#with broad stuff like this I just don’t even know where to begin!!!

[daydadahlias]

HOW DO YOU WRITE SMUT?

ok that was a little aggressive sorry but i have tried so many times to write it and it’s just so bad. like, it’s not hot, not cute not romantic, not funny. it’s literally blah. so yeah, how do you write smut??

slot A go into slot B and everybody parties

[lizard-on-a-window-pane]

candlelight 🕯️

hii it’s me again! congratulations on 1k!! i’ve thinking about this recently (a lot) because im seriously in my miguel ohara kick🥰

but can you do shy & nerdy reader with popular miguel who are dating?? he adores making her flustered and how shy she is.

he makes her ask for his help because he knows how badly she needs him? because she’s just so stressed out about school and stuff? as always if you’re not comfortable writing totally ignore this! this is my first time requesting smut so i don’t know if it’s silly or not! but if you write it i know you’ll do good by it bc ur such an amazing writer😌

-🎀

hiiii, thank you so much!! and thank you for requesting! ahhh, i'm so thrilled you asked for miguel; i was dying to write him and probably will more, especially if people want; i hope you like it! i hope i got enough of the request in here

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x reader word count: 2.2k notes: modern au, established relationship, fluff, smut (i'm going to keep with marking where it gets smutty, though, bc it's like a full fluff fic before any smut, for those who only want the fluff; MDNI!) part of my 1k celebration!

for anyone who doesn’t speak spanish, i don't want translations to be annoying in the middle or for you to have to scroll to the end, so thought putting them here was best: mi amor / amor mío: my love / literally something like love of mine but works more like emphasis cariño: term of endearment kind of like dear, literally affection mami: another term of endearment, more often cheeky or sexier descansa: rest dime: tell me que maravilla: a joke from the movie, literally what a marvel / wonder, kind of like how wonderful or even just amazing hope i didn't miss any others

The phone buzzing beside you startles you almost completely out of your chair. Coffee makes you jumpy. An entire pot in one night makes you… suspect what you’d be like on cocaine. You’d thought you’d put it on silent. No phone till at least one paper is done, you’d told yourself. Finals had you reeling, and you were desperate to make some progress. When you grab your phone, you see a text from Miguel:

You take your headphones off, and sure enough, a moment later hear a knock at the door. You open it to a Miguel in loose sweatpants and hoodie, dark hair messy, gym bag slung over one shoulder. Even these clothes could do nothing to hide the impressive broadness of his shoulders. 

“Hey, baby,” he says through a bright smile. He kisses your cheek and steps into the apartment. “I know you were trying to focus, but I was getting worried.” “Sorry, I had my headphones on; the neighbors were being too loud again, and I really needed to focus.” “No, not the waiting at your door, mi amor. I’m talking about all of… this,” he gestures wildly around the apartment then his gaze lands on you. “Those dishes were there when I was here days ago, and even though I’m pretty sure adding anything to that tower would topple it, you haven’t. When’s the last time you ate?” “I ha—“ you begin to retort, but he cuts you off. “And I mean real food.” You start again but just give up and shrug. “And you.” He steps close to you and frames your face with his hands. You lean into his touch as he caresses your face. “Baby, you know I think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world, right?” You blush and look down immediately. 

It used to be worse, before you got together. When you were confused about his even noticing you, and instead he’d flirted with you. Even now that he was your boyfriend, it took very little from him to fluster you.

He can’t help but chuckle at your reaction. He always does.

“Don’t you? My gorgeous,” he kisses one warm cheek, “gorgeous,” he kisses the other, “girl,” he gives your nose a concluding peck. 

You nod shyly. “C’mon, cariño. Tell me,” he encourages, his tone still teasing but ever adoring. “I want to hear it." “I know you think I’m pretty,” you whisper. “Pretty? No, amor mío, I think flowers and bright colors are pretty; the ocean or a view of the mountains, too. But you, you are beauty personified.” “Miguel, stop,” you whisper through the smile you can’t help, hiding your face in his chest. He laughs lightly. His hand comes to your hair and scratches lovingly.

“I just wanted to make sure you knew that.” He gives your forehead a kiss. “Before I told you you look terrible, baby.” He starts laughing loudly and holds you closer into his hug when you smack his chest and try to pull away. 

“That’s so mean!” gets muffled into his sweatshirt. “It’s not mean; it’s true. You’re still beautiful, but you need a break.” “I can’t, Miguel. I’m drowning in work still, and you know being sick last week really got me behind, and it feels like no matter how long I sit there, I’m no closer to finishing anything, and you’re right my apartment is falling apart, but every time I do something else I feel guilty for stalling on work, and, and —“

Before you can find another overwhelming thing to list, Miguel is hushing you and stroking your back in his warm embrace.

“Breathe, baby, breathe.” He sways you lightly then pulls back a bit to look into your eyes. His hands are caressing your face again, and his fingers brush lightly under your eyes, where you know there are dark circles, as he whispers, “You haven’t slept.” He sounds sad rather than accusatory. 

“Okay,” he starts softly. “Look, I know how much you have on your plate, and I’m not telling you you’re wrong to be stressed. I get it. But you can’t get it done like this, running on fumes and caffeine. How about this? I’m going to help you relax tonight, you’re going to forget about everything you have to do, you’re going to sleep well, and then tomorrow morning you’ll get back to it all.” “I’m fine, really. You don’t need to worry about me. And I’ll rest after finals.” Just then a car horn blares near your window, making you jump cartoonishly. “Yeah, you seem totally fine,” Miguel deadpans teasingly. “There’s nothing wrong with taking some time, Y/N… And accepting a little a help, okay?”

You nod lightly. “Great,” he gives you a quick peck and moves toward your kitchen, hunting around your barren fridge and cabinets. “Here’s the game plan then. You are going to put on your favorite playlist then go take a warm shower for as long as you like. Your kitchen is as empty as your stomach, so I am going to run down the street to pick up some empanadas then I’ll work on cleaning up this war zone a little bit when I get back.”

“You don’t have to clean.” “Stop fighting me,” he tsks. “Besides you know I don’t mind cleaning. I’m glad I’m not hearing complaints about the food at least,” he laughs. “I love empanadas,” you whisper defeatedly. He cackles. “Who doesn’t?” He kisses you as he moves past you toward the door. “Be back soon. No working! I expect you in the shower when I get back.” You quirk an eyebrow teasingly at him. You were still too shy to say anything teasing, but he’d been working you out of your shell during your time together. And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t really like that aspect of being with Miguel. 

His eyebrows mimic yours, and he chuckles lowly. “Don’t give me that look, mami, or you’re not getting me out the door, and you’ll miss out on the empanadas.”

You pull the neck of your shirt up to cover your face, making him laugh. You hear him bound back over to you from the door. He pulls your shirt back down, gives you a short but intense kiss, then heads out. 

Miguel is back before you know it. You are in fact in the shower when you hear him return. You’re already rinsing, but you linger a little longer, enjoying the feeling of the warm water easing the stresses off your tense body. 

When you leave your room to join him again, you’re immediately hit with the delicious smell of food. You see it resting on the counter and find Miguel washing your dishes. 

You come up behind him, wrapping your arms around his firm torso, resting your head on his back. “Hola, cariño,” he coos. “I’m almost done.” You nod into him, humming.

When he finishes up, he turns in your arms, bringing his own large ones around you. He leans down and kisses you softly. “Hungry?” 

You nod enthusiastically, and he chuckles. 

You opt to eat on the sofa, getting comfy. Miguel does most of the talking. Between how tired and how hungry you are, you don’t have the energy or available mouth to talk much. He doesn’t seem to mind, happy to regale you with his silly stories.

When you finish, Miguel cleans up, holding you down and giving you a faux menacing look when you try to get up to help. 

When he comes back, he settles much closer to you than he had been before. You relish his warmth, physical and emotional, and lean into him. 

“Turn around,” he whispers.

“Hm?” “Like this.” He adjusts your body so you’re facing away from him and starts massaging your shoulders. You hadn’t realized just how tense you were until the amazing feeling of its being relieved somewhat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ NSFW beyond this point ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Miguel,” you exhale approvingly, earning a chuckle.

“I like it when you say my name like that.” He leans in and whispers into your ear, his breath tickling the back of your neck deliciously, “Reminds me of other times you end up whining my name.”

It’s shocking how quickly he works you up. You turn to look at him, and when you do, his expression shifts from teasing to intrigued.

“Oh?” he asks. He smirks. “I know that look.” He leans in and kisses your neck sloppily, and you whimper. You’re embarrassed at the sound, but he seems to like it. You feel him smile against the skin under your jaw. “I’m more than happy to give you what you want, but I need to know what that is to give it to you.” His voice is much lower but just as mischievous.

“Miguel,” you complain. “Dime, mi amor.” 

“I —“ Any other words get caught in your throat. Your throat he’s busy sucking on.

“Please, baby. C’mon, I know you can. Tell me what you want.” He runs his teeth along your neck like he knows you like. You often joke he feels like he has fangs when he does. “I want you,” you tell him. 

“Yeah?” “Mhm…”

“I’m yours, mami. How do you want me?”

“I want you to make me feel good.” “Oh, I’ll make you feel good. I’ll make you feel so, so good.” He punctuates his words with kisses, working his way up your neck, your jaw, your mouth. “Tell me how,” he whispers, and you feel his lips grazing yours with each word.

You want to relax, and you know exactly what relaxes you the most. “I want you to eat me out.”

His eyebrows jump in surprise. Such directness was unlike you. Your exhaustion was probably weakening your filter, and the way he was already making you feel certainly wasn’t helping it. You almost get shy about it, but when you see just how dark his eyes have gotten, see his Adam’s apple bob and his bottom lip come between his teeth, you keep yourself from shrinking away. He nods slowly, staring deeply into your eyes, then kisses you hard. “Get naked,” he says gruffly. 

Already starting to do as he says, you weakly whisper, “You too?” He chuckles lightly but obliges quickly. 

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to seeing him like this. He’s so beautiful. His broad chest and toned abs; his caramel skin and dark hair.

You look back at his face and find he’s noticed you staring at his body. He’s so confident, you think he’s going to tease you about it. Instead, with an adoring smile, he tells you, “That’s how I feel when I see you, too.” You lean up and kiss him, pouring all the emotions you can’t articulate in words into it. 

Without disconnecting your lips, his body guides yours back down until you’re completely prone. He keeps kissing you until you’re breathless, lovingly attends to your neck and down your chest. He lingers there, his tongue making you arch your back, pushing your body up into the sensations he’s delivering. He sucks harder at your visceral reaction then hotly finishes his path down, his face now aligned between your thighs.

He looks at you intently and whispers, “Que maravilla.”

He looks up at you, eyes black storms you lose yourself in as his mouth connects with your body. 

From your delightful vantage point, you watch his muscular shoulders contort as he moves to pleasure you. He looks like he’s thoroughly enjoying it, and seeing him so into it gives you confidence. You start subtly moving your hips in rhythm with his motions. His hands tighten where they hold your thighs, and, mortified, you interpret this as his telling you to stay still, so you do. 

Then Miguel shakes his head hard — the vibrations of which shoot shocking pleasure into you — and he pants, “Keep doing that. Show me how you want it.” His strong grip pushes and pulls you in a movement close to what you were just doing. You take over and move faster. He’s nodding now, and the shake of it has your thighs shaking on either side of his head. 

You’re making loud whimpering sounds when you yell, “Mi — ahh — Migueeell.” He doubles his efforts, picking up his pace and pressing hard against you. You come on his face, and he looks feral as he eats you through it. When you’re done, he licks up your entire slit before shuffling his body back over yours. You’re chest to chest, and his hand comes up to stroke your head. “Good?” 

Your cheeks warm, and you nod shyly. He giggles and gives you a peck. “You’re adorable, mi amor.”

Your legs feel delightfully like jelly as you move them, wrapping them around his waist. He hums approvingly and gives one thigh a tight squeeze, pulling it impossibly closer to his body. He begins stroking it as he kisses you lazily. Your hands entwine in his thick hair, stroke his strong back, hold him close.

When he shifts his weight slightly on top of you, you notice his hardness against your body.

“You want me to…” you whisper, thrusting your hips up into his in place of words.

“Uh-uh, maybe in a little bit, baby, but for right now, I just want you to relax.” 

He continues kisses you languidly, enveloping you in his body heat, and as you close your eyes and melt into the sensations, you’re sure you’re going to have no trouble sleeping soundly tonight. 

[doumadono]

Hi Luvs!! This is an emergency request and I would like to ask can you do Bakugou x Gn! Reader where Bakugou comfort Reader who has low confidence and insecure??I'm requesting this cuz lately I've been having no confidence especially in my body and I always find something that makes me insecure like how broad my shoulders are and stuffs. I hope this isn't alot to ask♡♡

A boy who believed - Bakugo x gn!Reader

A/N: remember, your body is unique and beautiful just as it is. Everyone has features that make them feel insecure, but those same features are what make us unique and special

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST - PART 2

The day had been relentlessly harsh, and as you sat in your dorm room at U.A. High School, the weight of your insecurities felt almost unbearable. You couldn’t escape the whirlwind of self-doubt that spiraled around your mind, attacking every aspect of your appearance and worth. The mirror seemed to taunt you, reflecting back the things you hated about yourself - your appearance, your perceived flaws, every detail that made you feel less than. "Why can't I just be confident?" you muttered to yourself, frustration and sadness mingling in your voice.

A sharp knock on your door snapped you out of your spiraling thoughts. You wiped away a stray tear and called out, "Come in."

Bakugo entered. his sharp eyes immediately took in your distressed state. "Oi, what’s going on with you? You've been acting off all goddamn day."

You tried to shrug it off, but Bakugo's piercing gaze made it hard. Too hard. "It's nothing, Katsuki. Just… having one of those days."

He didn't buy it for a second. Instead, he sat down beside you on your bed. "Cut the crap. I know something’s up. Tell me."

Taking a shaky breath, you looked down at your hands. "I just… I don’t feel good about myself. I hate how I look, I hate my broad shoulders, body, everything. I feel so insecure."

Bakugo's eyes softened as he reached out and gently tilted your chin up so you were looking at him. "Listen to me, and you listen good, nerd. You're amazing just the way you are. You think I give a damn about how broad your shoulders are? Hell no. You're strong, you're capable, and you're perfect to me, just the way you are."

A tear slipped down your cheek, and Bakugo wiped it away with a tenderness that contrasted with his usual grumpy nature. "But it's hard not to compare myself to others. I just don’t feel like I measure up."

He sighed deeply, then pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you protectively. "Screw what others think. You’re not here to measure up to anyone else. You’re here to be you, and that’s more than enough. I see you, all of you, and I wouldn’t change a damn thing."

You clung to him, feeling the tears flow freely now, a mixture of relief and lingering sadness. "But what if I can’t stop feeling this way?"

Katsuki pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes, his expression fierce with determination. "Then I’ll be here every damn day to remind you how incredible you are. You’re strong, and not just physically. You’ve got a heart that cares so much, and that’s something to be proud of."

You sniffled, a small smile breaking through your tears. "Thanks, Katsuki. I really needed to hear that."

After some time, Bakugo insisted on dragging you to the common area where some of the other students were hanging out. "C'mon, we're not gonna sit in that room all night. Let's go."

You hesitated but followed him, his hand firmly holding yours. As you entered the common room, you felt a wave of anxiety wash over you. It was hard to maintain your composure.

But Bakugou squeezed your hand reassuringly and leaned in to whisper, "Remember what I said. You’re amazing just as you are."

The rest of the evening was spent surrounded by friends, laughter, and a sense of belonging. For the first time in a long while, you felt a flicker of confidence begin to take root, nurtured by the warmth and strength of the boy who believed in you more than you have ever believed in yourself.

[honkytonk-hangman]

Just Another Thing – [1]

Walt 'Finn' Finnegan x Reader/OC

Summary: God help anyone who might've thought a nice, stable relationship might bring some kind of change to Walt Finnegan's usual mischief and mild-hedonism. God especially help them if they also thought a girlfriend would provide any sort of calming influence over him.

She definitely influenced him, anyone could tell you that, unfortunately just never in any way that could even remotely be described as 'calm'.

Warnings: cussing, mentions of and talk of sex, sexy body parts, ect. reader/OC is named Kimberly/Kimber, but it is still written in second person and her name shouldn't come up very often.

Notes: oh boy oh boy oh boy you have no clue how excited i am for this fic. it's literally been in the works for over a year. i'd even go as far as to say it's my fave fic in recent memory!!! Im not sure yet how many parts, but the story does have a beginning and end.

