ring hanging on a chain about her neck.

Nelaros had always told her she needed to learn how to accept the little things in life.  

Maybe, having Nico comfort her would qualify.

[peakyfckngblinders]

“All bets are off” - Chapter 3

Ship: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Hey there,

I’m so sorry for not uploading :/ Had a lot of stress but here we go, it’s a really long chapter, wanted to make two parts out of it but since I haven’t been here in weeks, I guess I owe you one.

As always, I’m not a native speaker, so I just got to tell you all how thankful I am to have @sarcastiphonix for helping me with my grammar troubles!

Prologue (x), Chapter 1 (x), Chapter 2 (x)

"I had business to attend to. I’m sorry“, I said, my thoughts remaining in an entirely different galaxy. "I noticed a man brought you home, who was that?“, Jim asked, concern covering his features. There was a moments pause before I answered him. "Oh, nobody. Just a colleague who helps at the stables.“ It was resolute in my mind that Jim didn't deserve to be constantly worried about my safety, so I decided he wouldn't be told that I was going to be working for the Royals of Birmingham. He was just a simple man, with an equally simple job, which he adored. As part of his heritage he acquired a small law firm from his father which he led in a small office downtown. Jim was a youthful and determined lawyer who focused on improving himself everyday. Nothing stood in the way of a bright future and successful career for him, and I intended to keep things that way. "I’m sorry I worried you, Jim“, I said, rising onto my toes and kissing him softly, "It was a hard day and I need to get up early tomorrow. Do you mind if I just take a bath and go to bed?“ The man in front of me was evidently irritated, and suspicious. "Wait, you never usually work on Mondays, love.“ I rubbed my eyes, letting out a frustrated sigh. "I—I just got new clients today. I mean, you know how this works, don’t you? You understand how vital clients to me.“ My boyfriend did not seem to believe my story but I was firm in my mission to spend some much needed time alone. No interrogations, just the hot water and me, alone with my thoughts. "Sure, Babe“, he mumbled, looking a bit disappointed.

I felt almost paralysed as I walked out of the door the next morning. Outside my house stood John Shelby flashing his classic wide grin at me, his car parked in the street. "Mornin’!“, he smirked, "A little friendly bonus for you- from me. Thomas wants us to drive directly to the stables, so I thought I'd just pick you up myself from here.“ "Uhm. Thank you“, I stuttered. We drove for half an hour, right through the city and ended up at the back country of Birmingham. I was slightly unnerved by the fact I had never been there before. "These are our family stables, the Shelby clan has got about six horses, and you're very lucky because today, you get to ride the newest girl in town!“, John smiled, as if I'd be grateful but I still felt unsure of myself around the Birmingham gang member, as if any slip up would result in a razor blade slipping elsewhere. I had problems keeping up with him because he seemed to sprint toward the stables. His movements gave the impression of a boy younger than himself, it was then that I recognised just how young he was- it had been the war that stripped him of his youth. When we approached two boys were mucking out the stables and beginning to feed the horses. They were quickly dismissed by a wave of John's hand which he then moved as if showcasing a prized possession. "Here we go, allow me to introduce you to Grace's Secret." I looked into the deep brown eyes of a grey horse, it's coat reminding me of clear snow which was beginning to thaw. "Hey girl“, I whispered, resting my hand on her neck, "You're beautiful, you know?" I took a look inside the box and could tell that she was strong, already trained well. However, her back revealed that she'd been ridden the wrong way for two, possibly three years. "Grace’s Secret“, I mumbled while checking the animal, „"A very unusual name…“   John’s eyes narrowed. "Oh yeah, it is…“ his voice trailed off. "And after that reaction, I guess you don't want to tell me the story behind it?“ "What?" John asked, startled. "Don’t play the fool“, I moaned, "nobody just calls a horse Grace's Secret.“
The crown prince stared at me and seemed to debate how much to reveal. He let out a reluctant sigh. "Listen, Thomas bought her. And It was Tommy who named her." His answer left me still confused as to what was so special about the name? Who was Grace? And why couldn’t John tell me? Perhaps being direct was the easiest way of finding out. I mean, it wasn't like John would kill me for asking a simple question. Admittedly, he obviously could have. "So, it seems like Mr. Shelby is a big mystery to everybody…“, I tried to needle softly. The smile vanished quickly from John's face. A look of sadness masking his  joy. "If you really want an answer—while Thomas might be a mystery to you, he wasn't to Grace, she was his confidant and first love“, he finally said. I had to gulp, he had made excessive use of the past tense. "I’m sorry for asking.“ Adding up the facts I'd received, I had calculated as much as I could about who Grace had been- an arcane women who had been Thomas Shelby's weakness. This story smelled like it didn’t had a happy end. It was an easy assumption to make, but I felt like I had asked enough questions for today. "I don’t feel like this is something I can tell you about when I’m sober. Come to the Garrison this evening, you can meet the rest of my crazy clan and I can introduce you to everybody, if you like. And maybe, just maybe“, he smiled for a split second, "I’ll answer your questions, after a few whiskeys. I mean, it's not fair if you get thrown into the cold water without a helping hand.“ I bit my lip so I wouldn’t smile too widely. "Thank you very much, Mr. Shelby! I'm beginning to think you aren’t as bad as everybody tells me.“ John laid his head to the side and his expression told me that I wasn’t quite right. All the playfulness that had been on his face seemed to slip away as he stared deep into my eyes. It felt like I stood in front of a whole other person. "Please Alice, don’t ever think that you can believe anyone outside the company regarding what happens inside", he took a deep breath and nearly whispered, "Every thread is pulled deliberately. I’ll help you, not just because I got my orders from Thomas to treat you gentle, but because I execute every fucking order I get. And it's not just me, every single one of us works that way because that's how the Shelby family survives. You’ll learn that principle fast, you’re smart. Just keep in mind that, even though you’re held out of that end of the business, it still exists. And if you ever spread unwarranted word about it, you are our business. And business gets executed, understand?" "And if I want to know everything? You know, if I don’t want to close my eyes. If I want to be“, I looked to the ground, took a step closer to him, "a fully fledged member of the Peaky Blinders?“ Clearly, I was tired of my life. Otherwise, I'd never have said something so foolish but at that moment in time, it felt like the correct question. John Shelby grinned suddenly at me. "You’re already en route, love, no escape anymore“, he smirked, "You know, Tommy told me that you’d fit in here. And that you’d get a taste blood way too soon. But I think even he will be surprised how fast you're trying to jump in.“ "A few days ago I would have been equally shocked", I confessed, "What the hell is happening here, you damn Shelby Brothers…“, I smiled, shaking my head, stunned, still not believing that the King of Birmingham chose me out of thousands of better jockeys. After a brief moments silence John perked up, "Let's go, come on, you gotta' see what you need to do for your money!“, He exclaimed and he began to show me the rest of the stables. For the remainder of the day I began to get to know Grace's Secret more. I decided to just call her Grace after John had left. He had other business to tend to but told me that we’d see each other at the Garrison later. Later that evening Jim enquired as to where I was going, as I went to leave just after returning from work. I lied, telling him it was a dinner with my new clients and that I wouldn’t come home before midnight.

