#Lincoln Center Out of Doors

[myosotisa]

Like Real People Do - e.m.

Part 1/2 - Why were you digging?

ǁ  summary: 30 days into your stay at the Betty Ford Center for Rehabilitation, Eddie Munson gets brought in against his will. While in the middle of trying to figure out your own issues, you find yourself being followed around by a detoxing rockstar who won't take a hint and get lost.

ǁ  tags: angst, hurt/comfort, heavy themes. depictions of inpatient rehab in the 90s. implied fem!Reader, no pronouns used, no y/n. strangers to reluctant acquaintances to lovers.

ǁ  content warning: both parts will contain mentions of drug use, struggling with addiction, self worth, society's view on drug users, grief, and death by drug overdose. brief mention of domestic violence and drug assisted disordered eating. please consume thoughtfully and if you have any questions before reading, feel free to message me.

ǁ  word count: 7k

ǁ  Part 2 ǁ  Read on AO3 ǁ

The lock on your door clunks open at exactly 8am every morning. A glaring alarm that your new day is about to start whether you want it to or not.

At 8:15, one of the workers on staff is barely knocking before pushing in to make sure you and your roommate will be ready for breakfast at 8:30 sharp.

At 8:30, you’re standing in line with everyone else to get your morning meds. Amoxaphine for depression. Atenolol for high blood pressure. Methadone for opioid withdrawal. Acamprosate for alcohol withdrawal.

A little paper cup of water to wash them all down, your mouth presented to prove you did actually swallow them, and then a verbal pat on the back before sending you over to the breakfast line.

A styrofoam plate of scrambled eggs and toast with jam on a plastic tray, balanced carefully with a cup of whatever juice they decided to buy this week. Carefully set down on one of the small tables by the window where you’ll sit and eat alone – appreciating the quiet and serenity for the few moments a day you get it before you’re shoved off to the next task.

The same thing for the past 28 days since you were deposited in the Betty Ford Center. You’d gone from euphoric, cold, and totally out of it to anxious, shaky, unable to sleep, and just fucking miserable. And while some days were getting easier and others seemed more difficult than ever, at least you had gotten into the routine of inpatient rehab. At least you knew to expect the same thing everyday. At least you were prepared to deal with what the external world threw at you.

Until you weren’t.

The moment the doors to the main hall are thrown open – impacting the opposing walls with a slam –  you get an overwhelming feeling that something is about to change. Something big.

“Hey fucker! Hey! Get your meat hands off me, lughead.”

Most of the heads in the room turn toward the source of the yelling, a parade of 5 coming through the double doors. Two you know, the medical director Mr. Ford and one of the doctors Dr. Lincoln. They both look annoyed and uncomfortable as they walk ahead of a set of 3 men. 

Flanked on either side by a buff orderly, getting borderline dragged across the floor, is a man you’ve never seen. His long, messy waves whip wildly around his head as he lets out expletives and pulls against the sharp hold on his biceps. His voice is ragged and slurred as he makes nonsensical arguments towards the two men leading him away. He’s in regular clothes – outside clothes – with torn jeans and metal chains hanging off his hips, ripped sleeves showing off his tattooed arms, and large rings on every finger.

Someone new?

Having gotten their eyeful, half the room goes back to pushing around their breakfasts with plastic cutlery while the other half continues to watch with amusement. A new person only comes through every 15 days or so, and this was only the second since you’d arrived. The first one, a meek boy named Thomas, had been admitted so quietly that he all of the sudden appeared one day in group, already through the worst of the detox, before you had ever even heard of him.

It makes you wonder if more inpatient admissions are like that or like this.

You wish you could remember yours.

In a whirl of movement, the man rips his arms free and flies backwards with a stumble. Had he been more coordinated, and probably more sober, than he is, he might have made a decent break for it. As he is, he’s barely able to turn toward the doors they came through before the men are grabbing him again from behind, hooking their arms around his to now actually drag him down the hallway toward the hospital wing.

The heels of his black boots drag against the beige tile floor as he slumps in their grip, eyelids fluttering slightly before he manages to bring back enough energy to yell another, “Fuck you!” at his captors.

Just before they disappear behind another set of locked down double doors, the two of you make eye contact. From this distance, you can still see how bloodshot his eyes are – deep brown ringed by red toned white. They are steadily falling closed with each blink as he most likely loses the fight against some kind of sedative. But somehow, with what must be the last moments of consciousness he has left, he sees you watching him. The corner of his mouth tilts up in a lazy smirk. And he winks.

The motherfucker winks at you right as his head lulls to the side before falling forward and the group of 5 disappears.

Something new indeed.

You don’t see the stranger again until 6 days later.

New admissions normally spend anywhere from 3 days to a week and a half in the hospital wing after arriving. IV fluids, heavy meds, and a more prepared medical staff to deal with the worst of the detox period. Depending on what you were on, how recently you took it compared to when you arrived, and the length of your addiction makes a huge difference in how much time you spend there before being sent back to the rest of the floor.

4 days is average, which is the amount of time you spent in the hospital wing before being put into room 102 with Melissa Redding. Teen beauty queen of the Betty Ford Center who got hooked on meth after a consultant for the pageant used it to help her lose weight.

The center had a neat little tradition of having your roommate show you around on the first day. For you, that had meant busy bee Melissa whispering in your ear in and outs of who was who and all of the drama entailed even though you didn’t care in the slightest. That continued through the rest of the day as she showed you around the main hall, gave you a tour of the garden during your mandated 1 hour of outside time, and into the Therapy House.

While she had initially been excited to have a roommate, she very quickly learned you would not be the entertainment she wanted. So she went back to gossiping with Kathy the housewife, who was in for a bad habit of using too much Adderall to get through the day with her kids. Leaving you to your own devices.

It was better that way.

You’re already in your seat by the window with breakfast by the time the stranger stumbles in after Howard, the gruff old man whose family sent him here for drinking too much (drinks the same amount as any other man his age, but who are you to judge?). He gets right into the med line, now half diminished due to their late arrival, and doesn’t seem to pay any attention to the stranger as he wanders away.

Guess he decided that wasn’t his job.

Tall, dark, and lanky looks like he’s been through the ringer. Skin pallor and clammy, hair pulled into a bird’s nest of a bun on the back of his head with the top and bangs matted flat with what you assume is sweat, hands fussing in front of him like if he doesn’t move as many muscles as possible at once he’ll explode. There are deep purple bags under his wide eyes as he approaches one of the other windows in the space, 30 feet away from where you’re sitting. 

He looks over the frame like he’s trying to find a way out, coming back with nothing before heading to the next window, closer to you. His appearance and behavior make you think of a wet rat trying to claw its way up the side of a bathtub – unable to grip onto anything and getting sent back down into the water again every time he tries to climb.

Hoping not to catch his attention, you direct your gaze down, focusing back on your under salted eggs and grape jam. Between the lack of seasoning and the juice of the week being some kind of weird pineapple mix, you’re left wanting even more so than usual over your bare bones breakfast.

Despite your half assed attempt to be invisible, the single chair across from you at your table is pulled out, flipped around, and then settled into by the stranger. In your shock, you look up at him before you can second guess the reaction.

“I saw you, I remember,” his voice is deeper than you thought, raspy at the edges with exhaustion and hardship. His gaze flicks rapidly from the table, your food, your face, the rest of the room, his hands. Everywhere at once it seems. “The day they brought me in.”

“Yup,” you confirm with an awkward nod of acknowledgement before looking back at your food.

Please leave, please leave, please leave.

“I’m Eddie. Eddie Munson.”

Looking back up at him, he has a bit more life in his face. Something that looks a little bit like hope.

“Okay.”

His face falls.

“You… Doesn’t ring any bells? Eddie Munson, guitarist, Corroded Coffin, biggest rock-metal band of the 90s?” The longer he goes, his wet eyes widen, making him look like a pleading animal looking for food scraps. When you show absolutely no recognition for anything he’s saying, he brings his hands together, fingers moving to twist at rings that no longer sit there. When he doesn’t find them, his leg starts to bounce under the table and his palms start tapping on the top of the chair at his chest.

“If you’re looking for celebrity worship, I’m sure Melissa or Kathy would be happy to provide.” You inform him, hoping he will lose interest and go searching for them to give him the attention he seems to be looking for. You go back to spreading jam on your slightly burnt toast.

He doesn’t take the bait. “How, uh, how long have you been here?”

Taking a long inhale through your nose and out through your mouth, you set your plastic knife back down. “A month.”

His hisses out air through his teeth, eyes searching over the rest of the room, like he’s waiting for something bad to happen. “How long do people normally stay locked up in here?”

Ah. 

“I dunno. A couple months? I’m not exactly some kind of authority here. You should go ask–”

“Has anyone ever broken out?”

Though you’re not sure why you’re surprised, you still struggle with the question. He makes eye contact with you again and the look in his eye is different now. Smaller.

He’s scared.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

He scoffs, using his hand at his chin to crack his neck in either direction, looking unsatisfied with your answer. “Come on, like nobody has ever tried to get out? You’ve never tried?”

A weight presses down on your chest. “No, I haven’t.”

“Yeah right, I’m sure that there’s some–”

“Mr. Munson!”

An orderly stalks toward the table, looking crabby and annoyed this early in the day. Eddie looks about ready to bolt after their bark but somehow remains seated until they arrive. “I’m sure Howard didn’t inform you, but first thing in the morning you’re supposed to come up to the nurse window to receive your medication.” They present their arm back to where the now empty med line stands, everyone else settled into seats with their breakfasts. “After you’ve taken your medication, you can grab some breakfast and…” They make eye contact with you that you’re quick to avoid. “Converse with whoever you want.”

“See, your mistake was that I don’t need any medication, so I don’t need to wait in line.” His voice is slowly raising in volume, drawing more and more attention as he goes. “In fact, I’m not even supposed to be here!”

“Mr. Munson, please lower your voice, you’ll disturb the other residents.”

“Fuck the other residents,” he slams his palms down on your table, almost knocking off your plastic cup of juice when it rocks and you jolt back from the show of aggression. All eyes in the room are on him now, and by extension, you. Other residents, other orderlies, nurses, the kitchen staff.

Too many eyes.

While the attention makes you want to crawl into a hole and die, it seems to please Eddie. He pushes up off of his chair and makes a show of arguing with the annoyed orderly all the way over to the nurse’s station. All eyes in the room follow him and his suddenly animated features, looking like he has gained 10x more energy than when he walked in. You use the distraction to your advantage.

By the time Eddie has had medication forced down his throat, a plate of shitty eggs deposited in his hands, and he turns around to look at your table again, you’re nowhere to be found.

He finds you again in the garden before group therapy.

You’re tucked away in a painted white, wrought iron chair that’s bolted to the ground next to a tall shrub. It’s still in the gated off outdoor area, but mostly hidden from view. The orderlies know to find you there if they need you because that’s where you always are – sitting on that single chair in the sunshine with a paperback book on your lap. Today it’s Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch.

When a body blocks the sun over your book, your first assumption is that it’s an orderly coming to tell you it’s time to head to Therapy House. But it seems too early for that, and you’re normally a pretty good judge of time (at least, in here), so when an unfamiliar voice clears its throat in front of you, you huff a breath before you raise your head to acknowledge him.

“Is that seat taken?” He asks with a grin, motioning to the empty table bolted to the ground beside your chair. It’s obviously a rhetorical question – maybe to get you to smile or laugh. You do neither and give him a flat look.

“Actually, I’m saving it for someone.”

This seems to delight him even more, eyebrows raising and eyes getting some more life in them as he takes a seat on the table anyway. “Well I’ll keep it nice and warm for them until they show up.” He pulls his facility-issued navy sweatpants covered legs up to cross under him, effectively draping his knee over your arm.

Accepting your fate to not get rid of him, you open your book again to where you left off. 

“Best not to speculate, really,” said Aziraphale. “You can’t second-guess ineffability, I always say. There’s Right, and there’s Wrong. If you do Wrong when you’re told to do Right, you deserve to be punished.”

“I checked the perimeter of the garden,” his voice is lowered, as if someone would overhear him, “looking for weak spots.”

You hum an acknowledgement, keeping your eyes on your book as you reply in a sarcastic monotone, “Because that’s definitely not suspicious.”

He waves you off out of the corner of your eye, beginning a light tap of his hands against his knees. Even with the medication. He either needs a higher dose or he’s hyperactive at baseline. “They probably just thought I was giving myself a little tour or something, I don’t know. I don’t really care if it’s suspicious, actually. All I know is there’s like… Nothing. At all.”

“Shocker.”

Continuing to ignore your lackluster responses, a bopping of his head joins the beat of his palms. You attempt to reread the same paragraph over and over to try and comprehend it through his talking and fidgeting, failing time after time. “Not even like a locked gate or anything. And the fence itself is too high to get over with no footholds, unless you got something to stand on to grab the top and pull yourself over. Yeah…” 

“Oh!” The sudden volume of his voice makes you jerk away from him again, not expecting the sharp change. “What about your chair, is it loose?” One long fingered hand grips the backrest between your shoulder blades and the other the chair arm closest to him, attempting to give it a shake. “Maybe we could get the bolts out and use it to climb the fence.” He only succeeds in making an annoying rattling sound and jostling you back and forth.

“Fuck, Eddie, will you –” Using the paper cover of your book, you smack at his forearm a few times, causing him to quickly withdraw and hold his hands up in front of his chest like he’s worried your attack will continue. “Fucking, stop it.”

“Geez, sorry,” he mutters, looking slightly sheepish but still not exactly apologetic. “What’s your name, by the way? I forgot to ask.”

“Seems a little too late to ask now, don’t you think?” You turn the page of your book to make it look like you’re making progress despite the fact that you haven’t been able to finish a sentence since Eddie sat down beside you. Anything to help you look less interested in his attempted escape and, therefore, him.

An amused snort leaves his nose, tapping hands turning to a hold on his knees to let him lean back without falling off the table. “Well you are just a ray of sunshine,” he snarks back, looking more amused than annoyed. “Anyone ever told you that before?”

Finally lifting your head to give him a placating and overly artificial smile, you meet his eyes to make sure he can see your insincerity when you say, “Only every day.”

And while he opens his mouth to probably throw back another sarcastic retort, he’s interrupted by the “relaxing” (read: fucking annoying) gong by the Therapy House going off, signaling it’s time to head inside. You snap your book shut and push off your chair without a word to join the rest of the group outside in the unenthusiastic shuffle toward the birch wood doors. Another set of slip-on shoes, a matching pair to yours, sidles up beside where your own drag through the dirt path.