It's not necessary to have watched the film before reading this fic, as this is set in the year after, around 1982, however certain character dynamics could be confusing. Also i definitely headcanon Finn and Beverly becoming good friends, hidden beneath a layer of exasperation of course but he is definitely the type to go to all the theatre stuff like come on look at him!!!!!

okay enough from me now heres the fic I really hope you enjoy!!!

You register the alarm on your friends’ face’s far too late to do anything, and the next thing you know you’re clutching the crown of your head, a dull throbbing ache now pulsing under your fingertips.

It wasn’t an entirely unfamiliar sensation, you’ve been hit in the head by a ball plenty of times, but the sheer weight behind this particular impact stood out to you. That, and you knew it couldn’t have been the volleyball you and your friend’s were playing with, because you currently held it.

“What the fu–” you begin angrily, already whipping around in the direction you’d been hit, cutting yourself off at the sight of an approaching man, a look of genuine remorse painted on his features as he jogs toward you. Behind him, a group of guys with baseball gloves watch on with various cringing expressions. Just as the man nears you, his eyes subtly travel up and down your figure, his lip quirking with approval, but he keeps his face apologetic. He comes to a stop several feet away, where the baseball had landed, but doesn’t take his eyes off of you, placing his hands on his hips and lifting his chin at you.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he says, and it at least sounds sincere. “Roper’s never had much of an eye.”

You purse your lips, but try not to look too angry. He was cute, you realise dumbly, still rubbing your head. Dirty blond hair settled in light waves at the top of his collar, a matching blond moustache groomed neatly above his upper lip. He was tall, broad across the shoulders and chest in a way you’d only ever really seen on guys who worked out, athletes and the like. He also looked a little older than a lot of the students you’d see walking around campus, and he certainly didn’t approach you with the confidence of a freshman, so you figure he must be at least an upperclassmen.

“Well, maybe y'all should work on that with him,” you grumble lightly, and drop your hand.

“You okay?” he nods at your head, and you shift to lean on one foot, not missing the flicker of his eyes to watch as you do, or the way he lingers on your rapidly rising and falling chest before he meets your eye again.

“Isn’t the first time, certainly won’t be the last. Hair probably won’t sit right tonight, though,” you complain.

“Big date?” he asks, the teasing tone unmistakable. You lift your chin a little indignantly.

“I’m sure your day is just riding on my answer, but I don’t feel particularly inclined on telling you that,” you huff, heart rate doubling when he laughs, looking away from you for the first time as he grins widely.

“Well, how about this,” he starts once he’s sobered, bending down to swipe the baseball from the grass, taking a step toward you as he does. “The next time I see you, I promise you won’t get hit in the head,” he waves the ball as if you need reminding, but takes another step closer. “And you tell me what night works best to take you out?”

You fail to hide the amused smile that pulls at your lips, but then again, you weren’t really one for playing hard to get. You can see now that he’s only a few feet away, that his eyes are a startling green, and you think you wouldn’t mind running into him again, sans head injury.

“Alright,” you tell him, stepping back with a nod. “Next time.”

It takes all of your will power to turn away from him and move back towards your friends, though you feel his eyes on you for some distance, and make sure you swing your hips just a little more than you usually might.

Part of you regrets not making plans then and there, but the other part of you shivers at the already building tension of your potential next meeting.

Squinting at your reflection in the mirror, you flip your feathery waves once more over your shoulder, before almost immediately letting it fall back where it was. Just as you’d predicted, thanks to the decent-sized lump on the crown of your head, your Jerry Hall blowout was looking less supermodel and more super-odd.

Scrunching your nose as you mess with your tresses one last time, let out a huff, and force yourself to turn away, just in time for Nancy to appear at your open door, her curled fingers tapping gently on the wood.

“Hey Kimber,” she begins, pausing to give you a whistle as you exit your bathroom and do a twirl for her. Your collared halter-neck jumpsuit was supposed to be worn with a ruffle-neck blouse, but you’d never intended to style it that way, not to mention it was tight enough that you’re not totally sure you’d even be able to fit said blouse beneath it anyway.

“Something’s telling me Miss Texas ‘56 didn’t have this particular ensemble in mind when she ordered this for you outta her fancy lil’ Saks catalogue…” Nancy teases. You roll your eyes.

“Saks don’t do catalogues.” you correct her with a faux air of haughtiness, but don’t bother to contend her point. All of your housemates were more than familiar with your former Beauty Queen mother, despite never having met her. The monthly ‘care packages’ she sent you, filled with various ‘in season’ (see: frivolous) items of clothing and ‘essentials’ spoke volumes about who exactly Mrs Charlene Wynne was. That mostly just amounting to ‘eternally neurotic but well-meaning’. 

Nancy pokes her tongue out at you and scoffs out a laugh.

“Whatever, the point is; Mama doesn't always know best. You look foxy!”

You let out a laugh and smooth your hands over your thighs, thanking her softly.

You weren’t at all oblivious to the way you looked. Certainly you were no Raquel Welch, but most days you could manage something in the realm of Christie Brinkley or Cheryl Ladd, which was pretty damn good. You had your mother to thank for that, though your dad was no slouch either, but considering your mother couldn’t walk ten steps without someone recognising her from her Miss Texas win almost thirty years ago, you’ll give her most of the credit. As a result of your parent’s contributions, you’d become aware fairly quickly of the effect you tended to have on men, especially College men.

“Did you need me for something?” you prompt after a few more moments of Nancy preening over your outfit, remembering that she had come up here with a purpose some minutes ago now. Nancy blinks, before she makes a soft gasping sound, and straightens up.

“That’s right! Beverley arrived a little while ago, she was asking for you!” she informs you, waving her hand in the vague direction of the stairs and the party quickly coming to life on the first floor.

“I’m coming now!” you tell her, giving your hair one last flip before you move for your door, closing it behind you and quickly following Nancy as she all but skips. 

The ‘little’ get together had officially started a little while ago, but you’d had a study group that had run long, meaning you were now fashionably late to your own houseparty, if there were even such a thing.

Almost immediately once you crest the lower steps, you feel yourself shift into focus, totally in your element now, a cool, easy smile finding a place on your features. It isn’t difficult for you to move through the light throngs of people, despite your arrival not going unnoticed by those around you, but instead of excusing yourself meekly past distracted conversationalists, you’re liked enough that partygoers both consciously and subconsciously make way for you, plenty of familiar faces greeting you warmly in passing as you go.

You aren't surprised to find the kitchen milling with guests too, though the music is a little quieter here, so you figure it will remain more sparsely populated until later in the night, when everyone is comfortably tipsy.

“Kimberley!” A female voice calls out, perhaps a little too loudly, but you’d come to expect as much from anyone deeply involved in theatre.

“Beverly!” you match her energy, volume and all, knowing that she was likely already feeling a little out of place among the other guests, who were all mostly part of the College’s various sports teams and who you suspect weren’t even aware there even was a theatre program.

You can’t stop yourself from grinning ecstatically, overjoyed to see your friend for the first time since classes had commenced for the year. However, you feel more than you see the redhead that collides with you, her much shorter frame crashing into yours with a comforting force, and thanks to your non incosiderable height, as well as your many years playing volleyball, you hardly even budge from the impact, even in your chunky platform heels. You quickly hug Beverley in return, but far sooner than you’d like, she’s pulling back and launching into what sounds like a planned monologue.

“Okay! So, you know how ages ago I said I was going to set you up with one of Jake’s housemates from the baseball house?” Beverly starts, already waving her hands expressively, her expression bright and excited. You search your mind, but honestly, you aren’t sure if the conversation sounds familiar or not. You’d had a lot of people say similar things to you throughout your college career so far. Most of the time they were totally off-base matches, but you were always happy to experience new things, new people.

Beverley doesn’t wait for your reply though, clapping her hands and rubbing them together.

“Well, of course the team was invited tonight, meaning I can finally introduce you!” she exclaims, looking wildly over her shoulder, as though the person in question was supposed to be just behind her. When she sees an empty kitchen, she frowns and purses her lips. The glimmer of annoyance is wiped from her face by the time she’s looking back at you, and she huffs good-naturedly.

“I told him to wait for me…” she links your arms as she speaks, and you happily let her lead you to the kitchen door, where a light bubble of conversation floats through from outside. You have to let out a laugh at her sheer excitement, which appears genuine, though not in her usual manner. 

The usual manner meaning that every so often when the two of you found yourselves at the same club or bar, whenever she or her friend’s were being bothered, the pretty redhead would giddily inform you that she had someone she wanted you to meet, then standing back and watching gleefully as you casually sapped up the creep’s attention, only to bluntly shoot him down and send him off. 

You don’t get the feeling this is one of those times, but from what you knew of the baseball team, you very well may have to do some shooing on your own behalf tonight.

Outside on the tiny back-deck, a small group of people had gathered and right away your brain sparks with familiarity, though you have very little time to consider this before Beverley is releasing your arm and stepping forward. She smiles brightly as she sweeps between you and a man who turns around as if on cue.

“Finn, this is Kimberley Wynn! Kimberley, this is Finn! I am almost certain that the two of you will get along famously,” Beverely announces with a flourish and a wink. You and Finn both blink startled at one another for several moments, before mutual recognition quickly sets in. Your lips slowly pull into a wide grin, and you don’t bother hiding the fact that you’re now looking him over with no subtly, just as he’d done to you earlier in the park. 

“I’m not about to get clobbered again, am I?” you begin flirtily, glad that the man, Finn, recognises you as well, though unlike you, he seems to avoid taking the opportunity to check you out again, to his loss. Instead, he smiles big, almost showmanly, and takes up a slight lean on the railing behind him.

“If it’s any consolation, your hair looks great,” Finn replies cooly, and it’s almost as though you’d never parted ways at all. You flick your hair over your shoulder, seeing how his eyes follow the movement before they’re locked back on yours and you already know you’ve got this man hook, line and sinker.

“Luckily for you,” you sniff, though your smile undercuts any real resentment. Finn seems to grin a little wider then, more genuinely than the showman smile. You think the way his eyes crinkle in the corners is sweet, and that he should smile that way all the time.

“Wait, you two already know each other?!” Beverley cuts in, suddenly reminding you that she was in fact still standing there, watching and listening. “How?!” the redhead demands, not going so far as to stomp a foot, but she does cross her arms in a huff as she looks between the two of you in betrayed disbelief, though you note most of her ire seems directed at Finn.

The blonde swings his gaze back to the shorter woman, seemingly tickled by her apparent annoyance, yet his teasing expression is full to the brim with endeared fondness. You get the impression that this was the natural state of their friendship, and that Finn is about to say something inflammatory just to get a bigger rise, which might be a little funny, but you cut in before he can speak, relieving Beverly of her confusion.

“All Star over here threw a baseball at my head this afternoon,” you say pointedly, making sure he doesn’t mistake your happiness to see him for forgiveness. Finn holds his hands up then, and jerks a thumb in the direction of a man in the larger group of party goers on the porch.

“Roper threw a baseball at your head this afternoon,” he corrects you, as though that should absolve you of your attitude.

“Oh, that’s right! You just failed to catch it!” you tease, watching as he winces dramatically and grasps at his chest.

“You wound me sweetheart!” he exclaims ruefully, and despite the vaguely amicable antagonism, you can see now why he and Beverly are friends.

“Then we’re even.” You say. You already agree with the redhead’s earlier assessment; the two of you were going to get along famously.

Finn shrugs in a manner that reads more as relenting than indifference, and at least some of his overly performative act comes away. Beverley scoffs a laugh, rolling her eyes heavily as she reaches out to shove Finn in the arm. He sways, you think for her benefit, which makes you smile.

“Only you could throw a baseball that hits the one girl on campus who’d actually put up with you…” she snorts, seemingly assuming his chances with you were now dashed. Finn raises a finger in protest.

“As we just discussed, I only failed to catch the ball that hit the one girl on campus who may or may not be willing to put up with me. I’d like that to go on record.” He smiles at her simperingly. Beverley regards him with a withering look for several seconds, before choosing to ignore him entirely, turning to you.

“Have fun.” she says, sounding much more like her usual manner, though before you can tell her it’s alright, she’s already spun away, and when you find her again, she’s tucking herself under the arm of her boyfriend, Jake.

You shake your head, and look back at Finn, finding his gaze already locked on you. He pushes away from the railing then, and steps toward you.

“You know what this is?” he asks you, once more sounding like an actor reading lines, and gesturing between you. “Fate.” he says, lowering his voice somewhat like it was a secret just for the two of you.

You cock your head at his odd little act, though you aren’t entirely un-charmed by it. It was rather different to when you’d met this afternoon, despite his blatant flirting then, now it was as if you were speaking with a completely different person. A stage magician, perhaps.

“So, why don’t we go get a drink in your hand, and then you can tell me which day works for our upcoming date.” Finn gives a slight flourish, and while his whole demeanour is still clearly put on, there is an endearing element to his theatrics, a silliness that you might find more charming if it didn’t feel so much like he was performing for you.

He offers you his arm graciously, which you can imagine combined with his hyped up charm, would have plenty of women already giggling into their sleeves, which you don’t do, but you do place your other hand over his warm skin as well, and allow him to lead you back into the kitchen.

“So what’ll it be? Beer? Fruity punch? Fruity punch and beer?” he wiggles his eyebrows at you, and even though he’s still playing a role of some kind, it’s not hard for you to see through it.

“Fruity punch,” you say decisively. “Can’t stand the taste of beer.” You tell him honestly, watching as he goes about procuring you a glass of the punch you yourself had made, and appreciating the effort he puts in to make sure you have at least two cherries, though, you don’t think he means it to be suggestive, despite your own thoughts going straight to the gutter over the matter.

“So, what you’re saying is; I should switch to the punch if I want to test this theory about you being the one girl on campus who’ll put up with me later?” he asks in amusement, at last handing you your drink, his eyes sparkling. You accept the drink and give a noncommittal shrug as you take a small sip. 

“Oh, that’s not necessary, but I’ll certainly appreciate it later.” You really feel no need to go along with his act, not seeing any reason to play coy about your intentions, not in the way he seemed to feel was par for the course at least. You watch as Finn takes a moment to actually process your words, a brief mix of surprise and curiosity passing over his features, but it’s quickly covered up by a much more ‘cool’ looking mask.

You have to crack a smile at his sheer determination to convince you to have sex with him, the poor man somehow didn’t realise he was preaching to the choir.

“You really do look fantastic, by the way,” Finn says after a few moments of awkward quiet pass. You push aside your amusement, and grin happily at him, smoothing your hand over the material fondly.

“Thanks! I feel like one of ‘Charlie’s Angels’,” you gush a little, briefly feeling silly for bringing up the comparison, however, this time Finn’s smile makes the corners of his eyes crinkle in that way you liked, making his whole face seem softer and more natural, pouring with warmth.

“Trust me, Farrah’s got nothing on you right now,” he tells you sweetly, continuing to fondly watch you preen, not just at the compliment, but because you think this might be the first time all evening he isn’t speaking from some kind of script.

The moment passes quickly, though, and as you duck your head to accept his praise, you see his face momentarily scrunching up in a wince, like he was scolding himself for saying something so saccharine. You consider telling him that you found the sweetness endlessly more endearing than any of the other lines so far, but you hold your tongue. You had a small feeling that his pretence was really more about him, than about you, at least to a degree.

Finn is about halfway through earnestly telling you about his apparently ‘average’ sized cock when you at last run out of patience. The gimmick itself was entertaining enough, definitely an original approach to picking up women, and you’d even played along to start with, but you can’t help wondering why you’re standing around talking about his cock when you could be doing other things with it instead.

While he’s still talking, you reach into your pocket and dig around for a moment, before you find what you’re after. Finn trails off when you turn and lay the coin face-side up on his forearm. He blinks at it in confusion, for a few seconds, before looking questioningly up at you.

“Penny for your thoughts?” you ask before he can speak again, and force yourself not to pump your fist triumphantly when his confusion is quickly replaced with affection. Sure, you knew he wanted to have sex with you already, but now he thought you were cute, too.

“Alright,” he answers simply, fully angling his body toward yours, leaning in closer to you at the same time.

“So, this whole ‘average sized cock’ thing, does it actually work? I mean, has it worked when you’ve used it before?” you tip your head up at him, genuinely curious, but you don’t miss the way Finn’s features fall blank for a second after you speak, his smile fading, replaced with mild discomfort. He seems to shift back from you slightly, regarding you once more before he replies.

“I guess this is the time it doesn’t.” He all but mutters, his frown deepening as he looks away from you again, clearing his throat this time and straightening up, obviously embarrassed. He crosses his arms over his chest and looks back at you evenly.