I thought about what John had said the day before. The proposal Jim wanted to perform seemed to belong to another life. But how the hell did the Shelby boys know more about my fiancé than I did? How long had they been watching me? I tried to expel the thought of it from my mind, everything would be fine as long as I worked well. Reflecting, it didn't take long until I couldn’t differentiate the business from any other aspect of my life. Thomas had been right; if I wanted to be part of this company, I had to live with the business at the centre of my focus. And that was what I was determined to do.

After I took my first tentative steps into the Garrison, I was instantly impressed. It was evident that it was a bar under the control of the Peaky Blinders. Everybody here seemed to know each other and every man seemed to were a similar cap. Even though they all were pretty drunk, they treated each other with a familial attitude. "Ally!“, I heard a voice screaming. John ran to me, a cigar in his left hand, his drink in the other. It didn't take long to deduce that he was just as drunk as everyone else, "Welcome home!“ It was a strange comment for John to make seeing as I was only new to the franchise, but when he had called the pub my home, it really did feel like it. It was probably because you felt like you’d be accepted here, just as you were. Because they really would take you in as part of the family. Although, the daggers in the pockets and guns in the holsters of men, spread throughout the room, reminded how they could treat you if you weren't. "Arthur!“, John called, "Come on ya' fucker!“
"Sorry!“, came the sarcastic cry of a tall smiling man. He turned towards me, "Ah! So, you're the famous jockey then! Heard much about ya'. Welcome to the family! Let’s have a drink, I’ll let you have a good one! 'Arry?!“ As fast as he had appeared he was gone. The obscurity of their mannerisms forced a laugh from my chest. John noticed my giddiness and chuckled lightly himself, grabbing my hand like a boy several years younger would have, "I’ll introduce you to the rest, come on luv!“ And as I sat there, slightly drunk, becoming familiar with the close circle, watching the people dancing and laughing, I subconsciously searched for a pair of blue eyes. Goosebumps pricked at my arms as I found them staring back at me.   He stood still in the door frame, smoking and overseeing the chaos. Thomas recognised that I wasn't nearly as far gone as everyone else in the room, still too sober to put on my dancing shoes. I wasn't sure if it was a mirage but I was sure I could  actually see the coldest face of Birmingham smiling at me. Of course he wasn't exactly joining in the fun himself, but he did partake in light conversation and ordered drinks for those he was close to. Something lifted in my chest to see him happy like this. I was ashamed to admit it but Tommy's appreciation was dizzying. The corners of his lips were like hidden secrets that he turned up rarely, often when he thought no one else was looking. Maybe he had always been that way or perhaps it was  part of the act that had to be kept up by the barbaric gangster. But it was more probably that he never found many reasons to smile anymore because he had lost his favourite one.