“So what happens now?” He asks, leaning a little bit closer to you as he speaks again, like the two of you are conspiring together on something. Based on your interactions so far, maybe he thinks you are.

“Therapy,” is your sharp reply. And, as if finally understanding he probably isn’t going to get much more information, he shuts up and just walks beside you toward the two story building off of the main facility.

All 12 of you wander through the doors in your similar outfits – sweatpants, t-shirts, and hoodies in shades of blue, grey, and black. Crossing from dirt and stone pathways onto the pristine wood floors of the Therapy House that’s awash with sunlight. As many windows as possible in all directions and a huge circular skylight above leaves the whole room bright and airy.

There are 13 metal folding chairs set up in a circle beneath the skylight, 1 more than yesterday, and the one directly across from the door is already occupied.

Mrs. Penelope Windsor is the head of therapy at the Betty Ford Center for Rehabilitation and wears that title with the utmost pride. She’s put together, ambitious, intelligent, and damn good at her job. Not to mention attractive, with her long legs crossed under her black pencil skirt, her crimson red button up blouse showing just enough collarbone to still be ‘professional’, and the long brunette braid draped over her shoulder. Her black heels are patent leather and perfectly shiny along with the matching briefcase sitting beside her chair. She stands out sharply from the white walls and birch wood floors of the Therapy House – but she commands your attention that way. A focal point in a room of white and tan and beige nothingness.

And the moment you walk through the doors with Eddie beside you, you feel her hazel eyes on you like a fucking hawk.

You avoid making eye contact, as per usual, and settle into the seat you’ve been using since the first day you came here. To your displeasure, Eddie immediately grabs the seat to your right, flipping it around to sit backwards in it, folding his arms over the back with a certain lazy confidence.

Tony, who normally sits there, hovers uncomfortably for a moment behind before scuttling over to the only remaining chair between Mrs. Windsor and Melissa.

As soon as he’s seated, heavy and tense silence settles over the room while the rest of you wait for Penelope to greet the group. You could hear a pin drop in the room in these moments, everyone shifting uncomfortably in the quiet as she takes a few moments to look over the group before her.

Almost like she enjoys making us all squirm under her authority.

Her sharp eyes settle on Eddie, her face as passive as always. He does very little to react to her stare but takes it as a sort of challenge – staring right back where most would shy away. The corner of her mouth lifts almost imperceptibly, like she appreciates the challenge.

The silent standoff is broken as Thomas’ wooden cane clatters to the floor beside his chair from where it had been leaning. He immediately turns bright red from the collar of his black t-shirt all the way to the tips of his ears. “Shit – Wait, oh, shoot, sorry!” Scooping it up in shaky hands, he is quick to tuck it between his knees, white knuckle fisting the handle in his embarrassment.

“That’s quite alright, Thomas,” is Penelope’s serene reply, a gentle smile directed his way before she addresses the group. “Good afternoon, everyone. Welcome back to our group session for today.”

No one says a word as she takes another uncomfortable moment to scan the group before doubling back to land on Eddie. “I see we have a new member of our group today. My name is Mrs. Windsor and I’m the head therapist here at the Betty Ford Center, but you’re more than welcome to call me Penelope. Could you introduce yourself for us, please?”

“Eddie Munson, guitarist, Corroded Coffin.” He answers cooly, and you watch his eyes do a quick scan to see if anyone shows any recognition. When there are a few reactions, his smile grows into one of satisfaction before he returns his gaze to Penelope. “Am I supposed to say what they locked me up for now or somethin’?” It comes out in a teasing lit, like he is trying to make a joke of it all.

No one laughs.

She takes it in stride. “You’re more than welcome to share what you’re struggling with, if you’d like.”

His shoulders rise slightly, like a cat going on the defensive. “Okay, first of all, I’m not struggling with anything. I’m not even supposed to be here. I keep telling them if they just let me call my manager we could get this whole thing cleared up so I can get the fuck out of here and back to my life.”

“Your manager…” She leans over, plucking a file from her briefcase and unfolding it on her lap. “Mr. Scott?” She looks up through her eyelashes for confirmation.

He settles again, looking slightly relieved. “Yeah, Jonathan Scott, Razor & Tie.”

“Mhmm…” She looks back at the file, flipping a page up in what looks to be a show. Like she already knows what she’s supposedly ‘looking’ for. “It says here Mr. Scott is the person who applied for your stay in our center and is the sign off as your legal guardian while you’re completing your treatment.” She lightly closes the file, sitting up straight again to look at him. “Did you know that Eddie?”

“No,” he answers, voice suddenly unsure, eyebrows drawing together on his forehead and shoulders falling. “No, I didn’t.”

“Well then,” her smile is nothing but satisfied when she slips the papers back into her briefcase. “It seems there’s nothing to be cleared up here after all. And I’m sure we’re all very excited to get to know you over the next few weeks, Eddie.”

Challenge won.

When he doesn’t respond, she moves on. “Now, Kathy, it looks like your nails are doing better…”

You tune out the rest of her interaction, focusing on the man beside you. He has his head slightly hung down, eyes on his hands as he holds one wide and uses the opposite thumb to rub along his palm. There’s an air about him – closer to one you saw this morning. Confused. Lost. Scared.

You almost feel sorry for the guy.

Two hours later, you’re in one of the ‘office lofts’ of Therapy House, a 5x5 closed room with a loveseat for you and an armchair for your therapist. After group is over, there are rotations of 1 on 1 therapy with one of the various counselors on staff, herding each of you into tiny rooms for an hour at a time. At the beginning of your stay, you had somehow lucked out to being assigned to Queen Penelope herself.

She sits across from you with her holier-than-thou attitude and a spiral notebook clutched in her well-manicured hands – filled with notes about you that you’re not supposed to see. In the sunken down cushions of the loveseat, you end up sitting below her eyeline even if you tried to sit up straight. So you don’t try – tucking your legs under you and crossing your arms under your chest.

As per usual, she starts the session with a few moments of horrifying silence. Almost as a dare to get you to talk first just to break it.

You never have.

“So, how are you feeling today?”

“Fine. Same as always.”

She clicks her pen, like she’s already prepared to start taking notes off that one sentence. “Indeed. Everyday is always ‘fine’, isn’t it?”

Eddie must have made you more snippy than usual, because you’re already ready to turn on her. “What point are you trying to make, exactly?”

“Everyday, every time anyone asks, the answer is always ‘fine.’ Fine is a noncommittal answer that means nothing.” She leans back in her chair, cool and collected as always. “Fine is the answer you give when you’re avoiding the answer.”

It takes everything in you not to roll your eyes at her. “Okay, what is my answer supposed to be then?”

“The truth, preferably.”

Wow, thanks, that’s helpful.

When you don’t respond with a new answer, she moves on. “Are you still having nightmares? Flashbacks?”

A shiver crawls up your spine, creeping toward the cold sweat that starts to build at the nape of your neck on instinct. “Sometimes.”

Liar.

“How often, would you say? For the nightmares?”

Clammy hands press into the fabric of your grey sweatpants. “Maybe once a week.”

Liar.

She scribbles something down in her notepad. “And the flashbacks?”

A vision of cold, blue tipped fingers reaching out toward you from the dark comes to the forefront of your mind before you blink it away. “Less than that, I think.”

Liar!

“And are they all still about her?”

The cold from those blue tipped fingers permeates through your body, settling into your bones in a chill that never seems to leave you anymore. “Not all of them.”

LIAR. LIAR. LIAR. LI–

“Actually, can we talk about something else?” Your request comes out quicker than you’d like, giving a show of desperation as you adjust in your seat. “Please,” you add as an afterthought.

Her gaze is sharp as ever and calculated in her perusal of you for another few moments, but she concedes. “Alright. What would you like to talk about then?”

When you flounder for an answer, mouth opening and shutting uselessly, she offers an alternative of her own. “I saw you walk in with the new guy today. Eddie, right? Did you talk to him at all?”

You let out a huff, eyes directing down to where your wandering fingers have landed on a piece of loose thread on your pants. “More like sat there while he talked at me.”

“He didn’t give you a chance to talk or you never took it?”

“I don’t exactly have anything I want to talk to him about,�� is your cold response, once again looking up to make eye contact with her.

“You know, it wouldn’t actually hurt to try to connect with someone again. Maybe open up to a new friend?”

This time you’re not able to withhold your eye roll. “Junkie rockstar is not exactly the kind of friend I’m looking to make.”

“That’s a bit of a hurtful representation, don’t you think?” She is writing another note as she speaks, eyes looking between you and her page. “How would you feel if someone didn’t want to interact with you because you’re a ‘junkie’?”

Your gaze flicks back down to the thread between your fingers as you mumble, “They wouldn’t exactly be wrong.”

“Do you think you’re a bad person because of your drug use?”

I think I’m a bad person for a lot of reasons.

“It doesn’t exactly give you a glowing perception in the eyes of the public,” you answer defensively.

“That may be true. So you did something that was frowned upon by the general public, making it ‘bad’ or ‘wrong’.” She adds in the air quotes, even though her tone was enough to warrant the assumption that she was being facetious. “What about all of the good things you’ve done? Is there some kind of threshold for the amount of ‘bad’ things a person needs to have done in comparison to the good ones to brand them as a ‘bad’ person?”

“I don’t know, maybe.”

Her eyes flit over to the book beside you, resting on the cushion with the cover Good Omens facing up, before returning to you. “I think, personally, that it’s possible to have done bad things without it making you a bad person. It doesn’t make you a good person either, mind you. Because there’s also no such thing as a person who is wholly good either.” She folds her hands over her lap like she always does when she thinks she’s about to say something really profound.

“Good and bad are just malleable descriptions we give to things. People are not simply good or simply bad. People are just… People. Where good, bad, and everything in between coexist.”

Then why do I feel like this?

Eddie plops down in front of you at breakfast looking slightly less like a wet rat than he has so far.

"Good morning, sunshine." And he grins, way too fucking chipper for being 2 weeks into detoxing.

"Don't call me that."

"Whatever you say, sunshine," he repeats with the same grin, like he's glad you don't like it. "I have a plan for us to get out of here."

Get out? A plan? Us? You don't even know where to start with that. "Ah. No wonder you look like it's Christmas morning."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment." With a noncommittal 'mmfh', you go back to pushing around your over salted scrambled eggs. "Aren't you going to ask what my plan is?"

"No."

"Well, since you asked," he ignores you and leans over the table, once again lowering his voice to a soft murmur. "One of the night nurses is a fan of my band."

He pauses there, like he's looking for some kind of response. You offer up a completely lackluster, "Congrats."

"Sooo, maybe I can butter her up. Promise her VIP tickets or backstage passes or something. Bribe her to get us out."

Stabbing into a chunk of egg hard enough to almost pierce through the styrofoam beneath, you mumble, "Good luck with that."

He points his fork at you, eyes narrowing in a glare. "You don't think it will work."

"I don't care if it works," you sigh as you bring a hand up to rub at the sudden tension in your temple. "What do you think is gonna happen when you get out, huh? They're just gonna say 'Well, he got out of rehab, guess that's it then!' Your manager is just gonna have you delivered right back here."

"Then I get a new manager." Another flat look is leveled in his direction. "Seriously, I can figure it out once I get out of here. And if you're gonna be this negative about it, then maybe I won't take you with me," he says it like a threat, looking smug as he sips at his not-quite-pineapple juice.

"Good."

His plastic cup hits the table fast enough that a bit sloshes out and onto the vinyl cover. "What do you mean 'good'? You're telling me you don't want to get out of here?"

It's like he's finally hearing you for the first time. "Yes, that is what I'm telling you."

"As if." He scoffs, shoving a chunk of scramble egg in his mouth before continuing to talk through chewing it. "Nobody wants to be in here getting pumped full of happy meds and talking about our feelings with the Ice Queen."

A part of you actually wants to be amused at the term Ice Queen, but you're quick to beat it down. "Yeah, well, maybe I do."

He takes a big bite out of his stiff toast next, crumbs flying with the force of it. "I think," he pauses to swallow the bite before pointing the toast at you this time. "That you have Stockholm Syndrome. And have accepted defeat in your captivity."

"Whatever you say, Munson."

You should've known better than to assume it would end there.

After breakfast, all of you scatter throughout the main hall to do various things to fill your time. As usual, you sit down on a chair by the window so you can continue your book. You're quickly approaching the climax of the narrative, when the four horsemen begin their ride toward the end of the world.

Eddie has set up shop at a table nearby, bent over the top that's scattered with papers that are all covered in drawings of various mythical creatures. He's currently scratching away at a sketch of a three headed Hydra, mouths roaring fire toward the sky.

You'd never tell him this of course, but you have to admit that they are pretty good.

It's 30 minutes of blissful silence with plenty of progress made in your book until he starts talking again.

"Do you actually not want to get out of here?"

You exhale through your nose sharply, annoyed that you're being forced to continue this conversation. Closing your book with your thumb tucked in to save your page, you turn your upper body toward him. "Is that really so hard to believe?"

"Yeah, actually, it is. What are you even in here for anyway? Like what 'problem' do they think you have?"

"None of your fucking business," is your extremely grumpy reply, settling back into your chair and opening your book again in hopes he'll drop it.

"Well, whatever it is, it's not worth sitting in this glorified prison for months on end, I can tell you that much."

Something about the way he's talking really starts to grate on your nerves, making you want to fight more than you want to ignore him. "I'm sorry, would you rather be in actual prison?"

This makes his face drop, a muscle in his jaw rolling with tension. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that coke and meth are illegal, in case you forgot. And can actually get you arrested." Your tone is condescending, tinged with venom. "So maybe you should be grateful to be in this 'glorified prison' instead of a real one."

"Grateful?" He lets out a fake laugh, looking at you in disbelief. "Yeah, let me just try to be grateful to have my every move watched and my entire day planned for me like I'm in a fucking daycare."

An orderly walks in through the double doors to the garden, propping them open in an invitation to move outside for the hour. You're quick to rise, tucking your bookmark into your spot and muttering a dismissive, "Whatever," as you pass.

You're barely off the stone path and into the grass towards your seat when he comes barrelling out after you.

"Hey, I'm not done."

"Listen," you continue forward, talking over your shoulder at him as he marches after you, "I get you're still in denial and everything. But it's not my job to make you accept that you're here for a reason. So why don't you just leave me alone."

A hand grips your shoulder, forcing you to turn toward him. The sun is behind his head from this angle, leaving him silhouetted in light and you standing in his shadow in the grass.

"And what exactly do you think the reason I'm here is?"