“Could’ve stopped me earlier,” he says a little stiffly, though seemingly coming to terms with whatever direction he now thought this conversation was taking. You can’t help yourself then, his sulking making you laugh, fully and joyfully, but before he can sulk further, you lay your hand gently on his arm, over the penny, and give him a light squeeze. You shake your head as your laughter dies down, and fix him with a warm expression

“I never said it wasn’t working– in a manner of speaking,” You softly tell him, watching as he blinks down at you. You hurry to explain. “I mean don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t working, but only because it’s totally unbelievable.”

Finn at last relaxes somewhat, though his slight frown remains as he considers your complaint.

“What’s so unbelievable about it?” he demands, in a way that tells you this pick-up tactic was one he was proud of, though clear playfulness had returned to his voice.

Confident that you were now talking, actually talking to Finn as he was, and not as he thought would get him laid, you feel energised to engage with the subject matter more seriously. You scoff and roll your eyes at his indignation.

“Firstly,” you start, shifting to lean on your hip, bringing you closer once again. “No guy is ever going to accept, let alone admit that he has an average sized-cock, and he’s definitely not going to admit it to a woman he wants to fuck.” You say matter-of-factly, though you didn’t have anything more than your not-insubstantial intimate experiences with men to go off of as proof.

“Guys who really are average, don’t think that they are, and they probably never will because no woman is going to bring up the fact that his seven inch cock looks suspiciously closer to five.” you wave your hands a little, not realising before now that you really had any firm opinions on this subject.

You see the cogs in Finn’s brain turning as he regards your words with something that resembles amused but genuine interest. You figure he hadn’t expected you to really have a point, which to be fair, you hadn’t expected either. You do plan to let him respond, but you suddenly remember something else you’d been thinking about earlier, when he’d first brought up the concept.

“–And! In my experience, guys who do have big cocks, they don’t really say anything, or they mislead you entirely, so that they can get off on hearing you telling him how big he is.”

That earns a hearty laugh from Finn, who shrugs a shoulder in admittance at that point at the very least. He’d returned at last to watching you fondly, and you think once more that Beverley had been spot on in introducing the two of you. You’re pretty sure Finn is the only man who would so happily, or nonchalantly debate with you about the size of other men’s cocks, just as you’re sure that you’re the only woman on campus who has ever challenged him on it.

Finn hums in thought. “So, you believe men will only ever overcompensate or undercompensate?” he asks, but it's more of a statement. He watches you intently as he tips his chin, and you nod.

“Exactly.”

A moment passes between the two of you, before Finn leans forward, right into your space, wearing a pleased smirk.

“In that case honey,” he starts, voice sounding a little deeper now, huskier somehow. “What’s the verdict then?” he stares at you unwaveringly, challenging you. You frown.

“The verdict on what?” you ask, though at this point you couldn’t muster much genuine interest, not when all this verbal foreplay was slowing down the process of getting him in your bedroom for some actual foreplay.

Finn’s smirk grows then, seemingly glad you’d asked. You watch as his eyes dip briefly down to your chest, where his height and closeness grant him a very good view of your tits. He meets your gaze again before he speaks.

“Do you think I’m overcompensating, or undercompensating?”

You blink and stare at him as you process, not even bothering to hide your captivation, but it lasts for mere seconds before your lips are curling into a coy smile to match his own. You copy his move then, dropping your eyes to take in the front of his jeans, but you don’t look back up again as he had. Instead, you reach out and begin tracing his belt buckle. Finn inhales sharply, clearly taken off guard by your forwardness, which was clearly working for him.

You’re momentarily distracted from his belt as you catch sight of the rather sizable bulge forming at the front of his pants, giving you a pretty good idea of what the verdict should be. You lick your lips without really thinking, but take full advantage of the way Finn’s eyes follow the movement, tracing the path over your now wet mouth as he awaits your answer. You lean in, closing the miniscule distance between you at last, and give his belt a teasing little tug toward you.

“Y’know, I haven’t a clue,” you lie nonchalantly, your smile only growing when you use his belt to pull yourself in and press right up against his front. “But I’d love to find out.”

[boatem-probler]

I'm Watching Tokyo Soul So You Don't Have To!

You Are Here! / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9

So there's this 2015 Minecraft roleplay series that Grian was in. It's very bad and very, ah, dated, but it's also very full of Grian Angst, so people like to use it in their fanfiction.

A couple years ago, @paranoidpug watched every episode of the first season of this series, called Yandere High School, and wrote summaries of it, so people could learn what all those fanfics were referencing without having to actually watch the thing. They're very good summaries!

@sketchygainedyoursoul took over to do the second season, Tokyo Soul, but it seems like they never got past episode 8, so I've decided to take up the mantle of Tokyo Soul Chronicler. I know how it ends, and unfortunately it's like catnip to me, so this was inevitable really.

Also I'm starting from the beginning, because I'm using a different format and I wanted consistency I guess.

Content warnings for briefly mentioned violence, stalking, and uh... idk how to describe what's going on with Geode. Generally creepy behavior from an adult to a minor is broad enough I think. But in like, a mad scientist way? Yeah.

And Now... The Episodes Without Grian In Them

(I'm really selling this, huh...)

Episode 1 – New Beginning!

You are now sitting.

Sam, Taurtis, and Dom are in a train. They've just arrived in Tokyo. Sam told Taurtis they were going to Disneyland, because Taurtis doesn’t like big cities. Grian is not there.

Okami, their former teacher, has tasked them with navigating from the train station to a restaurant called “SushiWushi”. Let’s see how The Boys mess this one up!

They encounter a skeevy old man named Old Kurokuma outside the train station.

They get someone else named Igbar von Squid to show them the way to SushiWushi, but Sam wants to “mingle” by the dumpsters instead.

I’m now running the video back, because I want to see exactly how long it takes them to get to this restaurant.

Also Dom has the best outfit of the three.

“I’m starting to get spooked. Why’d you even come back here, Taurtis?” says Sam.

They encounter someone literally named “Suspicious Person” burning money in a fire, who offers them “sugar”. They jump over the fire to get away, with varying degrees of success.

“STOP DROP AND RICKROLL” – Dom

They do their “look both ways even though there are no moving cars in existence” bit. If I was Igbar I woulda just left them by this point. Igbar is visibly slumping.

The creepy old man is still following them, also.

They arrive at SushiWushi! It took them 10 minutes and 16 seconds (if my math is right). Honestly? I thought they wouldn’t be there before the episode was over, so good on them.

I’m obsessed with how their Minecraft avatars’ arms move when they’re sitting, by the way, it makes them look like a kid pretending to drive their parents’ car.

Sam and Taurtis both mention feeling uncomfortable around girls with knives.

Taurtis is arguing about pufferfish, Sam is trying to steal sushi from the next table over, Dom is… getting into a fistfight in the background?

Luckily, the person they were supposed to meet, Kiyu, arrives, and WHOA THEY HAVE A VOICE.

Kiyu begins showing them around.

Episode 2 – FIRST SCHOOL DAY!

Kiyu is bad with directions.

Old Kurokuma is STILL following them.

Kiyu shows them their house, they’re very excited about how fancy it is. Kiyu assures them that most of their stuff is there.

Dom is going to live in the dumpster outside apparently.

Kurokuma is outside their house now.

“We’re in the witness protection program, but I feel SO much more unsafe than we were before” – Taurtis. And from what I know it only gets worse!

The next morning, the boys attempt to make their way to school, but they don’t know where it is. They ask a student passing by, then decide to “jump ‘em” when they’re too shy to answer the question.

Taurtis, running over to a group of other students: “Can I hang out with you guys? Can you be my new friends?”

Sam asks Dom for a high five. Dom punches Sam. Sam dies. They continue walking to school.

Taurtis: “I miss our old school, I bet this one’s not even haunted.” Sam: “We could make it haunted!”

At school, they meet back up with Kiyu, who also goes there apparently, and she takes them to get their schedules from Señor Loro, who is wearing a luchador mask and what appears to be a Christmas sweater.

Señor Loro drops them through a trapdoor into a secret wrestling ring. They must wrestle him for their schedules, obviously.

Oh dang they actually have Four Whole Classes this time.

Episode 3 – TEACHER TORI!

On the way to their lockers, one of the other students, Greentama, who is wearing a One Punch Man outfit, one-punches them for jaywalking.

“There’s some weird stuff in these lockers.” – Kiyu

Their first class is with Teacher Tori, who is supposed to be Toriel from Undertale I think? She teaches Agriculture, apparently.

Creepy Man Update: He Is Still There

They go out to the courtyard to collect flowers. We learn that Kiyu avoids the sun.

We also learn that Señor Loro is the guidance counselor.

“Fish are just flowers that swim in the ocean.” – Taurtis

Their next class is Dr. Nurse MD’s Class of Not Dying!

Taurtis does not understand what witness protection is.

Dr. Nurse MD is teaching CPR. He asks for a volunteer from the audience. Taurtis gets volunteered. Dr. Nurse MD does not understand what CPR is. Somehow Taurtis survives.

By this, I mean that Dr. Nurse MD’s conception of CPR is: Choke the other person, and then throw stuff at them. Now pair up and try it on each other!

[Choked Out by The Mountain Goats playing in the background]

Episode 4 – DON’T DROWN!

Time for lunch!

One of the kids who was in Nurse MD’s class is stumbling around coughing up blood, it seems. Lovely.

Sam and Taurtis decide to eat lunch on the high diving board, where they witness someone almost drown.

Time for gym class! The PacerGram Fitness Test is a–

They do laps around the gym. Gym Teacher Helena loves pain, it seems. Also she has quite a bit of favoritism towards Kiyu.

The kid who was coughing up blood earlier is NOT looking good.

Episode 5 – CREEPY TEACHER!

Their last class is in classroom 12, which has a number 4 outside of the door, and also a gold key and a bottle of Mountain Dew. The floor inside is covered in mushrooms, and the teacher, Professor Geode Rocks, is sitting on a throne. He addresses his students as “subjects” and “my children”. There are chains hanging from the ceiling. The boys are very uncomfortable.

Geode calls the new kids to the front of the class and asks for their medical records. Also, every time he says someone’s name, he says it in all caps.

Taurtis starts listing out all of the physical trauma he’s suffered. Geode decides the three of them are “not good candidates”.

Geode gives them homework: Collect as much trash as possible. Extra points for blood, hair, and nails.

“Wait an Earth Second,” says Professor Geode, much like an Earthling would.

He starts sniffing Taurtis. Taurtis is “the one”. Now his plan can finally be a success. He pulls a hair out from Taurtis’s head. Taurtis does NOT like any of this. Even Sam is vocally weirded out. Geode starts yelling about world domination as the bell rings.

Sam: “We can’t go back, we’re in witness protection.” Taurtis: “I don’t feel protected here!”

Taurtis: “I’ve never felt so unsafe in my life.”

This school’s Yelp review is going to be real bad.

Sam: “This is for a class, Mr. Geode told us we had to get blood.” Señor Loro: “CLASSIC GEODE. He is eccentric.”

Creepy Man Update: Still.

I'm probably gonna do 1 school day per post from this point, it's a good way of breaking things up.

Next Time... Grian!

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Twenty (Part 4)

When I’m certain he’s gone and he’s not coming back, I finally allow my muscles to collapse, and as soon as I do the tears start flowing again. My eyes are already raw, and my throat sore from the last time, and my fingers come to clutch at my heart and my throat as though I need to pull away the invisible hand strangling me. I hurry away from Marnie’s house, down the ramps towards little Seapoint Beach, where the dark sand is littered with slimy seaweed and rubbish from the day, and the moon glints off the waves, white spumes of foam peaking with each undulation. I sit on a wet, green rock and take out my phone. I feel desolate. Sucked under by my loneliness, the knowledge that I have ruined everything and there are things I’ve broken that I may never repair. There is only one person in the world left to call, and I dial the number. 

His voice is cracked and sleepy as it comes over the line. “…Hello?”

I realise that I won’t be able to speak to him without crying. It takes me a long moment to gather myself, my chest heaving with an anticipatory sob. 

He repeats himself, more soberly this time. “Hello? Evie, is that you?”

“Hi Shane.” I blubber. “I’m so sorry I called you.”

“What’s wrong?” 

I sniff. “Are you… I’m so sorry I know it’s like, almost three in the morning… are you still in Cyprus?”

“No, I’m not, we got back earlier today.”

“Oh. You’re in Dublin right now?” my heart lifts with the thought of him being nearby. 

“No, I’m at home in Tullamore at the minute, in mam and dad’s, why?”

“Oh, it’s okay then, don’t mind me.”

I hear fabric crunching over the line, presumably his duvet as he gets out of bed. His voice comes down the line urgently. “Evie, what’s happening? Are you okay?”

“No.” I admit with a soft hiccup, and then my shoulders begin to shake. I bring my free hand to my face, my nose running over my mouth. 

“Where are you?”

“I’m on Seapoint Beach.”

“Alright. Can you stay there? Are you safe?”

I nod. “Yeah, I’m fine, I’m just a bit cold.”

I hear him moving about and the thump of a shoe against the floor. “Hang on, I’m coming.”

“Shane, you’re too far away.”

“I’ll be an hour and a half, there’s no traffic at this time… where’s my keys…”

“I don’t want you to have to do this… I’m sorry I called you and woke you up, you must be so tired…”

“It’s nothing.” He insists. “I’m on the way. Seapoint Beach, the one between Blackrock and Monkstown, right?”

I sniffle “Yeah.”

“Stay there, okay? Don’t move a muscle. I’m coming now.”

“Okay.”

“Call me if you move, or if anything happens. I’ll have my phone with me the whole time.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s grand. It’s nothing.”

We hang up and I wait.

I hear the distant swish of tyres on the road before I see him. The sky is lightening already, even in these early hours of the morning, and his Fiat Punto is backlit with hazy purple as he pulls up to the curb at the entrance to the beach. I gasp with relief when I see him, he gets out of the idling car and I run up the ramp towards him. 

“Evie.” He says as I launch myself into his arms. We don’t usually hug each other, not like this, but tonight he wraps his arms around me and holds me to his broad chest so tightly that I’m afraid he’ll crush my ribs to dust. “I’m here now.” He says. 

“I can’t believe you came all the way.” I say, the sound muffled in his fleece as he rubs my back. “Sure, of course I did. What else was I meant to do?”

“You could have left me here.”

“I’d never do a thing like that.” he says it with this kind of disturbed edge to his voice, as though he can’t fathom that there are men out there who would. He looks down at me and tuts softly. “What are they after doing to you at all?”

“I can’t.” I sob. “I can’t talk about it now.”

“That’s fine.” He says, and then hesitates before saying, “Where’s your top?”

“Oh.” I say, looking down at my bikini and shorts combo. “The rest of my clothes are in a bag inside the house. I’ll just leave them there.”

“A whole bag of stuff, like?” 

I nod.

“I’ll go in and get it for you.”

“You don’t have to, Shane, really, it’s fine.”

“Is there anything important in the bag?”

I pause. “My purse and my phone charger are there.”

“I’ll get it.” He says decisively, and then when I look at him worriedly he reassures me. “I won’t look at or talk to anybody, I’ll just quietly go in and get it and then I’ll leave.”

I tell him where the bag is and how to find it, and then I wait by the car. It’s only five minutes before he comes back with it, takes my hoodie out and tosses it to me. “Throw that on you there.”  

“Shane…” I say as he stands at the driver’s side door across from me. “I’m glad that you came.”

“Yeah it’s no problem.”

“And I’m so sorry.”

“No sure, it didn’t end up being a long drive at this hour anyway.”

“No, I mean, I’m sorry for everything else that-”

“I know you are.” He interjects. “And I’m saying you’re alright, we’re here now, it is what it is. I’m just glad you called me.”

“I’m glad too.”

He gets into the car and leans over to open the door on my side. “Come on, in you get. I’ll take you home to your mam.” And I do, and he sticks on the radio as we pull away, driving on towards the rising sun. 

End of Part 2

Beginning // Prev // Next

[gosmigenergy]

DANCE PARTNER

( Francisco ‘Fish’ Morales x F!Reader )

Summary: You begin to wonder why the hell Frankie would take you here until you find out that he has a hidden talent.

Rating: Fluff but like hot fluff?

Warnings: No use of Y/N.

Word Count: 2.1k

It was always hard to resist holding the guys’ hand when you walked down the street, you continuously had to remind yourself that you and Benny were the ones who were ‘boyfriend and girlfriend’.

Frankie’s broad hands were the most tempting.

He could sense you staring, he turns his head so he could question you.

“What’s wrong, Bunny?”

“Nothing,” you fluster, “just really want to hold your hand.”

He stuffs his hands in his jacket pockets, “Now you can’t.”