But as I surveyed him, watching his family have a great time and grinning, I found myself questioning, how could a person like that do such terrible things?' Our gazes met each other again and I found myself grinning at him like an idiot, blood rising to my cheeks. The way he smiled changed. I couldn’t tell what it was, but I had the strange desire to continue exchanging looks for the rest of the night. But instead, Thomas Shelby nodded and made a sign that I should come closer before taking another deep drag from his cigarette. My knees were weak and I felt I couldn't trust my feet whilst my heart rate increased rapidly. With trembling legs I made my way towards an audience with the King of Birmingham. 
He looked over me again for a few moments before blowing out a cloud of smoke away from my face and spoke,
"Let’s take a walk. I don’t want to have to stay the entire time to keep things in check, just because we are the only ones who aren’t fetching up hell tomorrow.“ Thomas could see I was hesitating. He ended up taking my hand without a word and dragging me outside carefully. I prayed he didn’t ask himself why my hands were drenched in sweat, the close proximity unnerving me. It wasn't something I was comfortable asking myself.

[theliterateape]

Problematic Movies of the 80s | National Lampoon’s Vacation (1983)

by Don Hall

I love Clark W. Griswold despite Chevy Chase becoming a huge disappointment as a human being and Randy Quaid losing his mind. I love the Griswold mostly because of the third installment in National Lampoon’s series Christmas Vacation. My family watches Christmas Vacation every Christmas (along with a few other films of the holiday genre) and that movie is so cemented in my mind and history I can quote it from start to finish.

My mom is a bit like Clark. She wants every vacation, every holiday to be “the best one EVER” and tends to twist herself into pretzels of expectation to make sure each one fits that particular bill. Sure, absent from most of our Christmases are the age-ism, the classism, the thinly veiled misogyny, and the comical killing of a cat but if mom is Clark, I’m definitely Cousin Eddie and the shitter is almost always full.

The first film in the saga I’m less familiar with. I think I’ve seen it twice (once in the theater and once on cable) but I just barely recall the details. I vaguely remember Clark being both a family man and a guy who’d fuck a supermodel in an instant, making him basically a middle-aged dude but still. Kind of a creep, right? There’s somewhat of a full sub-plot about Christie Brinkley in a red Ferrari and Clark almost derailing his good old fashioned family vacation to try and bone her.

The only reason this is one the list is because A) I remember thinking it was hysterical and B) because a friend of mine asked if I was covering it (“That movie is awful! Very problematic!”).

I looked up the synopsis and here’s what came up:

The Griswold family are on a quest. A quest to a Walley World theme park for a family vacation, but things aren't going to go exactly as planned, especially when Clark Griswold is losing all thought towards a mysterious blonde in a red Ferrari.

In the Age of #MeToo and the slow retraining of the American male, this plot seems at least somewhat problematic especially considering that a woman I know recently went completely apeshit on a guy on LinkedIn who flirted with her via that platform (“Beautiful eyes? Are you attached?”) and Uncle Joe Biden is being pilloried for a kiss on the top of the head.

National Lampoon’s Vacation Written by John Hughes Directed by Harold Ramis

The movie is pretty standard (although I’d suggest that the schtick gets more refined by the time they get to Christmas Vacation). Basically, Clark (Chevy Chase) is taking his family (Beverly D’Angelo, Anthony Michael Hall, and Dana Barron) to Wally World (a stand-in for Disneyland) 2,400 miles away from Chicago to California. He gets shafted on a new car by Eugene Levy, gets lost in St, Louis, picks up his wife’s Aunt Edna (Imogene Coco) at her Cousin Eddie’s (Randy Quaid) house along with her vicious dog, accidentally kills the dog, gets lost in the desert, lets Aunt Edna die in the car and drops her dead body off at her son’s house, loses all his money, tries to fuck Christie Brinkley in a hotel pool, and finally gets them all to Wally World.

It’s closed for cleaning and maintenance so he holds a security guard (John Candy) hostage, rides all the rides and convinces Roy Wally to let them off.

OK. Maybe it’s more convoluted than the standard but that’s all part of the fun.

PROBLEMATIC MOMENTS/THEMES

The two areas in Vacation that stand out as rough by today’s mores are when it comes to its depiction of black people and the pass Clark gets for nearly boning a random woman in a hotel pool. One is problematic in the 2019 sense, the other is just a goofy take on marital infidelity as a concept rather than a practice.

One of the first road songs Clark decides to sing is “Jimmy Crack Corn.” Do you know “Jimmy Crack Corn?”

Anyway, on the road, Clark gets lost in St. Louis and ends up in a version of town apparently reserved solely for the most broad stereotypes of black people they could create: a pimp, some prostitutes, and a gang of black guys who steal their hubcaps and spray paint “Honky Lips” on the side of their car.