"I don't know," you push his hand off your shoulder, tucking your book in against your stomach. "Why don't you ask yourself that question?"

"I'm here against my will because a fucking corporate prick thinks I need 'fixing'," his voice comes out as a hiss through his clenched teeth. His hands tighten into fists at his sides. "Everybody thinks we need to be 'fixed'."

"Maybe we fucking do, Eddie! Did you ever consider that?"

Out of the corner of your eye, you see your argument getting some attention from other patients and an orderly standing watch, but you're too caught up in your anger to care.

You jolt in surprise when Eddie's hands grip your shoulders, forcing your attention on him. "Are you even fucking listening to yourself?!"

"Eddie, let go of me."

His hands only tighten, his wide eyes going wild. "They fucking infected you with their bullshit doctrine of what society thinks is right and wrong, but it's not true."

You try to pull away from him but his grip just turns bruising in response, fingertips digging into your skin painfully. Fear takes hold, tears starting to push at the back of your eyes as you plead, "Please, Eddie, you're hurting me–"

"They're hurting you!" He's borderline yelling in your face now, emphasizing his next point by shaking you where you stand. "Don't you fucking get it? They're the ones hurting you by making you think there's something wrong with you!"

An orderly appears beside him and grips his shoulder, ordering a tense, "Let her go."

This seems to shock him as his hands release you mid-shake, sending you backwards onto your ass. You make impact with a yelp, the tailbone pain enough to force the tears that were threats before to start to spill down your cheeks. You're sure that if your hands weren't pressed to the ground behind you, they'd be trembling.

Heels click along stones on the approach, heated and quick. "What the hell is going on here?" Penelope Windsor asks sharply, barely faltering as her heels meet grass and dirt.

You look up at Eddie with tears in your eyes, shocked and terrified.

He looks down, as pale as a ghost, the orderly's hand still on his shoulder as he stares at his own like they don't belong to him.

"Are you alright?" Penelope asks when she kneels to the ground beside you, fancy slacks of her pantsuit in the dirt. A gentle hand hovers over your shoulders, concern evident in the way she looks you over.

Swallowing hard around the lump in your throat, you break away from your stare at Eddie to glance at her and then the ground. "I'm fine."

"I…" Eddie's voice sounds small, scared. "I'm so sorry, I don't know what happened. I didn't mean to–"

"Come on." Penelope is calm as she interrupts him, more caring and gentle than you've ever heard her. "Let's go get you cleaned up."

You manage a nod before you allow her to help you to your feet and put a protective arm around your back as she leads you over toward the Therapy House.

Eddie stands there with the orderly, hands shaking and tears forming in the corners of his eyes as he watches you go. Hoping you'll look back. That you'll tell him it's okay, that you'll forgive him. Tell him that you will be okay.

You don't look back.

Once you've disappeared behind those birch doors, the orderly finally lets him go. Walks back over to the main hall without another word – leaving Eddie alone to his panic and shame while he stares at your copy of Good Omens from where it sits half open and abandoned in the grass.

Your chair is empty in group that day.

-

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-

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thanks for reading!! please reblog if you liked it and let me know what you think, feedback means everything!! read part 2 here

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson hurt/comfort #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x female reader #rockstar!eddie munson #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #myos ideas #myo4munson

[badsalmonella]

Unhinged Guinevere Lancelot propaganda:

- First of all I stan a dysfunctional ship so don't come at me with a write up about how they are not getting a good grade in couples counseling. That's the🤌🏼 SAUCE🤌🏼 for me

- They spends the middle section of the show exchanging catatonic levels of eye contact across a stage the size of a mega mall parking lot and honestly? It's nastier than whatever you can find me on pornhub. FACTS.

- The radioactive levels of VIBES he is giving off when he says "No one can refuse your wish~"

- but the SECOND they actually hook up my guy Lancelot is ON THE FLOOR. In his SLUTTY BLOUSE cross necklace CLUTCHED and Genny is like "....heyyyy..... you're a nice guy 🫤 but uhhhh......"

- If they existed in a modern context Lancelot would be like "post sex waffles???? Shaped like hearts??? M'lady???🥺" And Guinevere would be pulling on the pants, already half way out the door like "no." And Lancelot would idk do some true freak shit like put his hand on the pan to punish himself for low rizz levels

- "Your Majesty~" "jjjjaCk ass". I wish I was joking when I say I lost all class when I saw this live and let out a small yell in my seat AT THE LINCOLN CENTER.

- I do have a bootleg though where he immediately smirks after and I'm taking notes sweetheart. That's going in the diagnosis write up babe. <3

- We gotta unpack the exchange between Arthur and Genny where he calls her out like "uhhh??? I know you don't like the dude but your hate is obsessive 🤨"

- The fact that even Arthur knows what's up. Oh my GOD.

- WHERE IS THE C L A S S GUINEVERE?!??

- The fact that Lancelot apparently just hangs out, outside rooms where Guinevere goes??? But also the second Arthur is like "she's actually coming here right now" he's getting the FUCK out of there.

- Guinevere twirling her hair around her finger like "ohhhh the knights will kill Lancelot? 😍 Murder him dead you say? And then what? 😏 Teehee"

- " yOU'LL OPEN WIDE HIM? 😩💦" I'm also putting that in the notes too girlie.

- Guinevere is like if someone doesn't make me come in the next 5 seconds I'm gonna start killing hostages and Lancelot is like "hey what if no nut November was every month? :)" but that doesn't stop them #lovewins

- I'm constantly torn between I think if Genny called him the specialest lil guy who's going to heaven he'd insta-nut, but also I think you'd get similar results if she called him the saddest wet napkin of a man. Thoughts? Vote below! Kidding

- I KNOW that potato show they attended had RADIOACTIVE vibes. Families were probably there just to see the qualities of a prize winning potato and they were out here idk rubbing pinkies and going on about how King Arthur doesn't give them enough attention :(((

- THE FACT THAT Guinevere is like "why won't someone become ridiculously obsessed with me? :/" and then Lancelot does and she's like "oh GOD not like that" and then he's like "oh ok then I'll leave" and she's like "NOT LIKE THAT EITHER". <3 I love her and she's never done anything wrong ever<3

- I think if we gave them facebook in the middle point of the events of the show, they would be THE MOST ANNOYING PEOPLE on your feed.

- Courtly love is really just medieval edging if you think about it.

- I like how the moment that broke these two, where they decided they couldn't hold back any longer is them speaking mediocre French. He said "terriblement" like THAT and she was like "uGH. I can't NOT fuck him"

- The fact that WAY too many people are aware of their thirst. They just do this shit. In PUBLIC. IN FRONT OF THE CHILDREN.

- And I haven't even brought up the King Arthur of it all.... The fact that the guy who likes BIRDS gets around more than these two. INSANE.

- who calls the other Arthur in bed by accident? CALL THE NUMBER BELOW TO CAST YOUR VOTE

#TLDR; I love their cringe fail swag 😌 #honestly. not inspired by anything that I am writing AT ALL. don't eorry about it #ohhh will BadSalmonella write something else about Camelot? 🥺 YES. but IT'S NOT GONNA BE #wHAT ANYONE ASKED FOR. #camelot musical #camelot

[redqueenphoenix]

Comic-Con (A TWD One Shot)

Comic-Con

(A TWD Fan Fiction)

I do not own any of the rights to The Walking Dead, nor do I own any of the characters mentioned from here on in, other than Veronica Strauss. Some situations have been changed and some people may have been switched in this alternate universe. 

Jeffrey Dean Morgan x Female OC

Word Count: 2416

~*~

Veronica looked down at her cell phone as she put her earrings on. She knew that she had to be getting out the door in a hurry. She was scheduled at a comic-con panel for The Walking Dead and time was running out for her to get ready. 

There was a knock on the door of her hotel room door as a security team member called into her. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah.” She grabbed her bag and headed for the door. Veronica was dressed in a form fitting maroon colored dress that struck her mid thigh with a little glitz and glam. Wearing the earring and necklace that was left in her hotel room by a co-star. One last look in the mirror she adjusted her ponytail that held her long, red curls back. Pulling open the door she was met by her security team. To her they were a bit much, but she quickly became a fan favorite upon her debut in the show.

Benny, her main security guard that drove her to most of her events, smiled at her. “I can’t believe this is the last season. Are you excited about this panel?”

“Yeah, but I am also a bit sad. I will miss all my co-stars. They have become like family.”

Benny nodded as he brought his radio up to his face, “Miss. Strauss is on the move. Heading to the car now.”

The radio popped back, “Morgan is on the move too.”

“Alright see you there.” Benny said as he motioned for Veronica to walk with him. They made their way down a private elevator into the basement garage of the motel. Her eyes looked around the parking garage and smiled as she saw Jeffrey Dean Morgan heading to his car with his security team. 

Benny nodded to her as he held the door open for Veronica, allowing her to settle into the back of the car. 

As she settled in her phone gently vibrated, spreading a mile wide smile across her lips.

“You seem pretty composed after last night, Kitten.”

Blush crept onto her face as she looked down at her screen, “I may have had one too many drinks, but I assure you, Jeffrey, I’m fine.”

“I’ll take that as you had fun.”

Veronica laughed as she closed the text message thread. She leaned back in the car as Benny drove down the street to the Civic Center. 

“We’re about to pull in with Team Saviors.” He said over his radio.

“Are you referring to us as ‘Team Saviors?’ Lord, I would hate to hear everyone else's codes.” She laughed as they pulled to a stop right behind the car that was bringing Jeffrey Dean Morgan to the event. 

Benny got out of the driver's seat and came around the car to help her out as the fans screamed and took photos. 

Veronica moved to the other side of the car to get out as Benny opened the door. Her eyes went up as soon as she noticed that it wasn’t Benny’s hand that reached in for her. The very familiar tattoos of Jeffrey’s hand sent blush straight to her cheeks as he helped her out of the car. 

A shit eating grin played on his face at her reaction. “That’s quite a lovely color. And you wear my jewelry wonderfully.” He chuckled as he placed a hand on her back as they walked between the ropes that kept the fans at bay. Stopping to take photos, mingle and sign autographs. 

As soon as they entered the Civic center they were met with a few of their fellow co-stars lined up to head out to the panel.

She could hear the crowd cheering as the announcer, Chad Hardwick, began introducing the cast to walk out to the panel seating.

“You know them as Rick and Carl. Please welcome to the stage: Andrew Lincoln and Chandler Riggs.” The crowd roared to life as they stepped out onto the stage.

“The unexpected friends of the group, Euguene and Princess: Josh McDermitt and Paola Lázaro.”

 “The couple that’s not a couple but should be, Daryl and Carol: Norman Reedus and Melissa McBride.” The pair walked out smiling as they waved to the group. 

“The unstoppable force known as Maggie: Lauren Cohan.” She smiled as she stepped out waving back at Veronica and Jeffrey.

Jeffrey smiled as he placed his baseball bat, Lucille, on his shoulder and motioned for a microphone before they could be announced. 

“You ready, darlin?” Jeffrey smiled at her as he prepared to walk with her out the doors. 

“Yeah.” She smiled back as she kissed his cheek. No one on the cast knew that they had been secretly seeing each other since their debut together. Which made for some interesting encounters for both of them.

“Please welcome the duo you love to hate. Negan and Victoria: Jeffrey Dean Morgan and Veronica Strauss.” The crowd went wild. So loud that it was almost deafening as they opened the doors for them to walk out.

“Are we pissin’ our pants yet?” Jeffrey said into the microphone as they began to walk out. He hooked his arm around the end of Lucille so he could balance her on his shoulder while he still held the microphone. Placing his free hand on the small of Veronica’s back. 

“You can breathe, you can blink, you can fuckin’ cry. Oh hell you’re all going to be doing that!” He laughed as he switched hands with the microphone and pointed Lucille over the crowd. “Vicky, darlin’ any one of these shits stand out to you?” 

Veronica walked behind the panel and stopped behind Melissa McBride and raised her hands, causing the crowd to cheer. Then she moved down the line to Norman Reedus. Before she could raise her hands for the cheer, Norman turned around and wrapped her into a tight hug. 

After the crowd settled down the pair made their way to their seats. Sitting at the end, Veronica was smack dab between Jeffrey Dean Morgan and her best friend Paola Lázaro.

She laughed as Norman came down to them with his cell phone taking pictures of himself with everyone like he was one of the fan girls in the crowd.

Finally Norman sat down and Chad Hardwick started talking, Veronica’s mind started to drift to the night before. Noticing, Jeffrey smiled as his foot nudged over to her. 

He leaned over to whisper in Veronica’s ear as Paola’s eyes went wide next to her. “I know last night was fun, but focus, Kitten. There’ll be time for that later.”

Blush stained her cheeks as she turned back to the crowd. Attempting to bring her focus back to the panel.

“...and the dinner scene, even though we were all laughing it was really emotional.” Paola spoke into her microphone beside her.

“The amount of takes we had to do because we all started tearing up was starting to annoy the camera men.” Josh McDermitt added with a laugh. 

Chad Hardwick looked down the panel table as he spoke, “So were Carol and Daryl’s ending scenes scripted or did you guys actually cry?”

Melissa McBride chuckled as she looked at Norman, “Do we have to answer this one?”

The whole panel laughed along with the crowd at her answer.

“She started crying and that made me emotional. Thank god the camera switched to the back of us cuz by the end of it she had me in tears too.” Norman smiled as he grabbed his water bottle.

“Admit it, we all cried at least once in the last days of shooting.” Lauren Cohan spoke with nostalgia.

“Well, that brings me to my next question. Some of you will be seen in new spin offs of the show. I know that Lauren, Jeffrey and Veronica will be reunited in The Walking Dead: Dead City here soon. Are you all excited about that?”

Veronica smiled as she moved towards her microphone, “I’m personally excited to see how this one pans out. Victoria Hawkins meant a lot to me to play and I can’t wait to step back into her shoes.”

“The three of us coming together in character is more of a need than a fear between them now. They each have a reason for why they are in this.” Lauren looked down to Veronica and Jeffrey. 

“I like that. It’s more of a need than a fear. We’re getting those made into bumper stickers guys!” Jeffrey laughed as his hand went to go over the top of Veronica’s.

“I can’t wait to see how that show plays out with you three. It’s sure to be explosive!” Chad laughed as he turned back to his cards. “So we have time for a few fan questions.”

A young man dressed as a walker came up to the microphone with a nervous smile, “So my question is for Lauren, Jeffrey and Veronica. Since your characters have a shaky past with each other on The Walking Dead, does that impact your friendship in real life?”