“You’re so mean.”

“We’re almost there,” he says, “and then you can hold my hand as much as you like.”

That brought the smile back to your face and that was something Frankie always liked to see. He was hesitant to ask you to come with him tonight, not many people know that he goes here though when he said comfy clothes and shoes you can move easily in, you didn’t sound so pleased.

Still, he had yet to tell you where you were going, the four of them seemed to do it all the time, they were lucky you were so willing.

It didn’t look much from the outside.

The building was a little run down and didn’t seem to have any visible signage, the windows mirrored to a view of the outside. Normally, you would try peering through even though you wouldn’t see anything, instead you decide against it, mostly to save the person opposite getting a ridiculous sight that they probably see all too often.

He knows that you’re trying to figure it out. Strolling to the door, he pulls it towards him before gesturing for you to go in.

Of course, you’re hesitant, practically tiptoeing to him with a furrowed brow. You lean to glance through the door and see nothing untoward but it doesn’t mean you don’t look at him with wide eyes.

“Don’t be scared.”

He follows you in and you stroll down the corridor before he tells you to take a right, you do so and go to the door at the end. Your hand hovers over the handle as you have a final glance at Frankie, who’s expression is soft and unassuming. A swift nod brings you to open the door and step through the threshold.

A woman squealing greeted you.

“Oh, a new face!”

You freeze.

The room is simple, red brick walls with a light wooden floor, fluorescent lights to make up for the slim windows that lined underneath the ceiling. There were maybe eleven or so more people there in a mixture of age ranges and you notice the woman speaking was wearing what appeared to be dancing heels and a light ruffle hemmed skirt.

Oh no.

“Francisco,” she glides over elegantly.

He places a hand on your lower back, guides you forward, into the room. All your instincts are telling you to run but there’s comfort in how he holds you, it’s either that or he knows you’re about to pass out.

“Hi Carmen.”

They lean in and she gives him an air kiss on each cheek.

“So nice of you to bring a friend,” she’s beaming at you.

“This is Bunny.”

“Bunny, Carmen.”

You go for a handshake however she takes it and pulls you close, giving you a similar greeting to Frankie. The temperature rises in your cheeks as you retreat to him, trying your best not to get as flustered as you do.

“Hi,” you squeak.

“Is Bunny your real name?”

“No, no,” you waves your hands, “just a nickname.”

Her eyes flit between you and Francisco, her one eyebrow arching before her lips form into a knowing smile.

“You two are going to make perfect dance partners,” she points a single finger to the two of you. “I can already feel the passion.”

You giggle nervously, “I hope so.”

Carmen gets distracted by the next person who comes in and Frankie guides you away to a set of chairs lined up against one wall. 

Your palms are sweaty, heartbeat starting to quicken. Someone once told you that your feet were like a dancer’s feet, your immediate response was that you wish you had because in reality, you had no rhythm.

“Sorry I didn’t tell,” he fiddled with the brim of his cap sheepishly.

“That’s ok, just didn’t realise you danced.”

“How’d you think I wooed my ex?”

“I thought you just showed her your pilot wings,” you shrugged.

He burst out laughing, the type that shook your whole body, almost brought tears to his eyes.

“Only Pope can be that smooth.”

You smile, “I wouldn’t put yourself down.”

The tips of his ears go red and he changes the subject, “So?”

“When were you going to show me your dance moves?”

“The opportunity has never arisen.”

You tilt your head to one side, “What about that night in the bar?”

The first night you met all four boys together, the shots Benny bought definitely went straight to your head and you found yourself on the dance floor for what felt like hours. Benny was your main partner, Will joined in once or twice but he stayed on the sidelines. Santiago ribbed him for it, Frankie merely wanted it to be a better scenario.

This was it.

“It wouldn’t have been my best.”

“What dance is this anyway?”

He cleared his throat, “Tango.”

Tango? He knew how you danced, loose limbed and swaying hips was as best you had, this was going to be intense. The groan you released was somewhat pained, this was not going to end well.

“You’ll be fine, cariño…”

That was new, it made you blush.

“Just follow my lead.”

Carmen clapped her hands to draw everyone’s attention to the front.

Frankie took your hand and guided you into the centre, nestled in between the lines that had already formed. You were grateful he hadn’t positioned the two of you at the front, in the line of fire for demonstrations or audience participation.

The lesson started with a warm up, some stretches to loosen the body where your muscles protested with being elongated to the floor and your bones cracked in some questionable places. Then the class moved onto practicing the basic steps, slowly at first before she picked up the pace and played some music to match. However Frankie was the perfect distraction, your steps falling out of time with everyone else as your eyes drifted to how his hips seemed to move in ways you hadn’t noticed before.

“You doing ok there, Bunny?”

Carmen’s gaze found your face amongst the throng and you blink at her, nodding feebly when you realise she’d caught you.

When you look back to him, he’s already checking you out, his feet still moving with precision. You pierce your lips as his smile widens and makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Shaking your head, your eye line returns to your feet as your mind tries to count yourself back in.

“Alright, it’s time to nab yourself a partner.”

His hand instantly enveloped yours.

“Ready?”

“No,” you laugh nervously.

“Like I said earlier,” he smiles, “just follow my lead.”

He pulls you further to the side so the pair of you take up your own space, just on the outskirts of an unevenly distributed circle. His right hand wraps around your frame and he flattens his palm against your back before drawing you closer. You place your left hand on his shoulder and you breath, trying to slow down your heart rate. He squeezes your hand three times as he searches your face, your expression relaxes when you meet his big brown eyes.

All of you run through the steps and your eyes flick to the floor with every one.

A hand coming to your chin made you jump, Carmen had snuck up behind you and lifted your head back up, Frankie tried not to laugh.

“With such a handsome man in front of you, why are you looking at the floor?”

The question was rhetorical, she disappeared as quickly as she’d arrived. Instead of relaxing back into it, your limbs stiffened and he began to struggle to guide you.

“Bunny, you need to relax.”

You let out a held breath, “I’m trying.”

The hand on your back gently rubs up and down.

“Close your eyes,” he said calmly.

“I’ve already been told off once for not looking at you.”

“If you trust me, you’ll let me lead.”

You take a shaky inhale and allow your eyelids to flutter shut, breathing out as Frankie hugs your frame nearer.

“Now,” his voice is low, “Focus on me.”

Your face scrunched for a moment as you tried to concentrate. It was the hand you were holding you that caught your attention, with it’s light embrace as it steadily hung midair, skin slightly rough after years of heavy use. The other that was pressed firmly on your back, warmth spreading through the fabric of your top, the taut shoulder muscle under your own.

“If you want to add a little something, remember you can shape the lady over your leg.”

Carmen’s voice caused you to misstep.

“Block her out,” he whispers into the shell of your ear.

His breath teases your neck, the whiskers that line his jaw grazing your cheek as he pulls back and you swallow as the saliva builds. The temperature between you rises and you can see the sweat building on his chest where his collar bones meet in the middle.

Was it supposed to be this hot?

The two of you continue like this for a few more steps before he lunges back and instinctively, you lean your shoulders and neck back to hold yourself strong. He straightens up and carries on with the basics.

“That’s my girl.”

Your pussy clenches around nothing.

When he decides to do it again, you open your eyes, lids heavy as you attempt to come back into the room. You allow him to keep moving you, bending you in ways you only had done when you’d had sex with any of them. Though you were sure he was stretching you just to show off, the wink he gave cementing the fact.

“Are you allowed to spin me?”

Glancing over his shoulder, he clocked where Carmen was in the room and noted how distracted she was by a couple who couldn’t get in sequence. He’d been to enough classes to know how to spin you, knew it would take about nine seconds at the most. It should be a quick enough in and out that she wouldn’t even notice it happened.

“Take another two steps back, I’ll do the rest.”

You do as he says, arm stretching your body away from him. He gently tugs your arm and you do a spin, giggle as he coils an arm around you and leans your frame back. Quickly, he returns you both to the original position and carries on as before. He tries to ignore the two star pupils who were rolling their eyes at you.

“Right! Time for a cool down.”

The last ten minutes was a free for all, Carmen put on music, there was no steps to follow, no necessary partners, everyone was just expected to dance.

For you and Frankie, it wasn’t much of a cool down.

The pair of you used it as an excuse to get as close as possible, he pressed his chest against your back and moved his hips in tandem to yours. Your hands roamed what part of his body they could reach, grabbing his arms to wrap them around your waist, his palms smoothing over your hips.

If he wanted you to always focus on him, you would do gladly.

You were aware of judgemental eyes but you’d reached a point where you didn’t give a shit. This whole lesson was too formal for you, this was the kind of dancing you could get on board with and it made you wish Frankie danced with you that night at the bar.

He practically growled in your ear when the music stopped.

Unravelling himself from you, he pluck his hat from his head and ran a hand through his curls.

“So,” he fixed the cap back into position, “did you enjoy yourself?”

You hum, “Kind of forgot how much of a turn on it was.”

Grabbing your arm, he stops you in your tracks to turn and face him.

“Are you saying —“

He watches your teeth sink into your bottom lip.

Carmen was the type of dance teacher who prided herself in ensuring all who students left satisfied. She talked to each individual and listened to them until they had nothing more to say before moving onto the next person. It was only after a few conversations that she realised she was two people down.

“Have any of you seen Francisco and Bunny?”

[celestiall0tus]

Tales of Bloody Bug - Chapter 5 - Wish

Beginning || Previous

            Bloody Bug landed atop a ruined building close enough to the city and its lights. She took off her night vision goggles and grinned.

            “Miraculous Bloody Bug!” Bloody Bug yelled as she tossed the goggles up.

            Bloody Bug watched as the goggles erupted into a swarm of ladybugs that moved around the city. They didn’t fix anything, but it was her signal to everyone. Chat Blanc was dealt with, and everything would change.

            “Tikki, spots off.”

            Tikki emerged from the earrings. Bloody Bug transformed back to Alix as she took a seat on the rubble. Plagg hovered beside Tikki as they looked at Alix.

            “Before I do this, I want to know something. How did this happen?” Alix asked.

            “Does it matter?” Plagg asked.

            “I want to avoid this. If I know, I can ensure it.”

            “Oh, come on. We do that with the wish.”

            “I’m no fool. You don’t run in blindly, making vague wishes. Only fools rush in where angels dare not tread.”

            “Plagg, please, tell us,” Tikki implored.

            Plagg sighed. “Alright, fine. Look, I don’t know the full details myself, but I know enough. My holder was in love with the Ladybug. He discovered who she was, they started dating, and out of nowhere, she dumped in. She was about to be akumatized, he rushes in, transforms in broad daylight, and yeah.”

            Alix’s eye twitched. “Seriously? All because of love?”

            “Kinda? Well, my holder discovered his father was Hawkmoth and doing everything to resurrect my holder’s mother. Anyway, my holder didn’t like that, tried to attack his father, but got thrown out to the Eiffel Tower. Then there was the Akuma, and everything got messy. Almost like he was a senti-monster.”

            “What’s a senti-monster?”

            “Oh. Uh, well, a person made of magic.”

            “So, hold up. Chat Noir was born through magic, a monster. His mother died, his father becomes Hawkmoth to resurrect his dead wife, Chat Noir is then akumatized, which makes him go feral as he did. Is that all correct?”

            Tikki and Plagg nodded.

            “And this was all the result of… of Marinette breaking up with… Adrien? How? What happened? Marinette was crazy in love with Adrien. She wouldn’t… at least I didn’t think she would. I don’t understand.”

            “Well, that’s the truth of it. See how pointless it was?” Plagg boasted.

            Alix furrowed her brow. Plagg was wrong. She knew that Marinette was Ladybug and now that Adrien was Chat Noir. This all started because of their relationship and them being blinded by love. She grimaced as she felt sick at the idea. How could they have been so reckless? She knew that kind of love could make people do crazy stuff, but to break up with Adrien and for Adrien to reveal to their unknown enemy his secret. There was a fine line of being in love and just being completely stupid.

            Alix looked down at the black cat ring as she weighed her options. She intended to have things reset, but the question now was how far. Initially she was going to go back to the moment before disaster struck, but what if she went back further? What if she was either the ladybug or the black cat instead of Marinette or Adrien? Would that help to mitigate the damage? Could she prevent this disaster in that case?

            Alix glanced up between Tikki and Plagg. She wanted to believe that with her younger self, she’d be smart enough to avoid such disasters. Could she do it? Could she trust her younger self who had no knowledge of this to make the right decisions? Furthermore, which would she trust herself with more? Plagg was tempting to keep him out of Adrien’s hands in case something like that happened again. Even then, Plagg didn’t feel like a good match for her. Between the two, she preferred Tikki, though she hated the idea of taking Tikki away from Marinette, but something had to be done. Something had to give.

            Alix nodded and stood. She took several deep breaths and steeled herself.

            “Plagg, Tikki, reveal yourselves.”

            Tikki and Plagg transformed into gigantic eldritch creatures. Chills ran down Alix’s spine as she faced them.

            “Gimmi, reveal yourself.”

            Tikki and Plagg took each other’s hands and fused. The ruined city faded as Alix stood in an ethereal void before a massive pink eldritch god.

            “I am Gimmi, Kwami of Reality. I am everything that was, is, and will be.”

            “Gimmi, I want to make a wish.”

            “Very well. What do you want?”

            “I want to sacrifice this timeline for things to be returned to before Marinette was proven worthy of the miraculous of the ladybug, and instead I want to be the ladybug in her place. To fight alongside Chat Noir against Hawkmoth.”

            “Is this what you wish?”

            “It is.”

            Gimmi nodded and closed its eyes.

            Alix watched as everything broke apart and faded into particles of light. She looked down at herself as she dissolved into light. Fear shot through her as a tear fell down her face. She sent a silent prayer for a different outcome before everything vanished into the void.

[stygianheart]

its a shame your fics dont have more art theyre so good like if I could draw well id probably turn them into picture books. do you wish you had art?

but besides the point I actually have questions and I wanna ask em.

first up, who’s the back up? luffys mentioned the backup a few times and I cant help but wonder who it is. if thats a major spoiler than you dont have to answer but considering your love for this one guy i kinda think its sabo or the rev army. either that or like traffy. it would be funny if it was sabo though because of koby’s brief jealousy of how luffy was talking about him.

this might be just me as an aot fan overanalyzing everything but I feel like that devil fruit in the beginning was something important and so was the auction in broad daylight.

also ive seen a lot of fics where kobys favorite food is buttered potatoes but i think yours is the first where his favorite food is downright plain butter. the guys a psychopath for that. like why would you do that. where did you even get the idea.

I also have some other questions! unfortunately uh revolving around the second favorite ship brymeppo…

does helhippo realize he likes bryan or no? also i really came into the fic thinking I wasnt gonna give a crap about him but somehow you made me like him a lot so kudos to you. his relationship with bryan is so rivals to lovers coded and thats one of my favorite tropes. I really do hope helhippo lives up to his promise and takes bryan to the symphony. I know that wont happen in tsats but if you could make a one shot of helhippo and bryan going out on small dates that would be amazing 🙏 for us rymeppo shippers #rymeppo shippers unite oh and as much as i wanna see bryan take revenge on elijah for all the things the guys done to him i also wanna see helmeppo smash the guys face in. please. kill elijah. I hate him.

omg sorry that this is so long but I still have some more questions!

kobylu wise, who do you think fell first? koby or luffy? its obvious that luffy likes Koby but why hasn’t he said anything? does he understand how he feels? and after this is all said and done how are they going to stay in contact? it’s not like koby can just talk to luffy whenever he wants since hes a marine and luffys the pirate king.

anyway thats all! I hope i was able to help your creativity in some way :)

I mean, yeah, art would be cool. But when it comes to engagement with my fics, the most I hope for is for someone to simply read it. Besides, it’s self indulgent! I’m just writing the stuff for me and sharing it along the way.

Anyway, questions. *pulls out glasses*

The back up? Well, it’s not Traffy, that much I can say. Considering we (last I checked) don’t know if Trafalgar is alive or not, I just decided to…y’know, leave him out.

Greetings, fellow AoT fan, you are NOT mistaken! I kinda like hiding little things in the fic—not EVERYTHING has a purpose like AoT, but a lot of things are put there for a reason. I like being sneaky like that.

And yes. Koby’s a psycho. He eats straight up butter—and said it tastes better when dipped in sugar. I got this weird headcanon from my bestie who also happens to eat butter sticks. I once saw him dip it in sugar and was so disgusted by it, and he was just like “it’s good for you. Besides, it’s ✨tasty✨” like sir no. What on earth. That’s weird. You do you, but please, not in front of me. Besides the point—for some reason I decided to implement that onto Koby. I have a habit of weirdifying characters.