In the film's DVD commentary, director Harold Ramis said he was worried the National Lampoon style of comedy may have had too much of an edge for his directorial style and said he was particularly embarrassed by the scene in St. Louis, calling it "the most politically incorrect sequence I've ever shot."

Not great representation but it’s a John Hughes script so is anyone surprised?

Sure enough, Clark and his wife get into a fight, he goes to the hotel bar looking to pick up some trim when Brinkley shows up. He lies about being married and a outlandish hotel inspection job he does and Brinkley bites. She takes him to the pool, undresses and hops in. He strips down and they’re gonna go for it but the water is so cold, Clark screams and wakes up the entire hotel. His wife even comes out and catches him in the act. He justifies it several ways: he works hard, his feelings were hurt, he was angry.

Ultimately she takes as much responsibility as he does and the two go get naked and jump in the pool. Not so much problematic but much the same relationship that allows him to fuck up repeatedly during the trip and his dutiful wife just goes along with it. Out of love, commitment or simple exhaustion, Ellen Griswold is the Hillary Clinton of 1980s wives.

DID IT HOLD UP?

It’s fine. Not nearly as funny as I remembered it and it pales in comparison to the Christmas version but it’s not horrible.

OVERALL

Scale of 1 to 10 1 = Classic 10 = Burn all VHS copies of it

National Lampoon’s Vacation gets a 5.

Next Up: Trading Places (1983)

[sinceileftyoublog]

Wussy Interview: Monsters, Inc.

Photo by John Erhardt

BY JORDAN MAINZER

“The magic of the modern world,” dryly quips Wussy’s Chuck Cleaver as I’ve successfully connected him and co-band-leader Lisa Walker over a three-way call. “We tend to be Luddites,” he adds. The sort of simultaneous weathered curmudgeonly sarcasm and conversational warmth Cleaver and Walker exude is exemplary of a duo who’ve been at it for a long time. A band born out of a dare to play together in 2001 (Cleaver was in Cincinnati cult heroes Ass Ponys), Wussy have released seven albums of folk-, shoegaze-, and country-tinged rock. Cleaver and Walker share vocal, guitar, and songwriting duties, while Mark Messerly plays bass and Joe Klug the drums. Recently, they’ve added John Erhardt on pedal steel. All five shine on the band’s latest full-length, the excellent What Heaven Is Like.

Heaven, like a lot of Wussy records, centers around society’s Midwestern outcasts--not who they consider the “other” but who society as a whole considers so. In context of today’s climate, the band seems all the more essential, avoiding the self-righteous trap of writing politically inspired music by channeling it through the ultra-personal consumption of culture. Walker’s songs, especially, are loosely based on everything from Fargo to Charles Burns’ Black Hole. And on the record, the band covers folk singer Kath Bloom, another outsider. “If key and musical ability are something you’re concerned with, you’re not gonna like Kath Bloom,” jokes Cleaver. “She is a wonderful writer.”

While Wussy don’t have any upcoming tour dates (they recently had to cancel a couple tour dates due to Cleaver experiencing spinal stenosis), they’ve been quite busy even besides Heaven, releasing a duo CD, Record Store Day CD, Cleaver solo record, and split single with The Paranoid Style on Bar/None. Still, it’s Heaven that will endure and remain both a document of socially inspired music in 2018 and a timeless record. Read my conversation with Cleaver and Walker, heavily edited for length and clarity, below.

Since I Left You: What about What Heaven Is Like is unique as compared to your past discography, and what about it is a continuation of your past albums?

Chuck Cleaver: It took a lot longer to make the other ones for various reasons--we kind of tried some other studios, and it worked out to varying degrees, but we were kind of away from our home turf a little bit. We got some good stuff out of it, but we decided we were more comfortable where we normally record. 

It took us a little bit to actually get going. Current political stuff kind of hindered us for a while because we were all to varying degrees put off by it. But that worked its way into some of the lyrics. We explored a little more. I think we do with every record. We thought, “Let’s go even farther out of whatever limb we normally do.” The quieter songs were possibly even quieter than before. 

I don’t think try is the right word, but it’s just something we naturally lean towards. We just get bored otherwise. We keep things moving and hope it’s interesting for other people.

SILY: In the opening song, “One Per Customer”, the line about the astronauts stands out: “back when astronauts had more appeal.” What did you mean by that?

CC: I was born in 1959. Throughout the 60′s, my sister and a lot of her friends wanted to marry a fuckin’ astronaut. They were new, and it was the “it” job for swingin’ guys or whatever. Now--in reality, being an astronaut is scary as hell--but it doesn’t have the appeal that it once did. Kids when they grew up wanted to be an astronaut. I don’t have any idea what they want to be now. A robot, maybe. Maybe kids just wish they were more intelligent. I don’t know. It does seem like being an astronaut used to be more of a goal.