Lauren laughed as Jeffrey looked at the two women with a shocked look.

“No, we are really good friends outside of the Walking Dead Universe.” Veronica chuckled as she smiled.

“All I can say is watch the bloopers reel on the DVD’s, you can see how many times we all broke character cuz we are all such good friends.” Jeffrey laughed as his arm snaked around the back of Veronica’s chair.

“I broke character because you two are so darn funny.” Lauren laughed as she looked down at the two, “You made it hard to work sometimes.”

Paola chimed in, “they really do.” The crowd started laughing.

Chad pointed out another fan to come to the microphone, this woman had blonde hair with red tips and dressed like she was at a funeral. “My question is for Jeffrey. Would I be able to take you out?”

His eyebrows furrowed together with a smirk crossing his lips, “like to dinner? On a date? With a sniper rifle?”

“Well since you offered it, maybe a date?” The girl dared to ask.

Jeffrey felt Veronica tense up a bit at her question and he glanced at her with a grin. “I have to politely decline. I’m already seeing someone.”

The room exploded in gasps including the panel. His response rocked the room in shock.

“What the hell?!” Norman Reedus blurted out, “Now's not the time to talk about us.”

Jeffrey laughed and smiled widely as the room all started buzzing about his comment. “Sorry, Norman, your cuddles just ain't cutting it anymore. I’m breaking up the bromance.”

Norman gasped and acted like he was heartbroken as the crowd hung on their every word.

The goth girl went back to her seat as an older guy stepped to the microphone. “Hey there, my name is Matt and my question is for Veronica. First off I want to say your dynamic and chemistry with Jeffrey on set was phenomenal. Was the intimate scenes with Jeffrey awkward? Like I bet they are now knowing he’s seeing someone.” The guy chuckled.

Veronica blushed deep red as he finished his question while Jeffrey chuckled looking over at her and leaning into the microphone.

“Well, Veronica, was it awkward?” His tone was playful as he smirked at her remembering the night before.

Veronica took a deep breath and smiled, “I didn't think they were. I actually enjoyed them a lot.”

The crowd cheered, making ohh and ahh sounds as they watched the pair. Paola even joined the group next to her. 

“Hey now! This panel is getting a little spicy!” Melissa McBride moved up to her microphone. 

“Now is that why you two were late to a couple shootings, because you were practicing?” Chandler Riggs chimed in with a chuckle.

This time Jeffrey turned a shade of red alongside Veronica. 

“And I wasn’t Invited!” Norman called from down the table.

Andrew Lincoln laughed as he blurted out, “Don’t feel bad I wasn't invited either!”

Veronica began giggling in embarrassment as the group joked with them. 

Jeffrey’s face suddenly went serious as he turned to Veronica, leaning in and whispering into her ear, “follow me.” He extended his hand to her as he stood up. 

Her eyes went wide as she took his hand, helping her out of the seat. Leading her towards the front of the panel table while holding a microphone in his other hand. Getting to the middle of the table, so that their co-stars could see along with the crowd.

Brining the microphone to his lips he smiled, “I think it’s time to blow it out the water. Four years of working with you and you are just as beautiful as the day I first met you. Veronica. I couldn’t have asked for a better partner for Negan than you.” His hand dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small box causing the room to roar with cheers. He dropped down to his knee, “four years of seeing you in secret, but now I want the world to know. Will you be my wife?”

Veronica blinked a few times as she stared at the ring in the box.

“Well, if you’re not gonna answer…” Norman laughed as he started to act like he was gonna climb over the table.

“Yes.” Her answer was not heard due to her not having a microphone. 

Norman wasn’t having it not be heard as he sat down on the table and yanked his microphone from the table. Holding it to her lips and motioning his hand for her to say it again.

“Yes, Jeffrey, a million times yes.” She exclaimed as he slipped the ring onto her finger and embraced her.

Out in the crowd two younger guys dressed as Sam and Dean Winchester yelled over the crowd, “GO DAD!” 

Jeffrey kissed Veronica with a chuckle, then turned to the crowd. Squinting looking for the boys who called out. “Sam, Dean. I told you both to wait at the hotel!” 

The crowd erupted in cheers and laughter as the panel came around the table to congratulate them.

#fan fiction #ao3 #negan #the walking dead #writer #twd negan #twd fanfiction #negan fanfiction #negan smith #Walking Dead Cast #jeffrey dean morgan #Jeffrey Dean Morgan Fanfic

[veganpeachpie]

Books without overwhelming romance

I feel like a lot of books people talk about these days have a heavy focus on romance and spice, which really isn't my cup of tea, and it's hard to find good recommednations that don't have that. So here are some YA/adult books I love that don't have romance as a huge part of the plot!

(There may be some minor romantic subplots, but they aren't a major focus.)

The Lincoln Highway by Amor Towles In June, 1954, eighteen-year-old Emmett Watson is driven home to Nebraska by the warden of the work farm where he has just served a year for involuntary manslaughter. His mother long gone, his father recently deceased, and the family farm foreclosed upon by the bank, Emmett’s intention is to pick up his eight-year-old brother and head west where they can start their lives anew. But when the warden drives away, Emmett discovers that two friends from the work farm have hidden themselves in the trunk of the warden’s car. Together, they have hatched an altogether different plan for Emmett’s future.

A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles In 1922, Count Alexander Rostov is deemed an unrepentant aristocrat by a Bolshevik tribunal, and is sentenced to house arrest in the Metropol, a grand hotel across the street from the Kremlin. Rostov, an indomitable man of erudition and wit, has never worked a day in his life, and must now live in an attic room while some of the most tumultuous decades in Russian history are unfolding outside the hotel’s doors. Unexpectedly, his reduced circumstances provide him entry into a much larger world of emotional discovery.

Babel by R.F. Kuang 1828. Robin Swift, orphaned by cholera in Canton, is brought to London by the mysterious Professor Lovell. There, he trains for years in Latin, Ancient Greek, and Chinese, all in preparation for the day he’ll enroll in Oxford University’s prestigious Royal Institute of Translation—also known as Babel. The tower and its students are the world's center for translation and, more importantly, magic. Silver-working—the art of manifesting the meaning lost in translation using enchanted silver bars—has made the British unparalleled in power, as the arcane craft serves the Empire's quest for colonization. For Robin, Oxford is a utopia dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge. But knowledge obeys power, and as a Chinese boy raised in Britain, Robin realizes serving Babel means betraying his motherland. As his studies progress, Robin finds himself caught between Babel and the shadowy Hermes Society, an organization dedicated to stopping imperial expansion. When Britain pursues an unjust war with China over silver and opium, Robin must decide . . .

This Savage Song by V.E. Schwab Kate Harker and August Flynn are the heirs to a divided city—a city where the violence has begun to breed actual monsters. All Kate wants is to be as ruthless as her father, who lets the monsters roam free and makes the humans pay for his protection. All August wants is to be human, as good-hearted as his own father, to play a bigger role in protecting the innocent—but he’s one of the monsters. One who can steal a soul with a simple strain of music. When the chance arises to keep an eye on Kate, who’s just been kicked out of her sixth boarding school and returned home, August jumps at it. But Kate discovers August’s secret, and after a failed assassination attempt the pair must flee for their lives.

Anxious People by Frederick Backman Viewing an apartment normally doesn’t turn into a life-or-death situation, but this particular open house becomes just that when a failed bank robber bursts in and takes everyone in the apartment hostage. As the pressure mounts, the eight strangers begin slowly opening up to one another and reveal long-hidden truths. As police surround the premises and television channels broadcast the hostage situation live, the tension mounts and even deeper secrets are slowly revealed. Before long, the robber must decide which is the more terrifying prospect: going out to face the police, or staying in the apartment with this group of impossible people.

The Midnight Library by Matt Haig Somewhere out beyond the edge of the universe there is a library that contains an infinite number of books, each one the story of another reality. One tells the story of your life as it is, along with another book for the other life you could have lived if you had made a different choice at any point in your life. While we all wonder how our lives might have been, what if you had the chance to go to the library and see for yourself? Would any of these other lives truly be better? Nora Seed finds herself faced with this decision. Faced with the possibility of changing her life for a new one, following a different career, undoing old breakups, realizing her dreams of becoming a glaciologist; she must search within herself as she travels through the Midnight Library to decide what is truly fulfilling in life, and what makes it worth living in the first place.

The Book Thief by Markus Zusak It is 1939. Nazi Germany. The country is holding its breath. Death has never been busier, and will be busier still. By her brother's graveside, Liesel's life is changed when she picks up a single object, partially hidden in the snow. It is The Gravedigger's Handbook, left behind there by accident, and it is her first act of book thievery. So begins a love affair with books and words, as Liesel, with the help of her accordian-playing foster father, learns to read. Soon she is stealing books from Nazi book-burnings, the mayor's wife's library, wherever there are books to be found. But these are dangerous times. When Liesel's foster family hides a Jew in their basement, Liesel's world is both opened up, and closed down.

The synopses were all taken from Goodreads. Feel free to comment/DM me if you have any questions about these!

#amor towles #the Lincoln highway #a gentleman in moscow #book recommendations #book rec list #books #literature #books and reading #the book thief #Markus zusak #matt haig #the midnight library #anxious people #Frederick backman #this savage song #ve schwab #babel #rebecca f kuang

[the-fiction-witch]

Messuring P2

Media TMR

Character Newt 

Couple Newt X Reader

Rating Sweet + Funny

Concept Measuring 

I arrived at the meeting hall leaning on my usual post as everyone gathered in the hall, "What's going on?"I asked fry

"Y/n called the meeting" He shrugs

"Oh? someone been stealing her panties again?"

"She's finished her graph" Minho smirked

"Her graph? Ohhh yeah. I forgot she was even doing that" I blushed a little given she had come to meassure me a few days ago and of course... what happened between us when she measured me. And of course, everything between us since, as I had pretty much been sleeping in her bed this whole time since, and we were showering together every day. She was last in shutting the door behind her as she walked through to the center of the hall giving me a sweet smile

"I have finished my list," she says and quietly went across the room

"what list?" Chuck piped up

"You were excluded from this list Chuck you can go"

"I wanna be on the list"

"go" she demanded

he sighed and left the room leaving us all eagerly waiting

"So, I have completed my list, I have made sure its in order and I have completed the graph"

"Who won?" Was yelled from the back

"well third is a tie as David, fry, Lincoln, scott and jim are all the same height at 6'0" she explained and they all cheered at their joint third place

"Second place goes to Ben"

"Yes!" Ben smirked

"The winner of the tallest glade boy officially goes to Gally"

"yes! I told you I was taller than you shank!" Gally yelled to his fellow builders

"Alright settle down" Alby told them

"Third place in the longest cock, is a joint third between david and scott at 6.2" she smiled

"woooo double third! double third!" the two began to yell

"Okay okay," she laughs "Second place is again a joint position between Zart and Jim with 6.4" she smiled

I was a little in shock glancing to zart in shock a little in disbelief, and so did almost everyone else.

"and winner of the longest cock, in the glade" she smiled and the room, went utterly silent waiting for the answer "Is. Frypay with 6.5 inches" she smiled

"wooooooo!" he yelled excitedly everyone congratulating him

"And for everyone else, You may see the graph" She smiled putting her graph on the wall and of course everyone bolted to see where they listed

(Yes I did actually make this, I did do it. I had to. actually make it for you all.)

"What the hell! I'm eighth" Gally complained

"Ohhh I'm the smallest. in both categories" Sammy pouted

I didn't bother bolting over I didn't really care

"Don't you wanna know?" Y/n asks coming over

"Not really, I'm not too bothered" I shrug pulling her into a cuddle she smiled and cuddled into my hoddie

"Awww really?"

"Not bothered. it'll just make me feel bad about myself"

"Well I like you" she cooes "Just the way you and your appendages are"

"You do?"

"Umm there perfectly sized for me" she giggled nuzzling into my neck

"awww cute love"

"Shall we go and test out the perfection"

"yeah?"

"Ummm hummm let the boys fight, I want my favourite" she cooes tugging me out the hall.

#newt #newt imagine #tmr newt smut #the maze runner newt smut #newt smut au #newt smut #tdc newt smut #tmr newt imagines #newt imagines #tmr newt imagine #tmr newt #tmr newt fanfic #the maze runner #tbs #tbs fanfic #tbs smut #tbs smutty #tbs sex #TBS Imagine #tbs imagines #thomas #thomas sangster #thomas brodie sangster #thomas sangster imagine #thomassangster #thomas brodie sangster i #thomas brodie sangster imagine #thomas broide sangster imagine #thomas brodie sangster smut #thomas smut

[happi-tree]

midnight (close to you)

Taylor ❤️‍🔥                  just now u up

Lincoln grimaces at the 03:27 in bold numbers across the top of his screen before swiping on the message and unlocking his phone to type out a quick reply. 

Me                  Yeah. 

Lincoln is no stranger to seeing Taylor up at weird hours, but as he glances at past messages (filled on Taylor’s part with lots of exclamation points and cutesy little emotes), he suddenly feels a bit more awake. 

A chat bubble appears below, animated dots appearing and disappearing as he waits. 

Taylor ❤️‍🔥                   🕯️?

Me                  On it.

Or: Taylor has a bad night, and Lincoln tries his best to make it more bearable.

ao3

Swiftli time, lovebirds!!! Here’s my fic for day 5: demons/nightmares. Like days 1 and 3, this is part of the supernatural au @llumimoon, @kaseyskat, and I planned out together. Hope you enjoy!

(Title taken from "Sleep-walking" by Dreamcatcher).

Lincoln Li-Wilson is tossing and turning in a vain attempt at sleep when his phone buzzes.

Blearily, he wipes at his eyes as he focuses on the screen, wincing at the sudden brightness.

Taylor ❤️‍🔥                  just now

u up

Lincoln grimaces at the 03:27 in bold numbers across the top of his screen before swiping on the message and unlocking his phone to type out a quick reply. 

Me                 

Yeah. 

Lincoln is no stranger to seeing Taylor up at weird hours, but as he glances at past messages (filled on Taylor’s part with lots of exclamation points and cutesy little emotes), he suddenly feels a bit more awake. 

A chat bubble appears below, animated dots appearing and disappearing as he waits. 

Taylor ❤️‍🔥                  

🕯️?

Me                 

On it.

Lincoln pushes himself out of bed, making his way over to turn on his fairy lights (a joke gift from Normal, tiny pairs of butterfly wings casting the room in warm-tinted pinpricks of light) and opens one of his dresser drawers, pulling out the components he needs.