As for the RyMeppo question… I seriously never expected people to love this ship so much wtf. In Chapter 5, Helmeppo is completely unaware of his very obvious crush on (B)Ryan. He thinks he hates Ryan, when it’s obvious it’s more than that. As of Chapter 10, however, the moron is 10000% aware of how he feels. He and Ryan’s relationship is really fun to write with the constant bickering/flirting. I never intended them to be a romantic relationship, but alas, that’s where it headed.

And the KobyLu questions! Yay! Koby definitely fell first and he fell hard—don’t think anyone could fall harder if they tried. As for Luff: he knows how he feels about Koby. Buddy went to Sanji’s school of flirting and failed the classes spectacularly yet tried showing off his grades to Koby. He’s made it very clear how he feels—Koby, unfortunately, is just too damn dense. Luffy could yell “I LOVE YOU” to Koby and he would probably think Luffy meant platonically. He gets his density from me, of course, I’m the exact same way.

I hope I answered your questions well! Thanks for the ask, it actually did help a bit.)))

[soulofapatrick]

Finding You - Tommy Miller x reader

Summary: Joel; Ellie and Y/N find Jackson and you also end up finding Tommy who doesn’t want to waste a minute continuing where your relationship left off

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: mostly fluff with a little smut near the end (female receiving oral)

Y/N’s POV

"Don't even think about raising your weapons!" A female voice cuts through the pleasant silence and we look up to see a blonde woman up a lookout on the right of the gate, gun pointed at us, "Tell the girls to drop their weapons." 

"Do as she says," Joel tells us, hands up but one still in reach of his gun if needs be. I glance to the left and my heart stops for a second as I think I see a flash of familiar dirty blond hair. 

"They're safe." 

That voice. It can't be. 

"You know them?" The woman lowers her gun, voice still full of distrust. 

The air gets knocked out of my lungs when the gate opens and the voice I haven’t heard in years is joined by his face, “That’s my damn brother.” He hasn’t seen me yet as I’m mostly hidden by Joel’s broad frame. They hug before the brothers part and he speaks again, “Goddamn you’re getting old!” 

“Tommy, this is Ellie and well you’re very familiar with-“ Joel’s cut off mid sentence when Tommy utters my name in a whisper as Joel steps aside to reveal me and Ellie. He's the same except he's grown a beard now and he seems to have grown into his features more. He's a bit rough around the edges but who isn't in this post apocalyptic hell?

"Hi," I breathe, breaking the quiet. Tommy doesn't speak, just opens his arms and it's all I need. I let my gun and bag fall to the muddy floor, ignoring Joel's grumbles as I'm sprinting to Tommy. I throw myself into his welcoming arms, wrapping my legs around his waist and arms around his shoulders as I bury my face in his neck. 

"Oh love," He coos, a calloused hand carding through my hair while the other hold me up by my waist, “Where have you been?”

It seems to trigger something in me so much so I’m pulling away enough to look at him. Before I really process it I’m slapping him, “Where have I been?! Where did you go?!” 

Tommy doesn’t reply, sea green eyes brightening as he just grips my chin between his thumb and forefinger guiding my lips to his. It’s as if no time has passed, except the slight graze of his beard is a new feeling but his lips… they taste like home and like a time before this. 

“Ahem!” Joel clears his throat and Tommy sets me back on my feet. He picks up my pack, Joel already having grabbed my gun before it gets water damage. 

“Come on, I bet you’re all hungry.” Tommy grabs my hand in his before guiding us past the gate and into Jackson. It’s breath taking, like stepping into the past. There’s electricity and people are going about their days as if there isn’t a threat of the cordyceps outside of the walls. Not a lot seems to have changed except there’s stables, gardens and farm areas from what I can see. 

“Fucking starving!” Ellie replies, pocketing her gun and ignoring the pointed look Joel sends her way, “So you’re the famous Tommy.” 

“Famous huh?” Tommy grins that boyish grin at her and she laughs a little, “I hope just good stuff.” 

“The idiot younger brother who disappeared one night and would radio in every three months or so and the man I would sacrifice myself for,” Ellie begins listing all the things Joel and I have called Tommy, “The man I set to marry; the younger brother; the wilder brother; the love of my life-“ 

“Okay you can shut up now,” Joel speaks gruffly as if feeling my embarrassment because they’re all things I’ve never actually said to Tommy. We were. Heading to engagement territory before he disappeared from the QZ with a bunch of others. 

Tommy doesn’t speak, just grips my hand tighter as he guides us to a bar called the Tipsy Bison. It’s almost overwhelming stepping inside to the busy bar after it being the just the three of us for months. There’s music playing and people are dancing, lively chatter is heard from the bar and people are watching as Tommy leads us to one of the only empty booths. From the looks of it everyone knows this is his booth. I have to remind myself we’re in his town. 

“Beer?” Maria asks as we sit down, Joel and Ellie opposite me and Tommy. 

“Yes please.” Ellie chirps up. 

“Non alcoholic for us two, she’s fourteen.” I interject and Ellie just pouts causing Tommy to chuckle and a smile to tug at the corner of Maria’s lips. 

“Alright, two beers and two non alcoholics coming right up.” She nods before heading for the crowded bar. Tommy doesn’t waste any time pulling me to his chest, holding me close as socially acceptable. I just interlock our fingers, squeezing his hand and letting my head rest back against his shoulder, my eyes slipping shut as I just take in the sounds of life and joy. 

“Hey sweetheart, no falling asleep yet,” Tommy presses a kiss to my temple and I just let out a grumble, turning my face into the crook of his neck because I’m exhausted. I’d rather sleep than eat right now. 

The familiar smell of pizza fills my senses and I’m salivating, debating to take back whether I’d prefer to sleep because opening my eyes we’re greeting by a giant sharing pizza. Ellie’s eyeing it like a starved gazelle and I realise Ellie’s never had pizza before. 

“What is this?” She reaches for a slice, subsequently burning her fingers.

“This, kiddo, is a pizza. One of the best things to be ever invented.” Joel’s loosened up a bit and he actually looks happy and relaxed, much like before the outbreak. I can imagine Sarah sitting where Ellie is and can almost forget there is an apocalypse happening. Sarah would be proud of how far Joel has come since 2013. 

“Dig in before it gets cold,” Tommy’s nudging me and I reach for a slice, groaning as the flavours burst from the first bite having missed the taste of any food other than beef jerky. Oh god it’s orgasmic and I know my sounds have an effect on Tommy because he’s gripping my thigh under the table as if warning me. 

Ellie and Joel are also eating like starved animals, none of us having had pizza since the outbreak or ever in Ellie’s case. 

“We are having more of this shit, like so much more!” Ellie talks around a mouthful and I’d scold her but she just seems too happy. This, I could so get used to this but I can’t help feeling guilty because Sarah should be here too. Ellie and Sarah would get on so well; they’d drive Joel crazy but the soft look he gives Ellie now is the same one he used to give Sarah.

“‘M tired Tommy,” I whine quietly once I’m full, leaning against Tommy again and ready to fall asleep. Ellie’s also yawning, pretending to not be tired even though her eyes are fluttering shut before she shakes her head to wake her up.

“Okay sweetheart,” He shifts me so I have to sit up so he can squeeze past me, “I’ll go get Maria so she can show Joel and Ellie where they’ll be staying.” 

“O-okay.” I reluctantly let his hand go and watch as he disappears into the crowd, only to reappear a few moments later with Maria following. They’re talking and she’s nodding, obviously his right hand woman and it makes me a little jealous honestly. 

“Joel, Ellie if you follow Maria, we’ll come find you in the morning and give you the grand tour of Jackson.” Tommy tell the pair, helping me out of the booth. The cold air wakes me up a little and it’s pleasantly nice as Tommy begins to guide me in the opposite direction to my two companions. 

“Wait!” Ellie’s sprinting over and wrapping her arms tightly around my waist as if I’m going to disappear so I gently pull her away enough to cup her face in my hands and make her look at me. 

“I’ll be here in the morning, I promise.” I tell her, noticing the panic in her eyes as she grips the sleeves of my jacket, “I need you to keep Joel out of trouble for me, damn cowboy attracts it like a magnet don’t he.” She giggles at that, hugging me tightly once more. 

“I’ll throw a fucking sandwich at you if you’re gone tomorrow.” She threatens, throwing me back to the subways station we were camping in near the beginning of the journey. I just laugh and kiss her hair before she scrambles back to follow Joel and Maria. 

“Throw a sandwich?” Tommy raises an eyebrow at me as he captures my hand in his, leading the way to his house. It’s amazing compared to where I’ve been sleeping the last few months, everything looking so loved and homey as we step inside. It’s so Tommy and my heart swells when I see a few photos of us on the mantle piece, a small chuckle escaping my lips at the one of the four of us. Tommy’s giving me a piggyback ride while Joel is covering Sarah’s eyes and we’re all laughing and happy, unaware of our futures. 

“Did you ever find anyone else?” I ask cautiously as Tommy leads me upstairs to his room. It makes him stop in place, turning to look at me with a mixture of hurt and surprise on his face, “Because there was nothing other than you Tommy.” 

“Sweetheart,” He makes me face him when we’re in his bedroom, “It has always been you. I would never date anyone else.” 

“I- I didn’t mean just date…” I say quietly, looking anywhere but him. 

“Darlin’” That southern twang makes me weak at the knees still, “Unless you count my hand as cheating, no, I haven’t been with or thought of anyone else.” 

“Tommy,” I grab his wrist as he goes to get undressed for bed, making him glance back at me with the same soft look he used to give me when I’d call his name when seeing him, “I love you.” 

I’m suddenly being swept off of my feet and thrown on the bed that feels like heaven compared to the forest floor but I don’t get much time to take it in because Tommy’s hovering over me, “You don’t know how long I have waited to hear that.” He growls, marking my neck with open mouthed kissed, “I love you too.” He punctuates every word with a cheeky bite. I feel like they’re going to leave marks and that Tommy knows that from the way he pulls back enough to meet my gaze with that stupid boyish grin that has me melting into his grip. 

“‘M tired,” I rub my eyes, yawning and Tommy kisses my cheek before climbing off me. I follow suit, kicking my boots off then going to unbutton my jeans when Tommy’s hand bat mine away. He crouches in front of me as he pulls my jeans down my legs, the fabric stinging my cold and aching skin but it’s soon placated by gentle and loving kisses. He pushes me to sit back down on the bed by my hips so he can get the jeans off of me before he nudges my legs apart with his nose. I oblige, swallowing as he kisses up my thighs stopping at the edges of my panties before going to do the same the other side. 

I let out a whine because the man knows exactly what he’s doing to me, he can probably see at this point. Oh yeah he definitely knows how turned on I am when teeth graze over the fabric of my slowly soaking panties. He slides his hands up my thighs, fingers playing with the waistband as if giving me time to protest or stop him. Like that’s going to happen. 

Oh fuck! He wastes no time once my panties hit the floor, licking the length of my folds. It sends a jolt through me and my thighs instinctively clamp around his head which has him chuckling and prying them apart again as he heads for my clit. 

“Fuck, Tommy,” A hand finds his hair as he sucks to distract me from the two fingers that are suddenly filling me up. I can’t stop the sounds or the way my back arches as he curls his fingers just right, hitting that bundle of nerves. I’m so sensitive and strung up I’m not going to last very long and Tommy knows it from the way he smiles. The bastard has the audacity to bite my thigh before returning to eating me out like I’ve never been eaten out before, “T-Tommy, fuck… I’m-“

“I know darlin’. I know,” He soothes, his other hand that isn’t currently inside me gripping my waist hard enough to leave a delicious bruise, fingertips digging in. It doesn’t take much more for me to start fluttering around his fingers which he suddenly replaces with his tongue. That alone has me coming undone, edges of my vision whiting out as he guides me through the high. 

“You’re so perfect,” Tommy sits back on his heels, watching me as I try catching my breath as sleep starts to claw its way back into my state of mind. It’s as if he can read my mind because he’s cleaning me up with a shirt that was on the floor before cleaning his own face, “Lemme find you something clean to wear sweetheart.” 

“But you-“ 

“We have all the time in the world,” He shakes his head, holding out an oversized shirt for me to change into. I do just that, relishing in how it smells just like Tommy: hay; gunpowder and something sweet. The combination of the soft bed and Tommy’s body curling around my back has my eyes slipping shut, not failing to hear his quiet whisper, “Never leave me again.” 

[pumpkinstrawbrew]

Out of curiosity, thoughts on Scriddler?

i thought, that one day, i’d might be asked this lol. 

i’ll be frank, the nature of popularity of that ship kinda confuses me to this day. not in irked sense, i just generally was surprised to see so much stuff for them. like, i don’t remember them interacting in anything, that i’ve watched / read. which tbh, doesn’t say much, since i’m very picky about what i engage with, when it comes to superhero media outlets. so maybe, it did happen somewhere an’ i just didn’t see it. i remember casually browsing a few of accs, who shipped it, curious, if they had some specific comic strip or cut scenes from the game, which depict those two together an’ that’s what lead them to idea of this ship. but i saw nothing of sorts. an’ it’s not a problem, naturally. but for me, an outsider, who ships a completely different thing, it was a bit puzzling. just how it came to be this broad, if there wasn’t any huge kickstarter. or well, not the one, that i’ve glimpsed. 

either way, i’ll begin with saying scriddler doesn’t personally work for me. nor does it have smth, that i seek in my otps. with this in mind, i have no intention to belittle anyone with what will follow below. it’s just my own whimsical outlook on it, based on many individual criteria, that might be vastly different for others, who see things in that ship, that i’m incapable of. similar to how i see things in my rare ships, that i know would make many folks quirk a brow as to why ‘that’s even a thing’. 

now, about jon an’ edward. a pair that might sound good on paper, depending on what you include in said paper, but for me it’s like putting a hardcore dnd fan into a pit with hardcore bookworm, an’ expect them to get along swell, just bc they’re both outcasts. ignoring how the first one is more show-offish an’ loudly proud of his abilities, an’ the other one is kinda shut-in with occasional god complex lol. one of them tends to throw ugly tantrums, the other one prone to meltdowns. both are sociopaths, who have little understanding of ‘how to human’, unless they need to pretend *for small periods of time*. 

in short, i cannot see them having enough patience to handle one another in almost 95% of their interactions. i can’t imagine antisocial, snappy jonathan to be able to tolerate edward’s endless need for praise an’ attention. more so, i struggle to picture jon even knowing how to react in those situations, or being willing to put aside a book, an’ listen to nygma’s newest scheme, if he’s not in the mood for it. or see edward going along with whatever crane has cooked up *some fear plan*, if he already has his own in drafting. it doesn’t help, that they’re also a slightly different ‘breed’ of villains too. 

indeed, they’re both operate more on intellectual level vs brute force *not without use of it tho*, but where riddler’s tick is the actual level of intelligence or level of knowledge, the scarecrow is a mindrape kind of villain. nygma likes building traps an’ labyrinths, giving quests an’ a chance to ‘win’, even if it’s all be a faux in the end. jonathan, on other hand, is mix between being sadistic an’ pragmatic. they both want / need a very different things *usually*, when they kick bruce or whoever else around. or in other words, they’re kinda useless to each other’s obsessions an’ it’s hard to imagine them functionally combining their efforts, without smth going wrong or one of them getting pissed off at the other. which was one of few reasons why jonathan got fed up with the joker, when they had their team-up *during the bane era*. crane doesn’t play well with others, an’ he also has a short temper, when someone keeps doing things, that he views as useless or silly. an’ nygma being prideful as he is, most likely won’t just swallow jon’s critic, esp bc he would have some of his own stored as well. neither of them is actually a team player. so here goes their supposed villain team up for me, like even from a technical aspect. they don't strike me as villains, who can have buddy-buddy relationships, even in part bc of their 'big personalities'.