Lisa Walker: I had an astronaut Barbie.

CC: And there was an astronaut GI Joe.

LW: But I feel like that’s not as much of a thing now.

CC: Now, everybody wants to be a fuckin’ reality star or something. Ugh. They should just be murdered in their sleep. Sorry.

LW: What?!?

CC: [laughs]

LW: Oh my god.

SILY: “Gloria” was inspired by the character in the latest season of Fargo--it’s not the first time you’ve named an album or song title after a movie or TV show. Attica! was named after Dog Day Afternoon. Why do you like naming things after other parts of culture?

LW: My theory on this is that I think classical allusions are a little played out. We’ve already used all the biblical ones.

CC: We’re big TV advocates.

LW: I prefer TV over film generally.

CC: I prefer TV over people.

LW: I’m in that camp, too. And I watch the same things over and over again. It’s like a comfort. Almost like therapy. One of the documentaries I saw over the past couple years I really enjoyed was that brony one. I can’t remember the title. [Editor’s note: It’s Bronies: The Extremely Unexpected Adult Fans of My Little Pony]. It sounds odd, but it’s pretty sweet. It’s sort of like that Bob’s Burgers episode with the Equestranauts.

CC: [cackles]

LW: They talk about how a lot of people process stuff through watching television. Something made for children helps people process adults, conflicts, emotions. I kind of get that. For me, that third season of Fargo helped me process the election. It took me a while to get through it. I had to quit in the middle because it was too bleak. I was like, “This guy’s gonna win.”

CC: The thing is [in the show] he doesn’t beat her spirit.

LW: That’s my takeaway from every article. I try to come away with the long view of history. I know a spark of hope when I see it, too. And I think that TV, more than movies, is good at telling the story.

SILY: Over that many episodes and hours, over a serial thing, it allows for greater storylines and development. It’s just such a commitment, and there’s so much, it can be hard to pick.

LW: I know. Some are too intense for me, frankly, because I get too into it. I’m one episode into Season 1 of Legion, and there’s flashbacks with a puppy. I’m already like, “If they do something to that dog, I’m out.”

CC: I’m like that with animals and little kids. Unless the little kid’s an asshole--then I’m like, “Kill that son of a bitch.”

LW: [laughs]

CC: Plus, I have the attention span of a gnat. Sometimes, when we’re watching a movie, I’ll get up and leave the room, and my wife will be like, “God damnit. We’re watching a fucking movie! What are you doing?” And I’m like, “Oh, I forgot.”

LW: I watch a lot of Bob’s Burgers and Parks and Recreation. Things I’ve already seen. And that stuff helps me with reality a little bit because there’s a kindness to it.

CC: There’s kind of a not-kindness to it too that keeps it funny. Bob’s Burgers is a very irreverent show. But in a sweet way.

SILY: What else helps you process and come to terms with the world around you?

LW: For me, I listen to a lot of Gang of Four and Wire. Their anger is soothing.

CC: Just being in a band. My wife always notices I get really grumpy when we don’t play for a while. [Lisa and I] both for varying degrees buy lots of junk--not really junk--but vintage stuff. We both collect all kinds of things. Going to antique malls and fairs and stuff like that is very therapeutic for me. I don’t even have to buy anything. Just walking around and seeing the tritest of people’s lives is interesting to me.

SILY: That’s exactly what my girlfriend does. She just organized her so-called “cabinet of curiosities” with her knick-knacks and what not.

CC: That’s it. Organizing and reorganizing things, looking at each thing and wondering whether it’s haunted or not. It’s just interesting to me. It provides great joy. I just posted a picture on Facebook--I found an old rat trap with Mickey Mouse’s picture on it. [To Lisa] You actually found it first, I think.

LW: Why would you put Mickey Mouse on a rat trap? That makes no sense.

CC: Exactly. But it’s just beautiful. Like, “Oh my god. Who thought of this?!?” That keeps me going. It made my entire week.

SILY: There’s a clip of Tom Waits on Letterman from a few years ago wherein he for no reason brought a rat trap from the 1800′s. He didn’t explain why he had it--he just had it. It makes me crack up every single time.

LW: It explains itself. 

CC: It’s just fascinating. Especially when it’s something that’s mass produced. I’ll never get over some of the stuff we found created by individuals, but the idea that a group of people got together in a board room or wherever and thought, “This rat trap with Mickey Mouse on it is going to be a good idea” is just great to me. Wow. This mass hallucination of people thinking it’s the right thing to do.

LW: It’s like the Middle Ages dance hysteria. Where people did something in hysteria until they died--like dancing. There are paeans with the Pied Piper of Hamelin where they think something happened like that. If you look in the town records of Hamelin, they say, “It’s been such and such years since our children went away.” And they don’t know what it means. There’s a stained glass that told the story.

CC: That’s some X-Files shit.