Next to go is the area rug, rolled up and pushed to the side to uncover the large pentagram painted into the floor, encircled by runes Lincoln had checked and double-checked, written in Taylor’s steady hand. 

He places the red taper candles in the direction of each of the four winds, scatters coarse salt atop the inked circle (a formality at this point, but he can never be too careful). He fumbles with the lighter, trying a few times before remembering to shut off the ceiling fan. 

Lincoln makes sure to crack the door open (the increasingly invasive questions from both of his dads had been downright embarrassing the last time they did this and he is not in the mood for a repeat experience). They won’t mind, he knows.

Besides, there are many worse things a teenage boy like Lincoln could be doing than ritually summoning a demon. Half-demon. Whatever. 

At each point of the star, he places small offerings: an unopened box of strawberry crunch Pocky; a Garfield plush (which he deeply hopes Taylor will give back to him, since it’s one of his favorites); a room-temperature Ramune; a sparkly sticker; a homemade charm bracelet (no iron or silver, of course, warded for protection and serenity). 

In the very center of the pentagram, Lincoln carefully places the Hatsune Miku keychain Taylor had lent him for this exact purpose.

Lincoln pricks his finger and lets a drop of blood fall to the outer edge of the circle, lets the sizzle of it drown out the soft mutterings of the incantation.

Five pinpricks of flame flare higher, brighter, and brilliant ribbons of fire spread outward to conjoin in the center of the circle. Lincoln watches warily as the ball of flame grows and grows, expanding outward and beginning to color with the reddish-magenta hue of his friend’s aura, casting the room in stark maroon shadows.

Before his eyes, the blaze grows brighter, burns hotter, practically pushing at the bounds of its ink-carved confinement, and Lincoln feels the heat lick at his face, warm against his cheeks.

As suddenly as it began, the light is extinguished, revealing the hunched pajama-clad form of Taylor amidst the embers and smoke, the faint cerise glow around him fading until he’s backlit by Lincoln’s fairy lights.

It’s an enchanting sight, normally, one that Lincoln cherishes, but not when Taylor’s glancing down at the painted floorboards with glossed-over eyes, trembling slightly.

“Hey,” Lincoln says, breaking the line of salt with a nudge of his socked foot, crawling forward until their knees touch.

A single, long strand of Taylor’s fringe is still aflame, so Lincoln leans inward and pinches it gently between his thumb and forefinger and extinguishes it with a hiss.

“Taylor,” Lincoln calls, voice hushed in the night but hopefully loud enough to get through to him. He tucks the midnight-dark strand behind the delicate, reddened point of Taylor’s ear.

When he doesn’t respond, doesn’t look up, worry settles further in his stomach, a leaden weight.

His hand cups his best friend’s face, carefully guiding upward until Taylor meets his gaze.

Glazed-over and deeply tired, Taylor stares blinkingly at him for a moment, eyes welling with tears.

“Hey,” Lincoln tries again, “what’s going o-” The air is knocked out of him in a quiet oof as Taylor lunges forward into his chest. He’s uncomfortably warm to the touch in such a way that would burn most people but only leaves Lincoln with a tingling sensation, kind of like sitting by a fireplace for a bit too long. He can feel the fabric of his sleep shirt growing wet where Taylor’s buried his face into his shoulder, and his arms come around to encircle his friend instinctively. 

“You’re burning up,” Lincoln frets as he touches the back of his hand to Taylor’s forehead. It feels like stretching his hands out over a bonfire rather than a candle, like usual, and he frowns at the way the heat pushes angrily against his wardings, making his hand glow a barely-perceptible gold. He frowns even deeper when Taylor only wriggles further into his arms, making a sad, distressed sort of sound.

Lincoln notices the way Taylor presses his ear into the left side of his chest, pushing against him like he’s searching out his heartbeat, and something in him twists a little. 

This floor can’t be comfortable for him, especially not when he’s shaking and breathing unevenly. 

Lincoln looks behind him, opens more of the salt circle with his bare foot, knocks over a crimson candle in the process.

Whatever, he’ll clean it up in the morning. 

“Gonna pick you up now, okay?” Lincoln murmurs, ducking his head so he doesn’t have to speak too loud and making sure to keep his voice slow and steady and reassuring.

Taylor nods against him, and Lincoln allows himself a shadow of a smile. 

“Good,” he says, and adjusts his hold, sliding one arm under Taylor’s knees and another along his back (beneath his shoulder blades, just in case). Something thin and warm coils itself around his forearm and squeezes, and Lincoln doesn’t need to look to know that Taylor’s wrapped his tail around him for support as his clawed hands scramble for purchase on his upper back. The fabric of Lincoln’s shirt shreds a little, but as always, Taylor’s scratching doesn’t manage to break through the latent magic just atop his skin. 

“Up we go!” Lincoln says, and Taylor clings to him even tighter as he holds his smaller friend aloft, carrying them both to his twin XL bed and depositing Taylor as gracefully as he can.

Which isn’t very graceful at all, since Taylor refuses to let go of him.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Lincoln soothes - or at least tries to. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise. I just need you to let me go, ‘kay?”

Taylor shakes his head, mumbling something almost inaudible into his chest.

“What was that?” he says, even though he knows he heard the muffled no, not again the first time.

“Can’t,” Taylor says instead, leaving Lincoln leaning awkwardly over the edge of the bed, feeling oddly cold despite the feverish boy in his arms. 

“Okay,” Lincoln mutters, shifting his hold a little (because while Taylor is relatively easy to pick up, soccer has, admittedly, not done much for his arm strength). “Can I move my hand so you can hold it, maybe? So I can be next to you?”

Taylor hums in the affirmative, so Lincoln slides a hand from beneath his friend’s back, and Taylor takes it the second it’s offered, clutching it with clawed fingers like a lifeline as Lincoln climbs into the narrow bed beside him.

That doesn’t last long, though, because Taylor is quick to throw an arm across Link’s shoulders and drape his leg across Lincoln’s own in a strange, full body half-hug. 

Lincoln hums a little in concern, worry pulling at his brow. Taylor really must not be feeling well with the way that every point of contact between them burns the tiniest bit, despite the layers and layers of enchantments and wards and immunities that have woven themselves into Lincoln’s cells.

Taylor’s head buries just below Link’s jaw, the way Normal tends to do when he’s feeling needy or sad and wants their pack’s scent around him. His horns, still growing by the day, clip against the side of Lincoln’s face harmlessly as he shuffles into him. 

Lincoln takes a minute to marvel at the close bond he has with his friends that defies human description. To go from having nobody his own age to talk to, much less be around, to having three people who care about him - despite rocky introductions - who love him enough to call him family, to be pack, to choose him, to come to him for comfort and camaraderie, to want him… it’s a lot.

 Sometimes, if Lincoln thinks about it too hard, the way his friends give him affection so freely - the way Normal nearly tackles him to the ground with the force of his hug and calls him by Name when the world gets to be too much, the way Scary leans into him without hesitation, the way Taylor curls into him now without reigning in his infernal traits - he could almost cry.

Taylor’s tail wraps around Lincoln’s waist, steadfast and needy, the spaded tip of it thumping irregularly against Lincoln’s side. 

They rest like that for several moments that seem simultaneously like an instant and like they stretch on into eternity, eons passing with each movement of Lincoln’s fingers through Taylor’s sleep-mussed hair.

Since Lincoln can’t really look at Taylor without craning his neck awkwardly, he chooses a spot on the ceiling to stare at, reveling in the feeling of Taylor cuddling up against him and taking obviously deep, slow breaths so that Taylor can match them. The heat at his side slowly abates from almost-singeing to a comforting warmth, and just as slowly, Taylor’s breath evens out from where it fans against his neck.

Lincoln lets the relative silence wash over him, waiting.

“Link?” Taylor asks, voice slightly muffled. 

(Taylor’s lips brush against the side of Lincoln’s throat in a way that makes his breath catch, sends his heart fluttering in his chest, but that’s not something he wants to think too hard about right now.)

“Yeah?” he responds quietly, and thankfully his voice doesn’t sound too strangled as he whispers.

“Thanks.” Taylor doesn’t look up, doesn’t let go, but he’s relaxed more fully into Lincoln’s side rather than grasping in a desperate panic. 

“Anytime, man.” It’s amazing, the way Taylor’s presence can warm him from the inside out without even trying, without even factoring in his demonic abilities.

Lincoln doesn’t press for answers. 

At this point, he doesn’t really need to. It’s become something of a routine for them over the past few months - whenever Taylor is left in an empty house and craves company, whenever Lincoln is feeling a little too cold, whenever sleep eludes them, the summoning circle is there, just to the side of Lincoln’s bed, and suddenly, things are a little less lonely.

Sometimes, Taylor wants to talk. Sometimes, he keeps to himself, and Lincoln tries not to let it worry him too much.

Anxiety meds are great for that, but the haunted look in his friends’ eyes is an unknown that Lincoln can’t protect them from, can only try his best to understand, fumbling and human as he is. 

“I, uh. Had a bad dream,” Taylor starts, tucking his head out of Lincoln’s neck to face him.

Ah. Tonight falls in the former category, then.

“Yeah?” Lincoln hears himself say, though he had figured as much.

“Yeah. Really, uh. Really bad.”

Taylor’s voice sounds so small in the mostly-dark quiet of the room. 

Lincoln squeezes their hands, still conjoined, a tiny, wordless reassurance.

“You’re safe now,” Lincoln tells him. “My dad’s warded this entire house like crazy.”

Taylor scoffs. “Yeah, like I could forget after the first time you snuck me in.”

“I thought we agreed we would never talk about that again,” Lincoln responds, mock-shuddering.

“You begged me not to bring it up, I promised nothing. Not the same thing.”

Lincoln likes seeing Taylor’s smile again, even if it’s just the barest flash of fang glinting in the soft glow of his distant fairy lights. Even when it fades a few seconds later.

Taylor’s tail squeezes around Lincoln’s middle, and Lincoln brings a hand to rest on his shoulder.

“Hey,” He murmurs. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, I won’t let anything hurt you.”

Taylor laughs again, but it’s a shaky, mirthless sound, this time.

“I know you wouldn’t,” He says quietly. Then, “You didn’t, in my dream. You, uh, died.”

“Oh,” Lincoln says.

“Didn’t wanna bother you with it, but you were awake, and it’s stupid, but…” Taylor’s voice trails off.

Lincoln exhales, holds his friend closer.

“I wouldn’t wanna lose you, either,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, just between his horns.

Taylor’s warmth flares in his hold, just a little bit, and the corners of Lincoln’s lips turn up a fraction. Even despite everything, his best friend is incredibly easy to fluster. 

“There were… hunters,” he mumbles, looking down at Lincoln’s orange-and-black striped comforter, grasping for his hands and fidgeting with their loosely-locked fingers to distract Lincoln (and maybe himself, too) from the way his shoulders still tremble. “They were coming for us - Norm, Scary, Hermie. Me.”

Something in Lincoln’s stomach feels like it just twisted, and pressure builds behind his eyes - half-exhaustion, half-sorrow.

“Taylor - hey, Tay, look at me, please?”

Lincoln sees the way that Taylor’s downturned, red-tinged mahogany eyes brim with tears, threatening to spill over onto his cheeks.

Lincoln gently extricates a hand from Taylor’s grasp, brings it to rest under his chin, tilting it upward until they are face to face again and he can peer into his eyes.

Taylor’s eyes have a fire lit behind them, one he’s always noticed in the back of his mind before either of them were aware of his demonic heritage. It’s captivating, the way that they catch in the light, spark to match the bright burn of Taylor’s convictions. Again and again, they’ve drawn Lincoln in like a moth to a flame, crimson-brown-black and enchanting in an entirely different way than anything of the fae.

Lincoln thinks he would jump into the fire and set himself ablaze if it meant that he would never have to see the light behind his eyes shrink to the pinpricks that he sees now.

Hot tears stream down Taylor’s cheeks, silent except for the small hiss the droplets make as they hit the fabric of Lincoln’s bedspread.

Lincoln thumbs the rest away as Taylor leans into the affection, catlike, and the thing in Lincoln’s stomach writhes again.

“Taylor,” he says again, “Look at me.”

Dark eyelashes flutter open, and Taylor looks so, so tired, so haunted.

(Lincoln’s seen that look before on the face of someone else he loves, and he’d give anything to never see it on either of them again.)

“I need you to listen to me.”

Lincoln has… a hard time making eye contact, sometimes, but this is important, so he stares into his friend’s eyes, doesn’t back off or let his gaze slide away. 

“You know my family wouldn’t let that happen. That - my dad - it’s his whole thing, you know?”

“Your dad wasn’t there,” Taylor says. “Just you.”

“Then I wouldn’t let that happen. You know I wouldn’t, if it came down to it.”

“I know,” Taylor replies, miserably. “That’s the problem.”

Oh.

“The jackass - in my dream, y’know - the guy that shot you, you know what he said? He said that it was a shame that he had to waste a silver bullet on a pesky human. That it was sad that we’d, like, magicked you into siding with us. Which was so fucked up and I - I couldn’t move, I was so angry. And scared, god, I was terrified, and Norm and Scary were, too, and then it all went black, and-”

“And you woke up?” Lincoln guessed.

“Yeah,” Taylor says. “Nearly melted my phone trying to text you.”

Lincoln frowns, scooches closer to him. Rests a hand on Taylor’s cheek, leans in to press their foreheads together.

Taylor’s horns poke uncomfortably against his skull, but Lincoln ignores it - besides, with all of the immunities he’s built up, the pain barely registers.

“I’m here,” Lincoln says.

“I know,” Taylor responds, and his voice is hoarse.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“You - Link, you can’t just say that. I know you’ve got some weird, fucked-up magic shit protecting you, but you’re human, and I’m -”

“Half-human,” Lincoln reminds him, not unkindly. “You didn’t ask for this.”

“Well, you didn’t, either!”

“I know,” Lincoln responds. “We’re both new to this, and there’s horrible people out there that have it out for us, and we just gotta… live with that.”

“It’s not fair,” Taylor groans, resting his face in the crook of Lincoln’s neck again.

“It isn’t,” Lincoln agrees as he begins to card fingers through warm, dark hair. Taylor makes a soft, whispery sort of sound like the crackling of a campfire, resonating from his chest in the demonic equivalent of purring. 

“You’re right. I’m human, even if I’m harder to mess with than most,” Lincoln says. “But I chose this, at least a little bit. I chose you, all of you. And I’m not gonna back out. We’re in this together, dude. As long as you’ll have me?”

“You say that like it’s a question. I’ll always want you. I’m a selfish bitch like that.”