an’ circling back to their obsessions, it’s pretty much a core of their persona. the root of their disease an’ addiction. an’ also a thing, that usually pushes them to engage with anyone in a meaningful way at all *at the very beginning, at least* an' it’s kinda clinical in that regard too. i don’t think that jon would be engaged with riddler’s fear in any intimate fashion, for one. i don’t think, that past abuse or trauma or hardship is enough for him to get obsessed with a person. in fact, i think that he usually simply gets pleasure from making someone feel awful as simple as it sounds. unless, they’re his bully or someone, who has wronged him, he seems to just forget about those, who he hurt along the way. it’s unflattering aspect of the antisocial brain, but that’s just how it is. nygma’s past won’t be able to be memorable for him, partly due to crane’s general lack of ability to relate to others, without it being very heavily connected to his own woes. an’ even then, he tends to misunderstand it. an’ in return, doubt that nygma would understand why jonathan was that affected by bullying, considering that in edward’s eyes, it’s an attention *no matter what kind* an’ attention is good. after all, he did say that people usually literally looked past him, not even jocks were interested in tormenting him, until he became smth ‘worthy’ of their aggression. so from his perspective, he might think that jon being dramatic about it, since crane was on opposite side of the issue, he always attracts attention to himself. a very bad, bad kind, but attention anyhow. meanwhile, nygma *in his own eyes* has to fight tooth an’ nail to get any. an’ it might start as one time fight, but it will be an always looming issue, that eventually would blow into their faces. there is no denial, that it played a huge part of what made them so dependent on their gimmicks in the first place. the way the world around them engaged with them or in nygma’s case, the way, it did not. so yeah,  it’ll be a big ole mess, an’ neither would be able to navigate such a situation. 

from what i saw, people tend to depict them as ‘two evil old men in relationships’, an’ it feels like they both more put together in those set ups, than they usually are. or like jon is very receptive toward edward’s attempt to befriend him, an’ nygma actually is pretty good at figuring out what scarecrow might like an’ what not. an’ the problem with it is that i don’t see edward being this thoughtful about anyone. ever. period. in most cases, his disorder just won’t let him be this considering, even if he would have wanted to. like, even if we take newest batman 2022 movie, in there riddler is very-very delusional about the bat, an’ it doesn’t even occur to him, that bruce might have different needs / goals vs what edward imagined him to lol. an’ jonathan is this, but even worse. he openly tends to dehumanise an’ objectify others, seeing them only as tools or props to get what he wants. i don’t think that such person would suddenly act differently around nygma, who on top of everything is also clingy an’ needy. for jonathan, who doesn’t have any experience with companionship at all, an’ who lived most of his life alone, that’s be overwhelming an’ confusing, an’ also annoying. whatever good qualities they have, an’ whatever we love them for, it’s given that both jon an’ nygma be hard to be around in long term, an’ would at times get hella unpleasant too. picturing them trying to mend things in 'normal' ways, or talking about it like normal people is smth that i personally cannot invision at all. or in other words, from my perspective, they’re too mentally ill for each other. in fiction, it's often be a positive thing. like, that two mavericks with huge problems can make it work together, but my personal experiences pretty much prevent me from seeing it this way. unless, one of the two is at least somewhere leveled or tries to be, there is just no way for such relationships to hold on for too long. in jon's an' riddler's case, we talking about an actual extremes on top of all, so it's be even harder for one of them to pull up the other, when they themselves unwell. one might argue, that there is potential for them to make each other worse, then. but they already *objectively* suck on their own as people. the corruption only works if there is smth too corrupt to begin with. some versions of the scarecrow an' riddler are already too far gone, for anything else to make them suck more lol. an' once again, they don't share gimmick, they don't share worldview or have the same goals, so it's hard to picture them infecting the other with their own desease, so to speak.

there is kinda more, that i can say on the topic, but it’s getting hella long already, so i’d skip a few things an’ will go straight to my next point. i suppose, that i already gave an outline of why i cannot see them working together personality wise, so next i’d get to their general aesthetics or visuals. the surface stuff, if you may.

i love their general designs *some more than the others, naturally*. but when i look at them side by side, i’ll be honest, i just see two bottoms lol. an’ while yeah, there is such a thing as switching, i kinda rarely vibe with it. an’ with jon an’ edward, it’s just that. they're purebred bottom cocksuckers in my eyes. them havin’ twink on twink sex isn't very sexy or hot to me. i feel like they both would want or at least have that not-so-secret fantasy about being domed into ground by a 'superior man'. bottoms fighting each other about who should top is more of a comedy set-up in my eyes, than anything else. esp bc they both will be like 'you should top' vs 'i wanna top' lmao. i also will add, that i hc both edward an' jon as kinda shallow in sense of who they find attractive. i picture them pawing after men, who are *technically speaking* out of their league. my personal joke about them is that they're both middle aged virgins with hilariously high standards, who won't beat it just to anyone or anything. they pick misery over everything else lol.

an’ that’s all that i’ve got on the topic of scrridler, pretty much! hopefully, this mini essay did explain my view on the pair. an’ i also hope that it was at least, kind of entertaining to read as an outsider's pov. in the end, if you ship it, i do encourage you to just see this as some rando sharing their opinion an' nothing more.

[tellthatbrokebitch]

the premise, for those who don’t know the show castle: michelle “mike” wheeler is a famous horror author, murdery mystery type stuff. willow byers is a detective assigned to a murder case that mimics scenes from mike’s books. mike helps solve the case, is intrigued by willow, and decides her next book is going to be about a character based on willow. she uses her friendship with the mayor to invite herself along on all of willow’s cases, which willow is NOT happy about. they fall in love of course 🥰here is a snippet

Nor does she give into the urge to snatch every copy of the new book that she sees. She pre-ordered. It can wait.

Even if she’s dying to know–

Flashing her badge at one of the hovering waiters gives her an approximate location for her target, and she makes a beeline for the bar. At the far end, there’s a blonde girl who looks far too young for that glass of champagne that’s being nudged toward her – and, with their back to Willow, a tall woman in a burgundy dress, with a mass of thick black wavy hair haloed around her head.

As she approaches, she catches the tail end of the conversation. “Just once, I’d like someone to come up to me and say something new.”

Willow bites back a smile. She can certainly provide that. “Ms. Wheeler?”

“Where would you like it?” she’s already saying, turning around with a pen produced from somewhere, a broad smile on her face, when Willow holds up her badge.

“Detective Willow Byers, HPD. We need to ask you a few questions about a murder that took place earlier tonight.”

The blonde teen reaches around and plucks the pen from Wheeler’s frozen hand. She gives Willow a small, devilish grin before turning her gaze back onto Wheeler. “That’s new,” she quips before settling back onto her stool.

Willow has no idea who she is, but she likes her already.

-

An hour later, after letting their guest stew for a bit in an interrogation room while she gathers what she needs, Willow braces herself for a moment, calming her nerves with a deep breath, before finally entering the room herself.

“Ms. Wheeler,” she greets, closing the door behind herself and making her way around the table as she peruses the file in her hands. “You’ve got quite the rap sheet for a best selling author. Disorderly conduct, resisting arrest, public indecency…”

Wheeler shrugs. “I liked to have a bit of fun in my youth.”

“The last charge is from two years ago.”

A melodramatic gasp. “Are you calling me old, Detective?”

Willow ignores the borderline flirting tone. “But every time, the charges were dropped.” She snaps the folder closed and tosses it onto the table before finally settling down into the seat across from Wheeler.

The grin Wheeler flashes is dangerous. “What can I say? The mayor is a fan.” She leans across the table, settling into an unmistakably flirty tone as she says, “But if it makes you feel any better, I’d be happy to let you spank me.”

Willow's genial expression morphs into a smile of her own, dangerous in a completely different way. “Ms. Wheeler,” she begins, voice deceptively calm. “Maybe that kind of lazy half-assed flirting gets you somewhere with the socialites or your fangirls. But me? I’m a detective. I deal with people like you on a daily basis, and I’m very good at what I do. Now, we can either sit here while you lay some more pitiful one-liners on me, or you could help me catch a killer.”

Wheeler holds her gaze for another long moment, the beginnings of a sort of grudging respect in her eyes, then nods. “Okay.”

so in the show, the author character has a daughter and his mom lives with him, but in my version karen and holly move in with mike after karen divorces ted

[imtryingmybeskar]

Come Home Chapter Six. Joel Miller x F! Reader.

Welp, if you've made it this far thank you so much! The Joel stuff really kicks off from here (just in time for the start of the series!) and we see the first glimmers of hope for our reader.

Warnings for anxiety and a panic attack, past trauma, PTSD. And Joel being super sweet and caring despite the AWKWARD conversation.

Word count: 4946

Come Home

Chapter Six - Against The Grain

Joel’s face is concerned, the lines on his brow deepened by his furrowing. He’s never been this close and you’re suddenly very aware of the height difference between you.

“You okay?” he says without preamble. “I was knockin’ for quite a while.”

“Uh…ummm…yeah. Yeah I’m okay,” you manage to force out.

“You sure?” he presses, and when you look up at him you know he can see the spark of anxiety behind your eyes.

You blink. Sigh a breath. Force yourself to relax. “I’m fine,” you say, more assuredly.

“Well good,” Joel says somewhat distractedly. He’s not looking at your face, instead his gaze is fixed slightly lower and you don’t realise why until he speaks again, a slight levity to his tone this time. “Worried about a home invasion? I meant what I said you know, this is a nice neighbourhood.”

Shit. You hadn’t even realised you were still holding the kitchen knife. Or remembered the gun at your hip. And –

You press your lips together in embarrassment as you switch off your torch.

“Sorry,” you offer in a small voice. “Didn’t mean to blind you. Or threaten you.” Joel gives that sweet half smile you’ve come to enjoy, but before he can comment on your peculiarities you find yourself asking if he would like to come inside and move back into the house so he can do just that.

“Thank you,” he says gratefully. “The snow’s stopped but it’s still mighty cold.”

He steps inside and glances around – a habit you know very well is born less of curiosity and more of decades of needing to be cautious in new spaces. His gaze settles on the fire, then on the sofa where your book is placed precariously on one arm, and a small smile touches his lips again.

“Looks like you’re settlin’ in,” he remarks.

You shut the door behind him and gesture to the sofa. “Well, I’m trying,” you admit. “Please have a seat.”

The social nicety strikes you as both hollow and faintly ridiculous, but Joel inclines his head in thanks before sitting down and beginning to take off his coat. You cross to the kitchen and place the knife back in its allocated drawer before filling the kettle again and putting it back to boil on the hob.

“Do you want some tea?” you offer as you come back into the living room.

Joel turns to face you, and you’re struck by (and quite envious of) how comfortable he looks in this environment. His coat is now draped over the other arm of the sofa, his elbow resting on top of it, long legs stretched out in front of him. Without his layers he somehow looks even more broad than before – the soft looking green plaid of his shirt tight over his shoulders and upper arms. He’s rolled up his sleeves too, giving you a view of his muscular forearms and christ its been a long time since you’ve been intimate with anyone but you’re pretty sure you shouldn’t be this excited to see them.

He saves you from having to wonder if you’re staring at him as hard as you think you are by answering your question.

“Well, I hate to be a cheeky sonofabitch, but you wouldn’t have any coffee would you?” he asks. His tone is jovial and light, a jokingly knowing undertone to his words because…well…who the fuck had coffee any more?

“I uh…I do actually,” you admit. Shit. Maybe you like this guy even more than you thought. Why the fuck are you offering him your prized possession? Though it’s almost worth it at the astonished, wide-eyed look he gives you. He really is super fucking handsome. “But you have to earn it,” you blurt out. Heat rises to your cheeks almost immediately as he raises a quizzical eyebrow at you. Probably could have phrased that better.

“Excuse me?” he asks, his voice wiped of its joking tone.

“I didn’t mean…I mean…sorry,” you splutter. “That came out wrong. What I mean is, I have a favour to ask.”

Joel sits forward, those thick forearms now resting on his knees and he gives you a wary look as he responds. “Go on."

As you struggle to articulate your request you feel a fresh heat suffuse your face. This was excruciating. It would be an embarrassing situation with anyone, but you’re managing to be extra awkward around him and it feels like your skull is transparent and he can see your stupid burgeoning crush emblazoned across every part of your mind. It doesn’t help that he is so calm and self-assured. Every word, every mannerism speaks to supreme self-possession and it makes you even more flustered.

“I…will you…please…” You stutter yourself into silence and take a deep breath. He already thinks you’re rude and a moron. Might as well add “coward” to that tally against you. “Please could you come upstairs with me?” you ask calmly, looking firmly at the curtains behind him.

No! Shit! Add to that sentence! Complete that thought!

“To check the rooms!” you add hastily, your eyes widening as you finally look at him in horror. Yup. Adding “pervert” to that list too. Good going. “I just…I know it sounds ridiculous, because you’d know if you were living next door to infected or someone that shouldn’t be here but I need to check. And I’m not used to living in such a big space. I looked into most of the rooms but- “

Your stream of words suddenly runs dry as you realise how pathetic you sound. Wanting back up to explore your own house. How fucking ludicrous.

“Sure.” His voice is warm again, and you sigh as you relax into its gentle confidence.

“Thanks. Sorry.”

He shook his head and his dimple flashed briefly before he spoke. “Nothin’ to be sorry for. I get it. Me and Ellie, we’ve only lived here for six months or so. She’s the one lives in my garage and while she’s enjoyin’ havin’ her own space, I like havin’ her close if I’m honest. But the first few weeks we were here we slept in the livin’ room together. She took the sofa, I slept on the cushions from the other chairs. It just felt right to y’know? The beds were a nice novelty. Comfortable. Warm. But actually gettin’ to sleep in them? That was another matter altogether. The nightmares don’t stop just ‘cause you’re behind walls now. And I needed to know she was next to me just as much as she needed to know I was next to her. So…I get it. You do what you need to. I’m happy to help.”

You bite your lip hard to stop it wobbling. Sweet and kind as well as pretty. You kind of wish he’d been a dick to you instead. Then perhaps you could nip this crush in the bud before it really took hold.

“You wanna bring the knife along?” he asked, only a tiny hint of teasing in his tone.

“I think the gun will suffice,” you say as you give a watery little smile. “Besides, I just gotta outrun you, right?”

He chuckles as he stands up. “Long as I get my coffee before I succumb to any bites I’ll die a happy man,” he jokes. “Want me to go first?”

You shake your head. “No, thank you. Just…having someone else here is enough.”

He nods. “Well okay then. Lead the way.”

The light is still on at the top of the stairs so going up them is not as big an ordeal than before, even less so with Joel bringing up the rear, and you begin to feel foolish again as you climb. You should be able to do this alone. After surviving for so long, you should be able to do anything. But you can’t deny that you find his presence behind you extremely comforting.

“Does this place look anything like yours?” you ask as you crest the top step. The question is more to make conversation than for any burning desire to know what his house is like, a way to delay the anxieties that you’re still fighting to keep down.

“Pretty similar,” he replies as he walks up the final few stairs and sweeps the area with that practiced glance again. “Though I think mine was modernised more recently. The décor isn’t so…80s.”

There’s that slight tease to his tone again and it brings a smile to your face despite yourself.

“It is a little dated,” you agree as you gently scuff a foot along what you now realise is a pretty hideous coral coloured carpet, sending small puffs of dust into the air as you do. “But I can forgive almost anything for a roof that doesn’t leak and hot water for a shower.”

Joel huffs a soft laugh. “Ain’t nothin’ like that first one after bein’ on the road awhile.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” you reply distantly. Your voice sounds faint to your ears as you’re suddenly very aware that you haven’t bathed properly in a while. Cold weather and lack of plumbing at your cabin meant that the best you and Chris were usually able to manage were quick wipedowns with a flannel out of a bucket. Add to that spending the previous night in a barn and the killing of two relatively fresh infected the day before…God you must stink.

You bite your lip again as shame joins the simmering anxieties in your belly and threatens to spill hot tears down your cheeks. In this world, there weren’t many opportunities for glitz and glamour and dolling yourself up. The absence of mushrooms sprouting from your face was about as good as it got. But it was cruel, you thought, that you couldn’t even privately indulge in the stupid, dopey, soft feelings you suspect you’ve started to harbour for this man without being faced with what a disgusting mess you really were.

“You alright?” Joel asks, that low comforting rumble of his voice breaking into your thoughts, and you realise you must have been staring at the carpet all this time. You nod, still biting your lip, still not looking at him, not trusting yourself to speak right now as your throat is still tight with the humilation you feel.

“This it?” he asks as he gestures to the door ahead and you nod again, oddly thankful that he seems to have mistaken your embarrassed silence for fearful silence. It feels better somehow that he thinks you would be afraid of something that isn’t there rather than knowing you’re twisting yourself up about what he thinks of your currently lacking personal hygiene.

“Well…guns at the ready,” he quips, and this time his gentle humour does draw you and you look up at him with a small, shy smile.

Before you can psyche yourself up, before you can debate with yourself as to who should actually open up the room he’s past you, grasping the door handle firmly and removing all possibility of further chickening out. The feeble hall light isn’t nearly enough to penetrate the gloom and you automatically steel yourself for a potential fight before forcing yourself to relax.

Joel steps through the doorway and flicks the light on.