LW: You could also make correlations with acts of terror now. You read and think, “Why would somebody do that?” It’s crazy.

SILY: You can be fascinated and talk about how crazy the past is, but part of me thinks you can’t judge it at all because we do shit that in a number of years is just as crazy if not crazier.

CC: Imagine two generations from now people looking back at our political atmosphere and wondering, “Those motherfuckers were nuts. What the hell were they thinking?”

LW: I always love watching movies made before cell phones because people actually look around. You see their face. Now, if everyone’s not on their phones, it seems disingenuous somehow. You’re like, “That’s not real.”

SILY: I was waiting for the train the other day, and some guy was talking on the phone and very purposely and loudly saying, “I’m trying to engage with these people and they’re all on their phones!” Part of me was like, “Nobody wants to talk you to, it’s early.” But there was a certain extent to which he was right.

CC: And, you’re on the phone, [too].

SILY: Back to the record. It seemed like it had a much darker instrumental tone than previous records. Was that at all an intention or observation on your end?

CC: It was probably just a product of the time in which it was made, I’m guessing. We don’t ever talk about that stuff. We never say, “Let’s put in the devil’s chord,” or “the brown note” or anything.

LW: If we could, we would, though.

CC: Especially the brown note. The idea of our record making people poop their pants is just great.

LW: Musical laxative.

CC: Again, we don’t discuss much. We just do it. However it comes out is how it comes out. I know that seems strange. We’re just not that kind of a band.

LW: You know what it is, though. It’s a product of what we listen to. If we’re listening to a lot of Yo La Tengo--particularly their darker stuff, as I do--that’s gonna come out in what I play. Not like I’m trying to copy it. It’s just by osmosis.

CC: And I’ve watched a lot of black metal documentaries this year. [laughs] There’s probably that. It’s just interesting to me. I don’t listen to the music much or at all. I could watch a documentary on practically anything.

SILY: Any good ones in particular?

CC: If you go on YouTube--I’m terrible at remembering titles--there’s a couple that are really informative. They’re always kind of funny. Any time I see someone in corpse makeup, it just makes me giggle. At the same time, they seem very genuine and into it, so I can’t make fun of it too much. It’s no less relative than what we do.

SILY: Lisa, how do you like the new Yo La Tengo record?

LW: I haven’t heard it yet. I’ve only heard one song. I’m looking forward to it. My favorite Yo La Tengo record is Electr-O-Pura, if that gives you a sense of the ones I like. I like them all, but the ones that tend towards that. I think that record is kind of dark. A lot of singable noise. You could hum that record. Some of their stuff is so monotone--the I Can Hear the Heart Beating era. Like that song “Demons” of theirs from one of their covers records. I tend to like their dark stuff, so I’m hoping it goes in that direction.

SILY: It’s pretty droney.

LW: I’m in.

SILY: One song is in that great tradition of sweet, fuzzed out bliss like “Tom Courtenay”. I think it’s one of their best songs. The rest is kind of atmospheric.

LW: Sounds like Yo La Tengo. I will be happy.

SILY: The song on the new Wussy record “Tall Weeds”--

LW: We’ve played that more than any of them.

CC: We’ve been playing that for almost two years. Since the end of Forever Sounds.

SILY: The delivery in the vocal tone reminded me of Nick Cave.

LW: Sweet. That’s always a compliment.

CC: Thanks. I can think I’m skinnier and more handsome now.

SILY: The line, “Are you afraid of all the monsters in the folding metal chairs,” on the final song “Black Hole”--

CC: Best line on the record.

SILY: What’s the story behind it?

LW: Since “Tall Weeds” was kind of born out of Black Hole, that graphic novel by Charles Burns, I was having trouble knowing what to write about on this record. So I thought, “Let’s just make a whole suite about that.” Chuck had already gotten the ball rolling, and I had to write my half. If you haven’t read [Black Hole], it’s about this mysterious disease that afflicts people graduating from high school in this town. It’s like an STD, but people mutate. Not so much X-Men style--they become lizard skin or part animal. Some people grow a tale. Some guy grows a mouth on his neck that talks and tells his secrets.

CC: [laughs] It’s an amazing graphic novel.

LW: It touches on fear of aging, growing up, fear of change. I just thought about what that graduation would look like. But it rang true to me because of the climate, challenging my perceptions of people.

CC: Where it hit with me is I can remember my graduation, looking out on all those dunce faces and thinking, “What a bunch of fuckin’ assholes, I’m getting out of here.”

LW: That feeling of alienation from everything from your own body to your neighbors. Because even though those people mutate, they’re still the same people. And that’s the key. It just sort of brings out what’s already dormant in their spirit. They turn into something that makes them want to act out.

CC: You and I grew up in the middle of nowhere. Different places. But all I thought about was getting the hell out of there when I was 18.

LW: Me too. I don’t like to downplay where I’m from.

CC: I respect where I’m from and respect the people, but I didn’t belong there. I was afraid of all the monsters.