“Hey, don’t talk about my best friend like that,” Lincoln teases, and presses another kiss to the top of Taylor’s head for emphasis.

He chuckles. “You keep that up, and people are gonna think we’re more than best friends.”

“Pretty allonormative of you, Taylor,” Lincoln snipes. “Plus, I don’t see anyone else here…”

“Well, then, I guess I can retaliate without an audience,” Taylor responds, and Lincoln can hear the familiar mischief in his voice.

“Retal- ah,” the air leaves Lincoln’s lungs as Taylor presses his lips against the side of his neck, purposefully lets a fang graze against the delicate skin there.

“Mm,” Taylor hums. Lincoln can feel the vibration of it against his throat, and the sound goes straight to his head, warm and sleep-fuzzed and more than a little deliriously dizzy.

“Sorry,” Taylor says, not sounding the least bit apologetic as he pulls away after a moment with a soft popping sound. “You were saying?”

Taylor’s tail sways back and forth behind him, giving him the appearance of a predator ready to pounce.

“Guh,” Lincoln responds intelligibly, trying to get his brain back online. “You’re the worst, sometimes, you know that? Like, I was going somewhere with that, and then - you -”

“I am pretty insufferable, huh,” Taylor says with a close-lipped grin, sounding far too self-satisfied.

“Guess I’ll just have to suffer you, then,” Lincoln replies with a small grin of his own, dragging Taylor down into his arms.

Taylor gives in easily, tail brushing against the side of Lincoln’s leg affectionately.

“Taking one for the team,” Lincoln says. “I’m pretty good at that.”

“Too good,” Taylor says, looking up at him from the circle of his arms. “I don’t need you throwing yourself into the, like, line of fire for me when I’m immune, yeah?”

“The dream wasn’t real, you know.”

“Could be, someday,” Taylor muses, and though the tear tracks have evaporated from his face, there’s still a twist of uncharacteristic melancholy in his expression. 

Lincoln hums. “Well, in the meantime, maybe we can protect each other? And the others. That sound okay?” he asks. “Because I’m not gonna stop having your back anytime soon.”

“Same here,” Taylor says. “You’re ours, and anyone who comes at us can take you away over my dead body.”

“Possessive,” Link notes, pointedly ignoring the way his heart jolts. “And kinda morbid.” “Eh, it’s a demon thing, I think,” Taylor shrugs. 

“Dork.”

“I dunno, I think it’s kinda hot.” 

“Taylor, you’re part demon. Being hot is your thing.”

“Oh, so I’m attractive to you, huh? What are you gonna do, kiss me about it?” There’s a single fang poking out of Taylor’s smile, and Lincoln fails not to think about the way it felt brushing over his pulse.

“Maybe. If we both go to sleep after this.”

Taylor blinks lazily at him. “Sleep sounds nice,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Think you could keep the nightmares away?” His eyes, as tired as they are, are so deep and dark and beautiful.

“I’ve got a few charms for that,” Lincoln answers, pointing around the room at bundles of herbs and twine and rune-inscribed parchment that Marco had strung up along corners of the ceiling.

“Link, I was trying to be flirty.”

“Oh,” Lincoln says. Then, “So if I kiss you, you’ll go to sleep?”

“Mm, that can be arranged,” Taylor agrees, his tail snaking around to tap against Lincoln’s nose affectionately before wrapping around his waist.

“Good,” Lincoln breathes, and he leans in to meet Taylor halfway. 

In the end, Lincoln loses count of how many lazy kisses they exchange in the faint glow of the fairy lights before they succumb to slumber, but when he wakes, Taylor is still in his arms, a faint smile on his face in his sleep.

Lincoln can feel his face mirror the expression as he wipes a bit of Taylor’s drool away with the back of his hand. He leans down and ghosts his lips over Taylor’s temple, tucks a stray lock of hair behind his ear, filled with an uncomfortable-yet-comforting warmth wherever their bodies overlap.

Lincoln basks in it as he closes his eyes again, resting against the pillows, and knows that whatever dangers lurk ahead, they’ll face them together. 

#ah. swiftli my beloveds <333 feels good to post them again!!! #ideally. i would've posted day 2/4's fic yesterday for More Context purposes but alas 😔 the eepy got me and we have a schedule to keep #i don't think it's toooooooo hard to read between the lines for this one? v light to nonexistent detective work here methinks #but i'll let y'all be the judge of that! #anyway. the li-wilsons have made me particularly unwell in this au and i will be abnormal about them FOREVER #anyway uh. boys cuddling and kissing perhaps queerplatonically. what then 😳😳😳 #tbh you can read this anyway you like! just know that neither of them are completely allo in my head (happy belated ace week) #and also. there's a couple little nods to link having autism here and there <3 bc i am an autistic link truther #and an autistic taylor truther too btw it's just not as obvious here #okokok now for actual tags #dndads #fic #swiftli #dndads halloween week 2023 #happi scribbles #bat and wolf #happi rambles

[dasenergi]

Book asks for you!

What book was turned into a movie and turned out to be as good or even better than the book?

Is there a particular author you would like to meet in real life?

What book are you reading right now?

What book was turned into a movie and turned out to be as good or even better than the book?

Jaws by Peter Benchley is a pretty horrible book. It is completely different from the movie. For example, in the book Hooper (Richard Dreyfuss) is a young preppy attractive cocky stud jock and there is a romance between Hooper and Chief Brody's wife Ellen! Spielberg took a horrible book, and turned it into one of our best monster movies ever made.

Is there a particular author you would like to meet in real life?

You didn't mention alive or dead. All three of my answers, are dead.

The first author that came to my mind is James Baldwin! Simply because he is so sexy! I want to do naughty sexy things with him. Intelligence is so hot.

The second author that came to mind is Walt Whitman. I want to be his friend! I think we have a lot in common (spiritually) and I would love to know the conversations we would have together talking about nature, love, life, the cosmos, the spirit, and Abraham Lincoln. (He totally had a thing for Abe.)

The third author that came to mind, most people have never heard of before. His name is Alexander Key. He is most famous for writing the book that the Disney movie "Escape to Witch Mountain" was based on.

I have read almost all of his books (they are out of print and difficult to come by) and I have also collected some of the books where he provided the illustrations. Almost all of his books have a magical / fantastical / science fiction element to them - like kids who are aliens or from other dimensions, or kids who have encounters with unusual phenomena or they discover they have hidden magical abilities. And he even wrote a non-fiction book, "The Strange White Doves" filled with true stories about how animals have ESP! There is even a chapter about how trees have ESP! He published his first book in 1930! And I just know, he writes so much about magical / mystical encounters, that he must have had some real life experiences himself. I would love to know what inspired a lifetime spent writing for children about how they have untapped magic inside of them.

I just opened my copy of "The Strange White Doves" (published in 1972) and on the book jacket Alexander Key is quoted as saying, "Man has become so self-centered and destructive that there is very little hope for him or his planet." Then he adds, "If enough young people can see the truth, there IS hope."

What is this "Truth" he speaks of??? I'd love to get inside of his mind and know what he knows.

What book are you reading right now?

You know I always have several books going at one time! Here is my current pile:

"Dracula" by Bram Stoker "A Wind in the Door" by Madeleine L'Engle "The Complete Persepolis" by Marjane Satrapi "Marilyn: The Passion and the Paradox" a biography about Marilyn Monroe by Lois Banner "Wolfsong" by TJ Klune

I love you, friend! Thank you for asking! I appreciate your friendship.

P.S. In case anyone is interested in more information about Alexander Key, here is a link to his Wikipedia entry.

#asks #books #alexander key

[rabbitcoolcars]

After V-E Day (peace in Europe) was declared on May 8, 1945 and later on when V-J Day (peace in Japan) was declared on August 15, 1945, the average age of what was on the road was nine years old. There was such a pent-up demand for new cars that it made no sense to redesign cars early. Many new cars were just warmed over 1942 models. There's an old adage that says, "Beauty is in eye of the beholder" and as the postwar Seller's Market slowly transitioned to a Buyer's Market that by 1949, four of the Independent car manufacturers would design some unique and radical looking cars. Independent automakers earn a 22 percent market share in 1948 versus just 9.3 percent in 1941.

Studebaker was the first company to redesign their line of cars in 1947, along with their catchy slogan, “First by far with a postwar car." Studebaker was highly successful. Then in 1948 both Hudson and Packard introduced their all-new postwar designs. The Hudson was a radically designed automobile known today as the "Step-down" Hudson. While Packard's all-new design was very successful for the company. Finally in 1949, Nash would introduce their cutting edge design. Out of the four automobiles that were introduced between 1947 and 1949 three looked like they attended the "upside down bathtub" school of design.

In 1948 Hudson introduced one of the best postwar designs that would continue through 1954. The new Hudson was low and sleek, with a low center of gravity allowing it to handle extremely well for the period. They quickly gained renown for superior handling and road-worthiness. Step-Down refers to Hudson's innovative body design that allowed the floor of the car to be placed lower than the frame-rails and door stills. This design allowed the driver and passengers to step down as opposed to stepping up as was the case with the other cars that were produced at that time. The occupants were fully surrounded by steel girders that Hudson called Monobilt construction which meant that the body and chassis were welded together. A long wheelbase ensured a comfortable ride and roomy interiors. The pontoon look, that was a radical departure from the fat fender look started in the mid-1930's and was retained until 1954. The pontoon look blends the front and rear fenders into one continuous line. It was soon copied by other automakers: Packard, Ford, Mercury, and Lincoln. The 1948 Hudson was offered in four trim levels: Commodore Six and Eight and Super Six and Eight they all had a 124-inch wheelbase. Weight rose by 13 percent, but the six-cylinder engine was new and more powerful. These new Hudson models brought Hudson prestige in the press and dominance on the race track while in the showroom Hudson's sales were up by 27 percent to 117,200 which was good for 10th place in industry sales. Hudson earned a $13.2 million profit on $274 million in sales, setting a new postwar record. The Step-Down Hudson evolved from wartime designs by Frank Spring, and chief engineer Millard Toncray. The Commodore Six ran with a sensational, durable new engine a 262-cid L-head that produced 121 bhp that put other eight cylinder cars to shame. The other engine was available on the Commodore Eight which had the 254-cid L-head eight rated at 128 bhp.

A point that is often overlooked in Hudson's history, is the choice that Hudson made to go to unitized body construction, where the body and chassis are welded together. This was a very advanced process that did allow for lighter weight and more chassis stiffness and when combine that with the ability to lower the structure (you sat in the frame, not on top of it), the Hudson cars were more advanced then their competition. However, unitized construction requires much more tooling costs to redesign the body style because you are changing the structure as well as the body sheet metal. That led to the Hudson styling remaining unchanged for seven years which was way too long to satisfy the customer especially when the competition was redesigning every few years. The second thing that hurt Hudson badly was the refusal to introduce a modern V-8. It is ironic that their choice to upgrade their Super Six to the 308-cid Hornet L-Head resulted in a quite powerful engine. Hudson Hornets had 165 horsepower when most competitors were making no better than 135. The third and most telling was the disaster of the Jet. Hudson had limited financial resources, and management decided to develop a compact-sized model instead of refurbishing its line of full-size cars and developing its own V-8. However, Hudson was unable to foresee the dramatic decline in overall compact car sales during the 1952-1954 period which already included three other makes The miscalculation of the Jet helped to destroy the Hudson Motor Car Company. Consequently, the company was forced to merge with Nash-Kelvinator (forming American Motors on May 1, 1954) because of the losses resulting from the Jet project and the falling sales of Hudson's senior line.

Packard outsold Cadillac by almost 20 percent in 1948, but it was for the last time. Although Packard ultimately posted a net profit of $5.3 million for the calendar year, ongoing problems with production and raw materials resulted in operating losses through much of the year. Sales for the 1950 model year declined sharply, as did Packard’s market share, which fell by more than 30 percent from 1948 to 1950. Packard did not adhere to the conventional model year designations until 1951. These models were built from August, 1947, through May, 1949 and were considered the Series 22. The first of these Packard models appeared in August 1947 as convertibles. Packard's 1948 profile was based on the prewar Phantom show car that was built for Ed Macauley. Appearance changes included a longer hood; "ox-yoke" shaped upper grille; full-width, wraparound lower grille; a pair of simplified, vertical front bumper guards; and smoother, rounded body lines, often referred to as the "inverted bathtub" or "soap bar" look. The new Packard body styling was awarded a "Fashion Car of the Year" gold medal by the New York Fashion Academy. At exhibits throughout the world in 1947-1948, the new Custom Victoria Convertible Coupe was honored for its advanced styling. A dashboard with black-lighted "Flite-Glo" instrumentation was a new feature, and tool kits were provided with each new Packard sold. Heavy chucks of sheet-metal were tacked onto the structure to create a flowing-fender effect that added about 200 pounds and yielded a chubby profile. Unfortunately, sharp eyed car buyers nicknamed Packard the, "Pregnant Elephant." A short squat grille did not help matters, as it was far less elegant then the tall narrow grille of the 1946 and 1947 models. For 1948 a new top-of-the-line 327-cid 145-horsepower engine was available for the first time in the Super series. Packard made eight-cylinder engines in 288, 327, 356-cid, these were rated at 130, 145 and 160 horsepower, respectively. Packard's six cylinder engine was reserved for the taxi and limousine models only selling around 2,000 cars. The wooden body work (maple panels framed with birch) of the Station Sedan (station wagon) was structural only at the smallish tailgate. Wood at the door panels and window frames were inlaid.

The Standard Eight had the plainest Packard hood ornament, single rocker panel strips, upper belt moldings running from below the front vent panes to the rear, and no lower belt moldings at mid-body level as did the more expensive models. While the DeLuxe Eights were the same basic cars as the Standard Eight with extra exterior trim and better interior appointments that were also fitted to the Super Eights. As in years past, Packard offered several hood ornaments. Standard on the Packard Eight, was a low "flying wing," but buyers could opt for the "Goddess of Speed," irreverently known as the "boy with the donut," or the "Egyptian," which looked like a fancied 1949 Ford hood ornament. Standard on the Custom Eight was the graceful Cormorant, which Packard would call the Pelican in 1949-1950. DeLuxe Eight models were also fitted with a fancier wheel treatment. The Super Eight was Packard's mid-priced line of cars that had nicer interior materials. Exterior trim was little different than that of the Standard Eights, except for the Super DeLuxe sedan, which was trimmed in the manner of the DeLuxe Eight. In the rear there chrome divider bars on the tail light lenses. At the top was the Custom Eight which was Packard's luxury series, it had the highest horsepower output, but due to their larger size, not the highest power to weight ratio. The egg-crate style grille design was exclusive to the Custom Eight and a beauty panel, of a similar pattern stretched across the rear body to encase the tail-lamps with its bright metal scroll design. Rear wheel fender skirts were standard equipment and a double rocker panel strip ran the full length on the body sides. A graceful, vertical cormorant mascot was this model's hood ornament. Also introduced in 1948 was the all-new Super Eight Victoria Convertible Coupe it was Packard's first open car since 1942. The Super convertible had a single rocker panel strip and fender skirts were standard while the wheelbase was 120 inches while the interior materials was all-leather. Model year production for Packard jumped to 81 percent to 92,251 cars sold for 13th place in the industry.