Or tries to. Even though he takes up a good deal of space in the frame, you can see that the room beyond remains stubbornly dark and a thin snaking of vindication that you had asked him to accompany you up here creeps through you. Since he’s not backing away you have to assume that once again, no one infected or otherwise has managed to conceal themselves in your house.

“No bulb," he mutters half to himself as he looks up at the light fitting. "I think we’re all clear,” he adds, and a wave of gratitude hits you at the seriousness of his tone. He really does understand. “But if you wanna pass me your torch I can take a proper look around?”

“That’s okay,” you reply hurriedly, not wanting him to think you were totally helpless. “I can do a little sweep myself.”

Joel steps inside the darkened room to give you space to follow and you immediately regret your decision. The light from the hallway barely penetrates past the door, and the curtains are already closed here, so not even the light of the moon can be seen. The whole area is made up of hues of grey, shadowy shapes made of deeper blackness the only things that stand out.

Swallowing your fear, you step inside the room and flick your torch back on, directing it at the floor so you don’t accidentally shine it at Joel again. The carpet here is a soft grey colour and whether that was how it looked originally, or the result of years of dust having settled into it you cannot tell. You raise the beam of light slowly up and it travels across to the curved wooden bottom of a rocking chair, the peeling paint that coats it some sort of light pastel shade under the dirt. The gleam of gloss paint. The skeletal nature of the slatted wooden back makes you uncomfortable in a way you can’t quite define, and that feeling grows and sharpens to something you do recognise when you see that the angled centre of a decrepit nursing pillow is hooked over one armrest.

You turn the beam away hurriedly, wanting to finish your investigation in a way that will be thorough enough that you can sleep at night, brief enough that unpleasant memories won’t have time to crowd you, and some way that doesn’t make you look even more jittery in front of Joel. Then you can get out of here and never open this door again. The torchlight sweeps up and over the walls, and now you can see the faded but still intact wallpaper that decorates the place – animated elephants holding umbrellas in primary colours as they frolick through raindrops and puddles. Cartoon toadstools with faces smiling back at you. The remains of some educational posters can be seen too; ABC’s, 123’s, farm animals and the noises they supposedly make.

A buzzing is surfacing in your ears, as if a swarm of angry hornets is closing in on your location. You can almost feel the vibration of it rattling through you, brimming in your skull and you grip the torch tighter as you swallow again around a dry mouth and a distinctly sickly feeling. That’s enough. You know what this place once was. Get out of here.

As you turn to do just that, the beam cuts across the space to your left and lands upon a crib, projecting shadows of the bars at its side hugely against the wall behind it. The sight is so stark that it halts you momentarily. A cage on wheels. The mobile of cartoon giraffes above it twists gently in the disturbed air from where you have come in. You can’t breathe. The corridor stretches away ahead of you as it does every night, as it always will, and you can’t breathe. The gas mask obscures your vision, narrowing it to a pinprick view, spores in the torchlight floating around you like dust motes in a sunbeam-

“Whoa, whoa, easy now.” A gentle voice. Strong arms. Warmth at your shoulders. “Look at me.”

All you can see is the carpet, a halo of light around your feet and you realise you’re bent double with your hands resting on your knees as you gulp for air.

He’s speaking again. His voice is coming from so far away, hidden behind the wall of buzzing. But its insistent, firm. Not inclined to take no for an answer. “I said look at me.”

Exhaling deeply one last time you draw yourself up and stand in front of him. He has one large hand on each of your shoulders, reassuring you with bodily contact, saturating you with his warmth. A tiny, stunted part of you wishes you could take more pleasure in his touch before the shame and sorrow begins to creep in, as it always does after one of these episodes. Feelings that you should be able to cope, that you’re being ridiculous, that you wouldn’t be surprised if he never wanted to see you again and that he would keep Ellie away from your weakness too.

You look up and his face fills your world. Those dark eyes, a strong curve to his nose, a whiskery chin. “You’re okay,” he’s saying. “Just look at me. Listen to my voice. Breathe.” Those are instructions you can obey. His face is so pleasant to look at, his voice rich and soothing. You can breathe. You do it all the time. In and out. In and out. You realise he’s the one speaking after a few moments. “In and out. That’s it. You’re doin’ great.”

Fuck all of this.

“What?” Joel is watching intently, the furrow back at his brow as he regards you, and you realise you must have spoken out loud. Oh well.

“Fuck all of this,” you enunciate quietly, as the whirl of anxiety and fear suddenly abandons you, leaving you feeling exhausted. A quizzical look passes over Joel’s face before it transmutes briefly to a piercing gaze, as if he is trying to get the measure of you. Then it softens to understanding and he nods.

“You wanna get outta here.” It’s a statement not a question and you nod tersely before breaking away from his soft grip and marching back out of the room and down the stairs on wobbly legs. You hear Joel close the door to the nursery before he follows you back down to the lower level of the house.

The kettle is just starting to whistle shrilly as you enter the kitchen once more. You had almost forgotten that coffees were on the agenda, but now find yourself grateful for the distraction and begin to prepare the cups with shaking hands.

It didn’t exactly come as a surprise that one of the rooms was for a child. After all, you knew before you chose this house that these had been family homes. And it wasn’t like you hadn’t seen a thousand kid’s rooms over the years – some abandoned, some with horrendous and heartbreaking scenes within. But having it so close at hand was hard. You didn’t want a reminder like that. Not in your own house, your supposed fresh start. Not when you’d been congratulating yourself on starting to put the nightmares to bed. It seemed unfair that you had survived so long and yet could so easily be derailed by such a seemingly small thing.

“Hey.” Joel’s warm, bassy tones come from somewhere behind you and break into your thoughts. “Was uh…was that what you were expectin’ to find in there?”

“It wasn’t a bloater. So it’s a good day,” you shrug, keeping your back to him and your voice carefully neutral as you avoid the question.

You hear him huff a gentle laugh. “That’s true,” he agrees. “But uh…you okay?”

“Yep,” you answer, trying to put a note of finality into the short reply. Time to change the subject. “How do you take your coffee?” you ask as you grab the silver tin from the cupboard above you and measure some of the contents carefully into two mugs.

“Black. No sugar. Wait, do we even have any sugar in Jackson right now? It doesn’t matter. No sugar.” Though you hadn’t known him for very long, you had still never heard such excitement in Joel’s voice before. Clearly this coffee was very, very dear to him.

“Black, no sugar,” you confirm as you turn and hand him the steaming mug.

He takes the mug and inhales deeply over it. His eyes close in bliss and a tiny smile quirks the corner of his lips. “Oh man,” he sighs longingly. “Its been a while since I had any kind of coffee and this smells amazing. Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” you reply, raising your own mug toward him. Before he can ask you anything more about what had just transpired in the nursery you jump in with “Come sit down, get comfortable. And then you can tell me what your Starbucks order used to be. I reckon you’re a triple caramel shot half foam extra whipped cream sprinkles on top kinda guy.”

You make your way over to the couch and place your coffee on the table before sitting in the seat opposite where he had vacated. Not too close. But close enough. You hear him chuckle as he moves to take his spot once again.

“You got me,” he grins. “I loved those sugar monstrosities. And Sarah, she-“

He draws up short, his eyes flickering with sadness and his body language becoming immediately closed off as his words abruptly stop. With the gentlest of touches he absent-mindedly caresses the face of the watch on his wrist and its only now that you notice that its broken - cracked and chipped and with two big holes marring the plastic covering. Shit. You hadn’t meant to unleash any kind of painful memories. But that’s all that most people had these days. A few seconds of awkward silence tick by as you desperately try to think of something, anything to steer the conversation back into lighter topics, but he beats you to it when he shakes his head almost imperceptibly and speaks again.

“I’m Joel, by the way. I know we’ve seen each other a coupla times but I don’t think I ever actually introduced myself. As mentioned before my lodger, guitar student, and all round pain in my ass is Ellie.”

He holds out his hand and you take it, noting how it completely swamps your own. His palms are warm and dry, his skin softer than you’d expected, fingers long and thick and – fuck you should be saying something right now, instead of fixating on his hands. You open your mouth to introduce yourself but he’s speaking again.

“I know who you are. Maria briefed me and Tommy about your group last night. We’ve had some trouble here recently. Its why you were guarded overnight. Nothin’ personal. We just can’t afford to take risks with what’s been built here. So…Maria has said that when people arrive they need to be screened more thoroughly for the time bein’.”

“What kind of trouble?” you ask, frowning. “If you can tell me. I know its none of my business really.”

“It’s your business as much as anyone’s if you’re gonna be livin’ here with us,” Joel says gently, and “But uh…can I have my hand back first? I really wanna drink this coffee.”

“Oh shi-“ you exclaim as you hurriedly release him. “Sorry.”

“You can stop apologisin’,” he says kindly. “I know what its like after bein’ outside for a while, but take my word for it – you can relax here.” He picks up the mug before adding in a quieter voice, “That’s easier said than done, I know. But if you do wanna talk about anything you can. Do you…do you wanna talk about what happened upstairs?”

A hot lance of anger pierces you through. “You wanna talk about your watch?” The bitter, spiteful, defensive words slip out before you can stop them and you press your lips together as if you could take them back if only you could make your mouth small enough. Fuck. You hadn’t meant to be so cruel when he had been nothing but kind. His eyes immediately narrow, darken in anger and his mouth twists as his jaw sets angrily. You drop your eyes to your lap in shame.

“I’m sorry,” you say again. “And this time I do need to say it. That was rude. And unnecessary.” You sigh, trying to find the words that might fix this. “I-I can’t talk about it. Its not even about wanting to I…I just can’t. But thank you. For not judging me. I’ll sleep better thanks to you.” You hope the lie will help him feel better.

Silence reigns for a few moments, then when he speaks again Joel’s voice is soft once more and you risk raising your eyes to his face. It’s closed, pinched with sorrow, but no longer angry and that's probably more than you deserve.

“Well I’m sorry too. I shouldn't have pushed you on it. And it was a dumb thing to ask anyway. After tellin’ you you’re safe now and to relax…no one needs to relive…” He trails off, then begins again. “Guess I’m just used to tryin’ to pry out how Ellie’s feelin’ about...well anything. The world’s all but ended but teenagers are still the same.” He chuckles hollowly before taking a swig of coffee.

“So…what happened? Here I mean,” you enquire, trying to move on from your indiscretions.

“Had a group of twelve come in a coupla months back. In a bad way. All clean of infection but malnourished and…well you know what its like. Some of ‘em wouldn’t talk, wandering around like…well like zombies. The Romero kind, y’know.” It’s a feeble joke but you smile nonetheless. Perhaps he could forgive you for the awful thing you had said.

“Maria put ‘em up, gave ‘em food, welcomed them. A lot like you, except they were put in houses straight away, allowed to keep their weapons, not monitored. I guess they thought we were soft, livin’ here behind our walls with our electricity and supplies. The third night they were here they tried to take the place by force. Twelve against a whole town. Doesn’t seem like good odds. But they had the advantages of surprise and desperation. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you, that can be mighty effective."

You nod your understanding and agreement and he continues. “They killed five of our people before we got ‘em under control. Three of theirs were killed in the fighting, the other nine…well me ‘n Tommy drove ‘em a hundred miles or so out and dropped em in a town out there.”

“You let them go?” you ask, a little incredulously.

“Maria and Tommy did. I was all for disposin’ of them there and then, but they insisted.” He took another swig of coffee, and you followed suit. “Don’t think they’ll be botherin’ us again though. We made a helluva noise as we left. And its hard to run when you’re hogtied and blindfolded. Still…” He trailed off again and you found yourself agreeing with his unspoken sentiment. It was always better to be sure. “But that’s why I near broke down your door earlier. Needed to know you weren’t uhhh…up to anything.”

“Oh, I won’t be causing trouble,” you confirm. “I know a good thing when I see it. And I barely know the others. I just met them on the road here.”

“Well, I can’t lie. The coffee has gone a long way to get you into the good books,” he twinkled. “And Ellie seems to like you.”

“She seems sweet,” you reply.

“Don’t let those innocent eyes fool ya,” Joel chuckles. “When I said she’s a pain in my ass I meant it.” His eyes soften further as he speaks about her, his love and affection for the girl plain to see upon his grizzled face. “Speaking of…” He drains the last of his coffee, stands and stretches. “I’d better get back. If I don’t cook, she doesn’t eat. Too used to living out of tins.” You stand too, suddenly struck shy at how close and imposing he is in front of you.

“It was nice to have you here,” you say, and find yourself meaning it as more than a mere pleasantry. “Come by again if you want. Though I can’t promise coffee every time!”

He quirks a thoughtful eyebrow and raises his eyes to the ceiling, tapping his finger on his chin as if deep in contemplation. “Without the coffee…I’ll have to think about it,” he replies, but you can hear the joking in his tone. He puts on his coat and you walk him to the door. The icy blast of frigid winter air that invades as you open it makes you shiver and feel extremely grateful for the strength of the four walls around you and the fire you have built.

As he steps over the threshold Joel turns back to you, his face serious once more. “Are you sure you’ll be alright?” he asks, and the grave concern in his voice sends a flood of warmth through your chest. You don’t know. You just don’t know if you’ll be alright. But he has Ellie to think of, and himself. He doesn’t need to worry about you too.

“I’ll be fine,” you say, hopeful that you’re being truthful. “You’ve helped me out a lot. Thank you.”

The house feels much emptier without him, but the warmth his care and empathy have inspired linger, and you find yourself with a small smile upon your face as you settle back into the cosiness of your sofa and open your book again.

“Well, that’s what neighbours are for,” he replies more cheerily. “I’ll see you around.” And with a final nod he departs from your porch and heads back to his own house. You watch him go, raise an arm in acknowledgement when you see him open the front door, his silhouette stark against the lights inside his own home.

Next chapter

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[servants-hall]

The TGA parts below:

DEADLINE: In the finale of The Gilded Age Season 2, the moment where the tables turn and Ada (Cynthia Nixon) becomes the one effectively in charge, since she has the money now and will be paying the staff, what a moment that was for Agnes. How will she handle that going forward?

BARANSKI: Agnes’s world from day one, the arrival of her niece, the earth, the world, the ground, was always moving underneath her feet in a way that she was never on solid ground from the first episode of the first season, because of the arrival of the neighbors across the street, and then the arrival of the niece. But with Ada, with the second season, you have the person closest to me and dearest to me falling in love, getting married, moving away, and then Agnes is having to somehow rise to the occasion because I love her so much and accept that. But then I lose all my money, and she inherits money. It’s just too delicious. It’s all in one season. I don’t know how Julian packed it all in, but it was a banquet for me as an actress, because when you have a character that’s that rigid and haughty, and has such a firm sense of herself and what her world is, and you just see so many cracks occurring in her world, it’s funny, and it’s sad, and it’s very dramatic.

DEADLINE: It made me think of Diane Lockhart a little bit, because they are both women who are utterly in control of themselves and they both lose their money and carry on pulling it together. You can’t knock these women down, and I love that.

BARANSKI: You can’t, no. It’s a study. It’s funny you say that because I was thinking of the similarities of Diane and Agnes. The world around them, the world that they know, that they respect, that they’ve adhered to, with Diane it was the legal world, the rule of law. And the political world, the world that she believed in. You watch her struggle to keep her balance in a world where the guardrails are coming off, and it is true of Agnes. The society in which she is living is changing so rapidly, and inside her own house with the arrival of her niece, who’s this young feisty woman, and her own sister. That’s inside her house domestically, but then her outer world, the people across the street are changing her world. And how do people like that, women like that, keep their integrity and keep their sense? How do they survive that? It’s been wonderful to play both roles for that reason.

DEADLINE: It’s such an accolade to women throughout history because you see these characters, regardless of the period, who are essentially the steel spine of their society and their families, or the company where they work, and they are these unsung heroes that women have so often been.

BARANSKI: Yeah. I often say that I’m playing a lot of Agnes as my mother. My mother grew up in the Depression, and she actually told me they did stuff newspapers in their shoes and walked to school in Buffalo, New York, if you know Buffalo winters. And she had to walk home for lunch and eat jelly sandwiches every day for years. And she fell in love and married a man who went off to fight World War II. And when he came home, she wanted to be a homemaker and a mother, and my father died when I was eight years old. She had two kids to raise. She didn’t even know how to drive a car. She had to look for work. She had to begin her life again, like Diane, and she was one of the strongest women. She survived three different bouts of cancer. Lung cancer, breast cancer, and lymphoma, and she just went through whatever treatments she had to go through. She lived to 85, and she just played the hand she was dealt. And she was strong, and she had a great sense of humor. She was a tough old broad, and Julian loves tough old broads. He writes those women and he respects them.

[...]

DEADLINE: I know that you met Julian at an awards show and got talking about the Gilded Age as an era before this show came about.