SILY: What’s the inspiration behind the album title?

LW: [laughs]

CC: [cackles]

LW: One day, when I was walking in the studio, I was thinking about this tweet from Donald Trump. He was shit-posting all day. After all of the shit-posting and talking about hating people, there was something like, “Oh, read this new book!” I forgot what the title was, but it was something along the lines of “what heaven is like.” “Read it today! Beautiful.” Are you serious? [laughs] It was so gross, but so funny. It was like Onion level. I got the title wrong. It’s not “What heaven is like.” It’s A Place Called Heaven. [The rest of the band] laughed so hard. They were like, “That’s the title.”

CC: Then we found an old postcard and ran it through some filters and that’s how we came up with the cover.

SILY: Are you still ingrained in the Cincinnati music scene?

LW: I think so. I never really was that much. I’m really less so now but just because I don’t go out a lot. I save my going out for being on tour. I don’t go to a lot of shows. It’s not because I don’t like music. I just don’t like going out socially much.

CC: We have two band members who are a little more social than me, Lisa, and John. We never go anywhere, pretty much.

LW: We do, but with our own families. I get together with Chuck and his wife or John and his wife.

CC: Mark and Joe tend to be our butterflies. [laughs] Our rhythm section.

LW: I go out on the road, and that’s sort of how I get it out of my system.

[civilizedskincare]

The Best Razor for Men – Smooth Shaving in 2017

How many times do you wake up, shave and shower, put on your clothes, go to work, and then you’re suddenly aware of how it feels like your face is on fire. Let’s face it guys, shaving sucks! About 15% of men won’t shave their faces due to the day-long pain they experience from shaving. The rashes, the break-outs, your collar scraping against your raw neck all day…

It doesn’t have to be this way!

The 4 best razors for men

A.P. Donovan - Professional 7/8" straight Razor with Strop and Wax

Merkur Heavy Duty Long Handled Barber Pole Safety Razor

Gillette Fusion Proshield Chill Bundle

The Art of Shaving Lexington Power Razor

The shaving razor you choose makes all the difference

Nearly all shaving pains and problems are caused by using a crappy razor. Not only that, we tend to use razors way beyond their useful life expectancy. How long do you think a razor is good for? The advice on the internet varies wildly from 3 shaves to 5 weeks. The reality is—and your experience will back this up—a razor loses its fine edge after about 10 shaves. After that, it starts to drag across your skin creating the typical razor burn, shaving induced acne and those ever-present cuts and nicks.

So in order to be good to your face, you might consider switching out razors after a little more than a week. On top of that, if your razors only come with two blades made out of cheap white plastic, you are pretty much destroying your skin. Think of it this way: these are the exact same shaving razors they hand out in prison… to convicted criminals! You are not a prisoner. You are better than that. Start taking care of your face and you will stay handsome well into your old age.

The types of razors for men

There are 4 typical types of razors for men. There are straight razors, safety razors, razors with disposable heads and razors that are completely disposable. There are others, but none you can easily find. Let’s look at the benefits of each type:

The straight razor. Bar none, this is the coolest way to shave your face. Seriously guys, if you ever want someone to fall in love with you, let them watch you shave with one of these sexy bad boys. The problem with these razors is that you have to go slow and be precise with your shaving technique. There is a learning curve and you will cut yourself especially right under the nose when you first start out. However, as you gain proficiency with these men’s razors, you will experience the best shave of your life. And if you take good care of it, it will pretty much last you forever.

The safety razor. Another old-timey shaving device that creates a phenomenal shave, makes you look cool, but takes a little skill to get used to. For those of you who don’t know what the safety razor is, it’s the one with the replaceable flat double-sided blades. The ones made with today’s technology are a lot less likely to cut you if you get careless.

Disposable head razors. You might actually have one of these in your home right now. Many of the razor companies send the nice handle with your first head to you as a promotion. You get hooked and now you buy the disposable heads to refill. These are excellent razor heads and some have so many blades that it’s kind of like shaving with a car radiator. The first dozen shaves you get with each head is world class. The shave quality drops off significantly after that.

Disposable razors. I don’t know. It seems like you are creating a ton of garbage when you buy these. These mass produced razors are probably why you face feels so raw right now. They’re great for when you’re traveling or for doing other forms of “manscaping” in areas that would be very painful to cut, but I probably wouldn’t get them anywhere near my face.

The 4 best razors for men

This could easily be the 20 best razors for men, but in the interest of creating an easy to understand list, we’ve picked our top favorites (plus we allow in a couple disposable razors just because we know sometimes it’s hard to start a new hobby).

A.P. Donovan - Professional 7/8" straight Razor with Strop and Wax

Did you ever want to look like the biggest badass in the world when shaving? This exquisite beauty is exactly what you need. Now you can buy a straight razor that costs upwards of $300 so this one is a good place to start. Not only is it built to last forever with a Japanese carbon steel wedge, this is a professional piece of shaving equipment. It has an amazing feel in your hand and just the right weight to do the job right.