When Charles W. Nash died on June 6, 1948 in Beverly Hills, California he left an estate worth around $50 million dollars. Nash who founded the company had hand-picked George Mason as his successor, partly on the belief that Mason was a fiscal conservative like himself. It's doubtful that Nash ever regretted his choice, for Mason ran the company very well indeed, avoiding the pitfalls that had killed off so many other independent automakers. On October 27, 1936, it was announced that Nash Motors and the Kelvinator Corporation would merge on January 4, 1937, to form Nash-Kelvinator Corporation that placed George W. Mason at the helm of the combined company. By 1945, Nash was a solid company that had earned a reasonable return on its wartime contracts and had plenty of cash on hand to retool for the future. Mason understood the need for fiscal responsibility, but a part of him yearned to take a chance on something a bit daring, bold, and out of the mainstream. He believed that the way to ensure success for a smaller independent automaker was to offer cars noticeably different from those of the Big Three. Mason realized that once the pent-up demand was over the market would quickly turn cold and cruel. Knowing that he would need an all-new car when competitive conditions returned, he settled on 1949 as the year he would introduce the first all-new postwar Nash. This would be the car that would lead the firm into the future.

Preliminary work on the 1949 had actually begun during the war, 1943 to be exact. When the 1949 Nash Airflyte was introduced it was a standout, easily identifiable to the man on the street -- exciting and exotic all at once. With its headlines screaming "Now-Everybody Wants It!" The envelope shape was the most streamlined form on the road, a large step ahead of the vaguely similar Packard. The design of the Nash Airflyte generated just 113 pounds of drag at 60 mph, compared to 171 for Packard. The rounded fenders flowed smoothly, their gentle corners eased a path through the wind. At 62 inches tall, the new car stood six inches lower than the 1948 Nash, and the windshield was one piece and curved. Semi-enclosed rear wheel housings had been a feature on the previous Nash models, but for this daring postwar design both front and rear wheels were now enclosed. George Mason championed the enclosed wheels as a boldly innovative feature -- and a Nash exclusive. So pure, was the Aero look that buyers had to come up with an extra $9 if they wanted the "Flying Lady" hood ornament. The only downside was no convertible models and two-door coupes were made. To many eyes the design seems simply the logical extension of the "bathtub" look that had been successfully done at Hudson and Packard.

The interior was just as exciting as the exterior was the "Super-Lounge" interior ("Sky-Lounge" in 1950) which featured a modern minimalist look that was deliberately designed to be recessive in tone and restful to the eye with no distractions. "No need ever to take your eyes off the road . . . all instrument dials are grouped just below eye-level, on your steering post. That's the Uniscope." Tied in with the Uniscope pod was a recessed dashboard: "Everything that could be has been built in, out-of-sight. In addition, the all-coil spring suspension provided a truly luxurious ride, and the Aero design kept wind noise to a minimum. Nash's Weather Eye Conditioned Air System was considered to be the best in the industry. Nash had previously offered a bed option in its cars, but for 1949 it introduced "the new Nash Twin Bed arrangement." The bed (or beds) were formed by dropping the front seat backs to meet the rear seat. Special mattresses were optional, and window screens were soon offered, much to the comfort of campers who wanted to let air in and keep mosquitoes out.

For 1949, Nash converted to unit-body construction exclusively since the new cars shared their chassis as well as their bodies plus there was no extra stiffening underneath the more expensive Ambassador. Nash called it Unitized or Airflyte Construction, and claimed it was 1 1/2 to 2 1/2 times as rigid as conventional cars, partly because of its 8,000 electronic welds. Both series shared identical styling. The 600 series rode a 112-inch wheelbase, while the Ambassador boasted a 121-inch wheelbase. The Ambassador's extra nine inches were ahead of the windshield, so longer front fenders and hood were fitted as well. The body sharing meant that interior dimensions were identical. Both cars were available in just two body styles, a two-door and four-door sedan, though the first was also offered as a Brougham, which differed only on the interior. All were available in three trim levels: Super, Super Special, and Custom. The 600 model came with Nash's four-main-bearing flat-head six displacing 172-cid and was rated at a modest 82 bhp. The Ambassador boasted a larger 234-cid overhead-valve six that put out 112 bhp. Nash's model-year production jump 23 percent to a record 142,592 which was good for 10th place in industry sales and a $26 million profit for Nash.

#1948 Hudson #post war auto design

[beardedmrbean]

The man accused of breaching the Colorado Supreme Court building, holding a security guard at gunpoint and setting a fire on the seventh floor where burned papers were found has been identified by police, though his statements to detectives afterward were redacted from the public record. 

Brandon Olsen, 44, has been charged with robbery, burglary and arson in connection to the incident that unfolded at approximately 1:15 a.m. Tuesday, when officers were called to a two-vehicle crash near East 13th Avenue and Lincoln Street. According to a probable cause statement, the other driver reported the man, later identified as Olsen, got out of his car, grabbed a pistol from the back seat and ran toward the Ralph L. Carr Colorado Judicial Center. 

Authorities say Olsen shot out a large first floor window and went inside. The unarmed security guard, assigned to the Colorado State Patrol Capitol Security Unit, told a detective afterward he was stationed alone at the information desk when he heard a loud banging noise, walked to the lobby to investigate and ran into Olsen upon turning the corner. 

Olsen "began kicking a door to a store/maintenance room but could not force the door open," so the security guard "offered to use a key to open the door and tried to open the door with his master key," court documents say. The guard told a detective afterward "he was nervous and was shaking because the male had a pistol pointed at him." Olsen allegedly then grabbed the guard’s keys and opened the door himself. Once the door opened, the guard then ran from the area and called dispatch. 

GUNMAN ARRESTED AFTER BREACHING COLORADO SUPREME COURT, HOLDING GUARD AT GUNPOINT: COPS

Nearly two hours would pass before Olsen "voluntarily surrendered" and emerged from the building surrounded by police at approximately 3 a.m., authorities said.

Olsen allegedly walked out shortly after dialing 911 and having a conversation with the operator, but what he said on the phone was redacted from the probable cause statement released by the Denver Police Department later Tuesday afternoon. 

"While in the building, officers noted that it appeared the suspect intentionally set a fire on the seventh floor of the building," the probable cause statement says. 

The detective who wrote the report said he went to the crime scene himself at the Colorado Supreme Court building at 1300 Broadway, observed a large glass window on the first floor had been broken, and on the seventh floor, he "smelled a strong odor of smoke." 

"There was standing water from the fire suppression sprinklers throughout the entire floor and burnt papers were in the water," the document says. The detective also observed bullet defects in at least two glass windows on the seventh floor where Olsen is said to have shot out of. A semiautomatic pistol was also found on a table in a conference room on that floor. 

Upon exiting the building, Olsen was transported in custody to Denver Health Medical Center, where he was later cleared by doctors. He was then transported to Denver Police headquarters "within a few hours of his initial arrest," court documents say. That was where the detective interviewed Olsen at 6:45 a.m. Tuesday, but what the suspect said was redacted.

The incident took place soon after the Colorado Supreme Court drew controversy by ruling that former President Trump should be removed from the 2024 GOP primary ballot. 

Colorado State Patrol said in a statement Tuesday that preliminary investigations "confirmed a high probability the incident … is NOT associated to the recent threats against the Colorado Supreme Court Justices."

Olsen’s ex-wife, Colorado resident Tori Schumacher, claimed in an interview with The Denver Post that the suspect has "no political affiliation whatsoever" and "had a mental breakdown" after she told him during a phone conversation on New Year’s Eve that he could not see their children. 

Schumacher said the two had divorced more than a decade ago, and she had not spoken to him in several years because of Olsen’s alleged drug addiction and mental health issues. During the call, Schumacher said, Olsen told her he was driving from his home state of Arizona to Colorado to see them. 

"He wanted to see his children, and we didn’t allow that, and he just went a little crazy," Schumacher said. "It’s not some weird political [thing] — that has nothing to do with anything."

According to the Post, court records show Olsen has been arrested several times in Colorado over the last decade. He pleaded guilty to misdemeanor theft in 2014 and was arrested on drug-related charges in 2011 and 2013, the newspaper reported. Olsen pleaded guilty to felony vehicular eluding in connection to the 2011 incident, and several other charges against him were dismissed.

#nunyas news

[linkysmommy]

In Another Life…

Word Count: 2053

Characters: Lincoln Aquino, ILITW MC

A/N: forgot to post this for @ila-appreciationweek wildcard day, so I’m positing now! This fic features @saibug1022’s ILITW MC, Valen Ebony. This character has unique lore; Lincoln is his half-brother because Matthias fathered him with the intention of potentially using him as an anchor, however neither of them knew any of this until right before the end of ILW. This fic features Lincoln and Val trying to get to know each other and working through their complex feelings following Matthias’s death.

The McQuoid mansion loomed ominously against the shadows of the night sky as Valen Ebony approached it for the first time. He’d never seen this home in all its glory—with its carefully manicured gardens, state-of-the-art furniture, and million-dollar decorations—and he never would. As he peered through the front door, the halls were empty and unwelcoming, nothing but polished tile glinting beneath harsh ceiling lights. Not that Val expected his father’s house to be a welcoming place for him, not when the only reason he existed was to serve as a tool in his father’s hands. But still, the harsh unfamiliarity seemed to cement in Val’s mind what he always knew:

He didn’t belong here. This wasn’t his family. And it never would be.

“Val?”

He looked up at the sound of his name to see Lincoln at the top of the staircase, a big cardboard box balanced in his arms. It was odd to think of him as his brother. He’d known for a few months now, and the two were cautiously trying to get to know one another, but there was still an air of formality between the two of them. Like they should know more about each other than they did, be closer than they were. But as long as Lincoln wasn’t trying to manipulate him or turn him into his personal anchor, Val supposed he could try to let a new family member into his life.

“Hey,” Val said with a wave. “Can I…?”

“Oh yeah yeah, come on in.”

Val stepped over the threshold and into the house. Somehow, it seemed even bigger on the inside. The ceiling arched high above him, and the foyer alone was bigger than Connor’s cabin. Val couldn’t help but gape as he took it all in.

Lincoln chuckled as he came down the stairs. “I guess it’s impressive. But even a place as big and nice as this can become a prison if you share it with the wrong people.”

“A prison, huh?”

Lincoln shrugged and set the box beside the front door. “It wasn’t the best.”

Getting the sense that Lincoln wasn’t particularly interested in dredging up his past—something Val understood all too well—he decided to change the topic. “So, what’s in the box?” he asked.

“Just some old photos and junk I don’t need anymore, but you’re welcome to go through everything before I give it away. I mean, all this shit is as much yours as it is mine.”

“Lincoln. I didn’t come here to try to get free stuff,” Val said with a laugh. “I came to help you sort through this stuff and pack it up.”

“Oh I know.” Lincoln started back up the stairs, beckoning for Val to follow. “But if you’re here anyway, you may as well keep an eye out and see if there’s anything you’re interested in keeping. It’s the least I can do for you, after…” Lincoln trailed off and shook his head. “Just let me know if you like anything.”

When they reached the second floor, Lincoln led Val to a beautiful office. The shelves were halfway emptied, and the floor was scattered with boxes and stacks of books. A polished wood desk sat in the center, a leather chair pushed in beneath it.

“This was his office,” Lincoln said, clapping a hand on one of the empty shelves. “It’s one of the last rooms on this floor that I need to clean out. If I want to keep something, I’ll put it in that box there, but I’ve been getting rid of most things.”

“You’ve been getting rid of everything yourself?” Val asked. “That sounds like a pain in the ass.”

Lincoln shrugged. “Someone has to do it. And now I have you to help. Thanks, by the way.”

Val smiled and ducked his head, unsure how to handle the gratitude. Instead of saying anything, he strolled over to one of the bookshelves that was still stuffed with books and items.

“I’ll start on this end,” he said. “Between the two of us, I’m sure we’ll get through this quickly enough.”

Lincoln nodded in agreement and the room fell silent as each one of the brothers busied himself with his work.

As it turned out, Matthias had a lot of junk. He found trinkets from all around the world, books about the most random subjects Val was sure he’d never actually read, old photographs covered in dust, and more. Nothing was particularly interesting to Val, so he tossed everything into the donation boxes. But when he reached the next row, his eyes caught on a thick leather book with a rounded spine. Unlike the others, it didn’t look mass-produced. It looked unique, personal.

Curious, Val pulled it out from the shelf and flipped it open. It was filled with pictures—and it only took Val a moment to realize they were of Matthias, a younger Lincoln, and a beautiful woman who Val had never seen before.

“Is this your mom?” Val asked, holding up a the book to show a picture of her and Matthias holding baby Lincoln behind a birthday cake.

Lincoln glanced over from where he was going through a stack of books, and his expression softened when he saw what Val was holding.

“I was wondering where that book had ended up.” Lincoln abandoned his stack of books and crossed the room, sitting down on the floor beside Val. “Yep, that’s me and my mom, and Matthias, obviously. I think this was for my first birthday.”

“She looks like she was awesome.”

“Oh, she was,” Lincoln said with a smile. But his smile faded the more he looked at the picture. “She deserved so much more than what she got.”

“What did she see in him, anyway?” Val asked. “I mean, not to be rude, but a guy who was willing to have a son specifically just to sacrifice him must’ve been a walking red flag.”

Lincoln brushed his fingers over the photo, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Even when I thought he hated me, I always could tell he loved her. She saw this side of him that no one else did, not really. I didn’t want to take that from her so I never let her know how bad things were between us.” He let his hand drop back to his side and sighed, leaning back against the shelves. “I thought I was doing her a favor, but now I realize if I’d said something… well, maybe she would’ve left him and she’d still be here.”

Val laid a tentative hand on Lincoln’s shoulder. “That’s not your fault.”

“Maybe not. But it’s still something I can’t help but think about.”