BARANSKI: Well, I so love Downton Abbey, and I had heard somewhere in the ether of showbiz gossip that Julian wanted to do an American version. And after one of my many Emmy losses, at an HBO party, he was sitting there and I approached him. And I spoke to him about it, and I said, “I’m married to a man, my late husband, was a Drexel from the Drexel family, and that was, of course, one of the New York aristocratic Gilded Age families. I began talking to him about it, and we had the longest conversation. And I didn’t know Julian then. Talk about manifestation! All those years later I get a call saying, “Julian has written this show for HBO, and they’re offering you this.” I was the first person to be offered a role, and at the time, I was committed to The Good Fight. So, I was working for another company. I was working for CBS and Paramount Plus, and they didn’t want to share me because it meant possible overlapping. You couldn’t be the lead in one show for one network and a lead in another. They just didn’t allow that. I wrote to the head of Paramount Plus, and I said, “This is an opportunity of a lifetime. I’ve spent years of my life as an actress training to do that kind of a role and because of the nature of only filming a half a year with The Good Fight, that means I have a lot of time off. And what do I do with that time? Now I’m in the prime of my career.” Anyway, it was a very heartfelt letter and two days later they let it happen. He let me go to do both… It was just back-to-back, but it’s what I call a champagne problem. Oh my gosh, I’ve got two shows, not one.

DEADLINE: You’re shooting The Gilded Age Season 3 right now. Can you hint at all where Agnes is going?

BARANSKI: Well, she has to cope, doesn’t she? She’s suddenly not the head of the household, which you can tell from the way Season 2 ended, that this proud haughty lady who was used to being number one is suddenly not that. So that fall from grace and that fall from power, that’s always such a delicious thing to play, and the fall of a King is just as exciting as the rise. So it makes for a lot of humor, I think, her having to eat humble pie. It’s as eventful as Season 2, because Season 1 was largely establishing all those characters. It was a lot of exposition, but I think the reason Season 2 was so exciting to people is they were already invested in these characters, they knew the world of The Gilded Age and they were ready to go with the high drama. So that’s pretty much continuing into Season 3. It’s amazing to me how popular and how invested the public is since the second season. If you think about it, really, you could do this show for 10 years because it’s all American history and how this world was. America was changing so rapidly during these years. I mean, it could take you into the beginning of the 20th century. It’s just thrilling.

DEADLINE: So you would, in theory, do this for as long as Julian wants to make it?

BARANSKI: In a word, yes. It shoots in Brooklyn. She’s a magnificent character. There are all kinds of places you could take her. As I said, there’s so many narratives he could spin because it’s these characters living through a turbulent and transformative time in American history. And I love my colleagues. I adore Cynthia. I mean, she’s just the best acting pal.

DEADLINE: Right, you’ve known her forever, since you played mother and daughter on stage in The Real Thing in 1984.

BARANSKI: Yes, and all of us are all these great theater actors. I mean, you walk in the hair and makeup trailer and it’s like everybody’s won a Tony Award, or two or three. It’s delicious stuff.

[artknifeandglue]

as shattered stars shine: DVD commentary (3/12)

It is remarkably easy, the transition from dancing around Harry to whatever this is that they’ve got going. Eggsy makes himself at home in Harry’s office as always, sits there with his laptop or folder of readings or phone, stays until the evening sun paints the sky golden yellow and starts its descent towards the horizon. As always, he walks in step with Harry through the brightly lit corridors, stands patiently in wait for the shuttle, slips into the seat opposite Harry at dinner. What isn’t the same: the step he takes to close the distance between him and Harry, the warmth of Harry’s arm around his waist or shoulders, the fleeting goodbye kisses on Harry’s doorstep or his own. The world keeps turning, the stars keep shining in their places; here by the fireplace in Harry’s office, Eggsy sits in the armchair, cup of tea warming his hands while his second chance frowns at Bors’ latest mission report. This is worth a thousand souls, a thousand of him, a thousand times over.

The mundane is worth the extraordinary, or something something, I don’t know. At risk of sounding faux-poetic, I do think the small everyday moments of bliss are most precious, especially for Eggsy, who’s lost them once and probably didn’t have all that many of them to begin with.

“Hello, handsome,” he drawls, “come here often?”

Most unbelievable of all is how Harry leans forward in his chair and narrows the distance between them, resting his hands just within reach of Eggsy’s. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m afraid I’m already taken."

“Shame,” Eggsy shrugs, though the grin he tries to suppress makes it to his face anyway. “Lucky guy, landing a bloke as fit as you.”

Harry reaches forward to put a hand over Eggsy’s, lifting the other to cup Eggsy’s cheek. “He’s quite the catch himself, actually.”

Any excuse to write stupid-ass cringey boyfriends sickeningly in love.

He’ll never get used to this, he thinks wildly, this ease of getting close enough to feel the heat radiating off Harry, to see the pretty curl of each dark eyelash, to be near enough to hear Harry murmur words of affection that make his heart beat a giddy rhythm against the walls of his ribcage. He’ll never get used to this, and he’ll never know how to live without this ever again, because how is he supposed to find a way to live without the knowledge of what Harry’s broad palm feels like against his skin?

He won’t, Eggsy thinks. And if he plays his cards right, he won’t have to.

Foreshadowing! But also, I do think being with your soulmate (whatever definition that word takes, platonic or romantic or anything) changes you in utterly irreversible ways just because there’s no one quite like that person ever again. Maybe I’m just a hopeless-romantic aromantic, I dunno.

“How,” Merlin demands, “did you manage to fuck up stealing?”

“AirTags don’t usually come with explosives built in!”

Headcanon from Kingsman: The Golden Circle: Eggsy’s being entirely sincere when he says “You know, I really don’t have as much experience with all this drug stuff as people think.” I think people in-universe probably make assumptions about how extensive Eggsy’s criminal background is, when he’s probably just a hell of a pickpocket and nothing else. I can’t remember where I read on Tumblr (probably?) someone suggesting that maybe he took the fall for a friend r.e. a drug charge, but that sounds like something he’d do. Quite funny for even Merlin to go “yeah okay we’ll send the thief to go steal shit, he’ll be just fine” only for it to not be fine.

As the last man keels over with his throat open and bleeding out, Harry straightens up and begins dusting plaster and gunpowder off his jacket, and Eggsy lowers his gun to stare. There are too many alarms going off around them and if they don’t get going now, there’ll be another fucking shootout and another report they’ll both have to write, but Harry looks brilliant like this, put-together and proper even with dust in his hair and on his suit and still devastatingly handsome. “We should go,” Harry says. When Eggsy doesn’t respond, he looks up and frowns. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Eggsy grins. “Anyone told you how hot you are?”

Harry rolls his eyes as he steps closer. “You’re incorrigible.” Yet he wraps an arm around Eggsy’s waist anyway and tugs him in, pressing their chests together, his heart beating strong against Eggsy’s ribcage as Eggsy laughs against his collarbone. In a few seconds, there are going to be bullets, and there is going to be hell from Merlin later for wasting precious getaway time like this, but right now Eggsy thinks only of tipping his head up enough to press his lips to the faintest hint of stubble on Harry’s jaw.

“We should move,” Harry murmurs, but he doesn’t let go. Eggsy buries his face into Harry’s shoulder, breathes in the mingled scents of cement dust and Harry’s cologne, and waits for the footsteps to draw nearer before he lifts his head and starts shooting.

To quote my lovely beta Bri (@lovingherwasgay), “my dude Merlin can see through YOUR GLASSES. he’s developing homophobia right now in the command centre” because ehhh what’s a bit more extra shooting if we get battle boyfriends hugging?

 A thought crosses Eggsy’s mind as Harry kneecaps a man and then shoots him with his own gun. How odd it is to have an Everest-sized crush on a bloke like this one whose hands are gentle on Eggsy’s waist or shoulder one moment and then lethal in the next, to have spent hundreds of hours in his company and known the taste of Earl Grey on his lips. How marvellously strange it is to know Harry Hart under the Galahad armour, to see the slight shift in his brow and glimpse the annoyance a second before he gripes about some bit of bullshit or other in the mission report in front of him, to make a cup of tea with lemon and two sugars alongside his own, to recognise in a slightly clenched jaw a migraine Harry tries to bullheadedly will out of existence. To know all the bits and pieces that make up this wonderful man, to love every inch of someone Eggsy barely knew a year ago and can’t imagine living without now. Even odder it is to realise how many more layers of Harry Hart await, how much there is to learn, how much there is to know.

The mundane is extraordinary. ‘Nuff said.

Later that night, as they lie in a tangle of limbs on thousand-thread-count sheets and the inevitable shelling from Merlin is still half a world away, there is all the time in the world to lean in for lazy, unhurried kisses. It’s dark out and has been for hours, the faint glow of the bedside alarm clock the only clue to the passing of the night. “I love you,” Eggsy whispers, and feels Harry’s lips curve into a smile against his. Outside, the stars sit frozen in their places in the sky, like time itself might stop for them, just for a little while.

Beautiful lil’ confession of love on a starry right, or lovely moment undercut by ominous celestial presence? Both.

But Harry hasn’t answered, and Eggsy turns to look and finds that Harry isn’t looking at him or even at the stars whizzing above them. Instead, his gaze is fixed on the oak tree at the edge of the grounds. Eggsy glances over in its direction, but the oak tree is still just an oak tree. Gently, he nudges Harry with his elbow, and Harry turns his head to meet Eggsy’s questioning gaze. “Sorry, were you saying something?”

“Is it the butterflies again?” Only Harry’s arm keeps him from scrambling to his feet to get Merlin or the medics all the way on the other end of the field. “No, seriously, is it them? The meds are supposed to—”

“It isn’t. Don’t worry.” Harry shakes his head, his arm tightening around Eggsy’s waist as though pre-empting another attempt to go fetch Merlin. “I thought someone was standing there, but I was mistaken. Trick of the light, that’s all.”

This is one of the parallel scenes in which Eggsy’s side of the story intersects with Harry’s side. Not all is well, but there is always a much more plausible explanation than “doomed by the narrative and Mephistopheles in a suit”, and Eggsy’s damn well not going to own up to having sold his soul for Harry.

It’s this, and a thousand more mornings like this, and a thousand more after that, again and again and again until they run out of time.

And they will run out of time living like this, Eggsy knows, but at least they have these moments, ones borrowed from a distant tomorrow. Harry’s lips are warm against his, and that is enough.

That will always be enough.  

If anything, these few lines are probably the thesis of the entire fic. To put everything on the line for another chance at ordinary happiness because ordinary happiness itself is a rare commodity, and to seize every bit of it precisely because time is never on anyone’s side.

And later, curled up next to Harry on fresh sheets, bodies moulded close like they were made to slot together, he tucks his chin into the dip of Harry’s collarbone and whispers those same words against the line of his neck, squeezing Harry’s hand and feeling him do the same in return. Harry runs his other hand through Eggsy's hair, gentle and slow and soothing. As the soft caresses on the back of Eggsy’s neck lull him to sleep, Eggsy closes his eyes and presses a light kiss to Harry’s shoulder for good measure. “I love you.”

Why’s he saying it so many times? I think he’d want to make up for never saying it previously. Not that Harry minds.

The phantom echoes of a gunshot echoing off the walls, Harry’s head snapping back with the force of a bullet piercing flesh and shattering bone. Oxfords slipping on concrete slick with blood, chunks of scorched brain matter and pulverised skull squelching and crunching underfoot with each step as he hurls himself towards the heart of a mountain bunker. Bodies, tens and hundreds of them lying heaped in his way, a second of weightlessness as he trips on an outstretched hand. Metal rasping as Gazelle shears away entire chunks of his makeshift weapon, blade edges inching closer and closer to his hand, his chest, his throat. Sickly green spidering along her arm, up her neck and all over her face as flesh rots before his eyes and she gasps for air that she won’t need any longer. The sickening crunch of Valentine’s body hitting the ground, thin lips pulled back to reveal twin rows of bloodied teeth, the macabre grin of a dying man whose every shuddering breath sends air hissing through pierced lungs and torn flesh, flecks of red sputtering in every direction with each exhale. With an awful sucking sound, Valentine takes a deep breath and says—

“Eggsy?” That isn’t Valentine’s voice. “Eggsy.”

Obviously as an action movie, the aftermath gets glossed over quite a bit, especially the psychological aftermath of everything. I do think Eggsy would have been trained well enough to hold his own and that he’d be prepared for a fight, but the utter horror of V-Day is an entirely different thing that’s grotesque and terrible in its own way. Some things stay with you long after they end, and I wonder if some part of Eggsy’s mind will always be in that bunker desperately trying to prevent the end of the world. While I’m not ruling out the possibility that the nightmares are deliberately induced by Mephistopheles, I don’t think he needs to do very much in that regard. The human brain is sort of fucked up in that way.

“Four,” Harry answers. “Nightmare?” “Yeah.”

“Want to talk about it?”

No, Eggsy thinks, no, he doesn’t. The last thing he wants to talk about is the memories staling and yellowing in the recesses of his mind. Instead, all he can think of is how wonderful it is to wake up and wrap his arms around Harry like the world’s clingiest octopus, to feel the feather-light brush of Harry’s thumb over his cheekbone. How wonderful it is to be surrounded by sheets and pillows that Harry’s scent clings to, to wrap himself up in blankets that smell like home; how precious it is to wake up with Harry beside him, close enough to reach out and touch, to have, to keep.

How it was always going to end this way, the two of them in the house that they share, hand in hand as Eggsy lifts their joined hands to his lips and presses a sleepy kiss to the ridges of Harry’s knuckles. “Nothing,” he replies, feeling the last of his panic fade away. “Love you.” When Harry murmurs I love you too, it sounds like a confession, a blessing.

That night, Eggsy sleeps and doesn’t dream again.

Ahahahahahahaha it’s never a good thing when the words that appear in the summary actually turn up in the fic, is it? This was the first line I wrote and decided I was absolutely going to repeat, because it does capture a lovely domesticity at the same time as there’s a sense of doom or inevitability. Is their happiness inevitable, or is it their doom? Yes. Dunno. Both. I think it’s also worth pointing out that none of their dreams are pleasant ones, because 1) opportunity for the subconscious to make itself known 2) meddling Mephisto? Maybe.

[beehindblueeyes]

Time period: Vending machines and the unraveling

Expect at least 3 more of these this week. They’ve become my main posts at this point lmao. I like giving context to time period and that you guys like it to. (I still have the hopes one day it’ll be used by people who don’t know how to do it, add to more people doing in canon time etc etc)

I feel like this is a bit obvious but vending machines of the time were different. In design and what was being sold. Common looks were the following:

One of my past time period posts “woodgrain. Woodgrain everywhere on anything you could put it.” And it’s true even here! I feel like it started in the 60s and stayed till the 80s (in my opinion the 90s started the phase out)

another little thing is the little red ones at the side . Quarter machines? I never really know what to call them but they’re still around today with the same design. If it ain’t broke don’t fix it.

Glass bottles!!! Pull top cans! Not like today where they pop open but more like a can(we see this in the opening with a dads beer) not to mention that Cans were actual aluminum. Unlike today with tin and plastic (why? Cheaper. Corporations like to save a buck instead of quality/sustainability)

Goes without saying but prices were WAY cheaper than they are today (todays price for a drink from a vending machine being around $2) and they also sold just about everything such as cigarette vending machines:

These went away in the 2000s to make It “harder” for kids to get cigarettes by putting them behind the counter at grocery stores or convince stores. Which— did not work.

Another thing I wanted to touch on was the economic situation and how the country was going through a major shift in the 70s. Shut downs of major industries- plants and places closing its doors due to mechanization (machines doing a job once held by a man) and cheaper labor elsewhere. This is technically before globalism and making factories in other countries but the beginning of it.

The creation of the rust belt was around this time (see above) while technically not apart of it. The movie takes place in a very blue collar town in Colorado. They’d still be effected by a lot of this stuff and a fear of job  insecurity etc

The period of the late 60s-1970s is revered to as the “unraveling” for all the industry shutting down, rise of counter culture and lack of government trust etc etc (I can sit down and explain the whole lecture from my course to you but just know a lot of shit was going down)

This is the beginning of a lot of stuff being made in Japan (not china, at this time a lot of stuff was still made in the US). Japan is on a absolute industrial and technological rise to the point their known for cool high quality cars and such like that in the 80s a almost takeover happened- which again I don’t have time to go through completely so take this as a prompt to look stuff up for yourself if you are interested.

Vending machines again- the 80s saw the more broad use of the push button machines and plastic logo fronted machines- also bonus is a empty snack machine (honestly these style are still around if you look hard enough or work in an office)