Keep in mind, there are no straight razors that come “shave ready” they all should be properly stropped every time you use them. Sure there are better straight razors on the market, but for the price and the quality (and the gorgeous box it comes in), this one is the best razor for men.

Merkur Heavy Duty Long Handled Barber Pole Safety Razor

If this is your first trip in using a safety razor, this one is an excellent choice. Safety razors are measured on how “aggressive” they are. Some leave a very small space between the blade and the head (less aggressive). This one is right in the middle. It has a big handle so you feel like you’re in complete control and has a two piece assembly so changing out razor blades is much easier than with some other devices.

Keep in mind, if you feel that this razor is a little too aggressive (meaning it shaves too much leaving your skin sore), you can put in feather light blades to get an easier shave. Our favorites are the Wilkinson Sword razor blades to go easy on your sensitive skin.

Gillette Fusion Proshield Chill Bundle

So you’re a disposable razor guy? I don’t blame you. It’s super easy and the chances of you slicing your face with one of these is pretty slim. But if you gotta go with disposable, go with the ones with disposable heads and not the “throw the whole thing away” kind. Why? Because having a big heavy handle actually helps you have more control over the razor and this helps you get a better shave.

I think you’ll agree that Gillette makes all of the best disposable razors for men, but the Proshield Chill really is the one you should get excited about. This disposable cartridge razor as pretty much all the bells and whistles they could pack into a shaving device. As with all of the best razors for men, this one takes a little getting used to especially if what you’re using now is really lousy. Your first shave with this razor might feel a little aggressive to you, but you won’t be able to imagine how you lived without this razor after the second shave (and just about everyone after).

The Art of Shaving Lexington Power Razor

Now you’re talking! If you really must shave with disposable razors, you might as well get a seriously civilized handle to shave with. This beautiful razor works with the Gillette Fusion POWER disposable shave cartridges. Essentially, it vibrates. Now you might be sitting there wondering how a vibrating razor could do a better job than the non-vibratey kind and I really can’t even begin to tell you, but this really works!

I love my straight razor on those days where I have time and patience to do the job right, but when I’m in a hurry (or late for a date), this really is one of the best manual razors for men. The gentle vibrations seem to make for a much closer shave. I’m not sitting there swiping at my face over and over again just to get smooth. I’ve never cut myself or razor burned myself with this razor either. This handle is pretty expensive, but in my opinion and given how much I shave, it’s worth every penny to have something as cool as this in my daily routine. Those guys at the Art of Shaving really know what they’re doing.

How to make a razor last longer

Let’s face it, if you want to do it right, shaving is a very expensive daily chore. And given that razors really don’t last as long as you would hope for given how much you just paid for one, there just has to be a better way to make them stay sharper longer.

Well my friends, there is! Up above, when I listed the best straight razor for men, there was a word in there called STROP. A strop is that usually leather strap that you run your straight razor back and forth over to put an amazingly sharp edge on your blade. This is why investing in a straight razor is so awesome. You are sharpening it before every shave so it lasts forever. So how does this help you if you are using disposable razors? The same science works no matter what kind of a blade you are using.

Safety blades and disposable razors can be stropped too.

Check out the ShaveFace Strop Deluxe Leather and Denim Razor Blade Sharpener for Disposable Razors. It’s not the leather kind you’ve seen on old movies because disposable razors don’t require such an abrasive surface. What you do is hang this cool looking device on a towel rack and push your razor against it in an upwards motion. This would be the opposite direction that you shave with. Do this a bout 5 or 10 times before every shave and this puts a fine edge on your best razor for men, realigns all of the blades and cleans any debris from between the razors. The result is that you have a disposable razor that lasts three times long than what you are used to. This strop is worth every penny and will be one of those things in your life that will constantly impress you with how much money it saves you.

Thoughts on the best razor for men

Excluding those who don’t shave for religious reasons, about 90% of men shave weekly. Most do it every day and they shave for the rest of their lives. The remaining 10% either don’t shave because they hate the discomfort of shaving or they’re in a cool biker gang.

Do you really want to go through the rest of your life feeling like your face is burning off every time you use that lousy manual razor? Sure, each of the products listed cost as much as a whole box of 200 prisoner razors, but they give you control over something you just assumed you’d have to live with the rest of your life. A wise person said that you should always spend a lot of money on your shoes and your mattress because if you’re not in one, then you’re in the other. I would add a really high quality shaving razor for men to that list because none of us deserve to go through life with a never-ending pain on our faces and necks.

Spend a little money now on one of our best razors for men and you will not only feel like a badass every time you shave, you face will feel amazing after every shave. It’s the civilized thing to do…

The post The Best Razor for Men – Smooth Shaving in 2017 appeared first on Civilized Skin Care.