Val dropped his gaze back to the book. The Matthias here looked so kind and warm. In one of the pictures, young Lincoln sat on his shoulders as they both beamed at the camera. In another, he was asleep on a recliner with a sleeping Lincoln sprawled out on his lap. It was hard for Val to reconcile pictures of this man with the man who had tried to murder hundreds, who had conceived him just to kill him, who had hurt Lincoln so much that he’d been cut out from his own son’s life.

“What was he like, as a dad?”

Lincoln snorted. “Shitty.”

“Yeah, I figured that out. But despite what he did and how fucking insane he was, he was technically still my father. I can’t help but be a little curious. Like, look at this.” Val pointed to a picture of Matthias pushing Lincoln in a swing at a park. “I never had experiences like this, you know? He never spent time with me, never played catch with me in the backyard. Never taught me how to put on a tie or drive a car.”

Lincoln opened his mouth as if to respond, but paused when he saw Val’s expression. Then he sighed and crossed his arms, his eyebrows knit together. “I’m sure it wasn’t easy, not having anyone there at all. And I guess that, as bad as he was, not every memory I have with him was terrible.”

Val sat up straighter, his eyes alight with anticipation. He’d never gotten Lincoln to open up like this before, and he wasn’t about to miss a single word.

“When I was really young, we were actually pretty close. He spent a lot of time with me and my mom and was always trying to build me up, to make me believe I was someone special. Of course, that kind of expectation eventually became a burden. He wanted me to be someone I wasn’t, and couldn’t accept it when I didn’t fall into the role he’d imagined for me.”

“Do you miss him?”

Lincoln paused. “I… I shouldn’t. Not after everything he did.”

“I didn’t ask if you should miss him. I asked if you do miss him.”

Lincoln looked down at the photo album, deep emotion swirling in those dark eyes. “In a way, I guess I do. I never wanted to be around him while he was alive, but now that he’s gone, it just means that we’ll never be able to repair the relationship we had. When he was alive, I could always hope that someday, things could be better. But now, our story’s over, and it never got the resolution I’d hoped it would.”

Val nodded. “Yeah, I feel that. It’s not like I actually wanted a relationship with him, but I can’t help but wonder sometimes what it would’ve been like, and it’s something I’ll never know.”

“Honestly though, Val, you’re better off without him in your life at all. The only thing he taught me was to feel like shit and like my life was worthless. All the important things I learned, I either taught myself or learned from my mom.” Lincoln took the book from Val and closed it before setting it in the donation box. Val’s eyebrows lifted, but he didn’t protest. “We can live our life wondering if things might’ve been different someday, but things were the way they were and we can’t change that. Instead of imagining a different future we could’ve had, it’s better to remember people for the way they were.”

“Yeah,” Val said. “I guess you’re right.”

Then, Lincoln abruptly turned and started for the door. “You know what? Come with me. There’s something I want to show you.”

Val got to his feet and followed Lincoln out of the office and back down the main floor. Then Lincoln strolled right out the front door and into the early evening, not stopping until he reached his motorcycle.

“You ever ridden a motorcycle, Val?”

Val’s eyes widened as Lincoln held a helmet out to him. “You—you want me to—”

“You’re not going to drive it, not yet, but I figure we could ease you into it. Our dad may not have taught you shit, but that doesn’t mean that I have to keep up that tradition.” Lincoln took his keys out from his pocket and jangled them out in front of Val. “So what do you say? Wanna go for a ride?”

Val couldn’t stop the grin that stretched across his face. “Hell fucking yes I do.”

Lincoln gave him a small smile and turned to his motorcycle. “Then pay attention. If you want to learn to ride, you’ll need to pass all the tests to get certified. But it’ll be worth it, I promise. And who knows, when you get your license, maybe you and I can go on a cross-country ride together. Make up for the time we never got when we were younger.”

“Yeah,” Val said with a grin. “That would be awesome.”

Lincoln nodded and started pointing out all the parts and meters to pay attention to and what they all meant. Val listened carefully, as if this was the most important information he’d ever heard in his entire life. And when he climbed onto the bike behind Lincoln and took off into the night, he couldn’t help but wonder if this is what it felt like to have a family.

If maybe, just maybe, everything that he’d gone through with Matthias was worth it just to be able to have moments like this with his brother.

#ilw #it lives within #playchoices #ilaw #lincoln mcquoid #lincoln aquino

[liaromancewriter]

Double Trouble

Premise: When it comes to cheering each other up, these twins know exactly what to do.

Book: Open Heart (post series, adjacent) Characters: Eloise Ramsey, Sophie Ramsey (OC Children) of Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine) Rating/Category: Teen. Fluff. Warning: Strong language Words: 2,015

A/N: Technically, this is more of an original story with original characters, but set in my Open Heart universe. Hope you enjoy it. 

Submission for @choicesaugustchallenge Day 4 prompt “popcorn”. Inspired by no.3 from the @creativepromptsforwriting Protective Family prompts list. Submit for reblog to @creativepromptfills

She drove like a demon, zigzagging the nifty little convertible up I-95, a woman on a mission. She’d started the two-hour journey with the top down, her long brown stuffed under a Red Sox cap, reluctantly putting up the roof when rain clouds opened up near Princeton.

An eclectic playlist of classic rock, blues, hip-hop and contemporary hits blasted away, her soulful voice joining in the chorus when the mood called for it. Her green eyes sparkled with joy as she recalled the last road trip with her twin and how they’d played car karaoke to pass the time.

The rain was a distant memory by the time Eloise Ramsey exited the Lincoln Tunnel and drove through Midtown Manhattan and into the Upper West Side. She entered the security code for the underground garage, waited for the gate to close behind her and then zipped her car into the assigned spot minutes later.

Checking her wristwatch as the elevator ascended, she roughly calculated the time it would take to hike eight blocks to the dance studio near Lincoln Center. She had just enough time to drop off her overnight bag and grab a bottle of water. Perfect timing.

A haunting melody filled the air, telling the story of love found and love lost, of obstacles to face, and evil to defeat. The dancers faced the mirror and moved in sync with the music, arms and feet starting in first position and ending in fifth; following directions of a demanding instructor whose talent had once graced the most storied stages in the ballet world.

Lost in the intricacies of the choreography, Sophie Ramsey’s body flowed effortlessly with the music while her green eyes sharpened in concentration. Her foot barely touched the wooden floor as she executed a series of pirouettes, her arms in first position, holding her chest and keeping her breathing measured.

“Good job, everyone. That’s a wrap for today,” clapped Madame Juliette as the sequence came to a close and the dancers deflated where they stood. “Sophie, watch your turnout; the end was slightly wobbly. Emily, tuck in your stomach on first. Remember everyone, we only have three weeks until the fall season opener.”

The door to the studio had barely closed behind Madame when it slammed open and then Sophie was rushing into her sister’s arms. The twins hugged each other close, whispering “I missed you” over and over, and admitting with just those three words how unbearable their separation of the last few weeks had been.

After a lifetime together, for the first time they were living in different cities. El had moved to Philadelphia for grad school last month while Sophie stayed in New York to begin her first professional role in the corps de ballet of the revered American Ballet Theatre company.

Sophie was the first to pull back. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have classes today?”

“Just in the morning,” said El, nodding to the departing dancers and accompanying her sister to the far side of the room to collect her things. “I lit out as soon as I saw that asshat’s post. Did Garrett Bloody Davenport the Fourth seriously break up with you on Picta?” She frowned as she recalled the notification that had popped up on her phone with the words ‘Finally free’. “What kind of fucked up fuckhead does that? And to my sister of all people?”

Sophie silently groaned as El continued making up inventive and insulting names for her ex-boyfriend with every sentence. She pulled on trackpants and a hoodie over her tights and leotard, sat down to put her sneakers on, and waited for her sister to finish her tirade.

“Why am I more upset about this than you?” El demanded, brows snapping together, hands on her hips, and looking too much like Doctor Ramsey facing off against innocent interns (a comparison they’d heard from their mother on more than one occasion).

Sophie sighed and uncrossed her legs to get off the floor in a single fluid motion, swinging her dance bag over one shoulder.

“He bruised my ego, not my heart,” she said, reaching for her sister’s hand. “Did it hurt coming into work today and have everyone staring at their phone, whispering about me? Yes. He didn’t even have the decency to tell me first. But, I have a season opener to get ready for and I won’t throw away everything I worked so hard for because of him. Besides, he was not my soulmate. It’s that simple.”

“Well, I want to chop his balls off and feed them, inch by inch, to the bottom-feeders in the Hudson,” exclaimed El, throwing her hands up in exasperation at her sister’s calm demeanor.

“Why not the East River?” mused Sophie curiously. “It’s more polluted.”

“The chemical runoff in the Hudson is worse,” El shrugged. “Looks can be deceiving, just like Garrett Buttface Davenport the Fourth.”

Sophie burst into laughter as much at the nonchalance in her sister’s voice as the childish insult. “I’m so glad you’re here!”

“Ditto,” El grinned and slung an arm around Sophie’s shoulder as they walked out of the studio and outside into the street “I’m taking you out tonight to celebrate your freedom from that jerkwad . Tits out, skirts up, a little dancing and a whole lotta drinking. The Ramsey Twins are taking Manhattan and no one’s safe!”

Later that night, a town car stopped outside a nondescript building in the Meatpacking District with a line of potential club patrons waiting to enter. The bouncer saw two attractive young women climb out of a car looking and smelling like money and waved them through before the paparazzies could even aim their devices, much to El and Sophie’s delight.

True to El’s word, their dresses were short enough and heels high enough to make the most of their legs, and at almost five-feet-eleven there was a lot of leg on display. And while their tits weren’t exactly out, the expensive fabric hugged the curves so that more than a few eyes tracked their movements as soon they entered the club.

Swirling lights, loud, pumping music, and the energy inside was intoxicating and the looks they received flattering enough to quickly forget hurt pride and a bruised ego. With a silent exchange and a nod, they descended to the packed dancefloor and joined the crowd feeding off of the adrenaline and dancing to the DJ mixing the tunes.

Sophie placed her hands on El’s shoulders and they let the fast-paced rhythm carry them away, long, dark hair swinging around them. When the beat changed and everyone started jumping, they held on, laughing as they turned their backs to each other, hips twisting, hands in the air, letting their bodies vibe with the music.

They held hands as they changed sides, and switched up partners every now and then, matching their steps to that of other dancers under the pulsating lights. But always they found each other. And when the DJ took a break, the sisters were breathless, falling into each other’s arms and giggling as their legs protested the vigorous exercise in high heels.

“Water,” panted Sophie. “I’m begging you!”

“No way, sis,” El said, leading Sophie to the bar where she caught the eye of a cute bartender and placed their order.

“Hydration after dancing is better than alcohol,” Sophie pouted, her throat parched from thirst.

El scoffed as Sophie knew she would. “Clearly I came back just in time if that’s your first thought. We’re young, we’re beautiful, and we’re in New York’s hottest club right now. We’re doing shots!”

The bartender returned with their drinks, lining up six rainbow-colored shots in front of them with a wink. El picked up one and so did Sophie.

“Alright, you know the rul…” El began but Sophie threw back the first shot in one quick move, slamming the empty glass down and picking up another.

“You snooze, you lose,” she smirked and the race was on to see who’d finish first. It was too close to call and, with the bartender playing referee, they agreed on a tie.

Sophie glanced around the club and thought back to how many of these places El had dragged her to, even back home in Boston. Whether it was with their group of friends or cousins, or just the two of them, her sister had a way of making a night out fun and memorable.

Tears gathered as she remembered that El was only here for today and tomorrow she would be alone again.

“Uh-oh,” El teased. “If this is about Asshole the Fourth, we’re going to need more shots.” She started to lift her hand to order more but Sophie shook her head.

“I wouldn’t waste my tears on that moldy bowl of mayonnaise,” Sophie said dismissively and then her expression became crestfallen. “I hate that you’re not down the hall anymore. The room is still yours, of course, but it’s not the same! Soon you’re going to be too busy with classes and working in the Philly hotel and won’t have time to come up here whenever.”

She peered into her sister’s eyes, a mirror of her own just like the rest of her and could tell that El felt the same. They could read each other perfectly, always had. Growing up sucked if it meant their careers would take them away from each other.

“Let’s get out of here,” El said, reaching for her credit card to pay for their drinks. “Slumber party back at our place?”

“Popcorn with extra butter, M&Ms, and gummy bears?” asked Sophie, perking up.

“Is there any other way to eat popcorn?” El quipped with a twist of her lips.

They pushed their way through the wall-to-wall crowd that had grown in the last hour or so, heading towards the exit. Passing by a booth, Sophie suddenly cried out when someone grabbed her hand and tugged her onto their lap, wrapping their arms tight around her.

“Hey! Get your hands off my sister.”

El reached Sophie instantly, throwing her harasser, who was clearly drunk, a nasty look as she pushed his hands away and started to pull Sophie off him. It would have been fine if right at that moment someone hadn’t crashed into her, causing her to teeter on her heels and fall on the drunken clubgoer.

Unfortunately for him, when El’s hands tried to find purchase she smashed his balls into the seat and his high-pitched screams tore through the club. The more she struggled to get off him, the worse it became until, thankfully, Sophie was able to pull her upright and hold her arm for balance.

By then the club’s security had been alerted to the altercation and minutes later both Sophie and El found themselves being unceremoniously shown out of the club’s back door.

“Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod…” Sophie broke off into giggles. “Did we just get thrown out of New York’s hottest club?!?”

“Hmm. And we didn’t even have to punch someone like mom and Uncle Max did,” said El, laughing as she jumped on Sophie’s back, locking her hands around her collarbone.

Sophie laughed too as they spun around the semi-lit alley. “Nope, we just neutered some poor guy who was too drunk to know what he was doing and will likely have sore balls courtesy of the Ramsey Twins.”

“He messed with the wrong twins,” said El, taking her phone out of a tiny purse to text their driver. “Did it work?” She asked, pocketing the phone as they started to walk towards the mouth of the alley.

Sophie looked over confused and then her face cleared as she remembered what tonight was about. “Don’t even remember his name.”

“Right answer.”

Later that night as they sat on the floor munching on popcorn and sharing confidences, they knew that life was full of uncertainties. But the one thing Eloise and Sophie could be certain of was that they would always stand up for each other. It was them against the world. Sisters. Twins. Always.

All Fics & Edits: @potionsprefect @trappedinfanfiction @bex-la-get @mysticalgalaxysstuff @genevievemd @choicesaddict5 @jerzwriter @rookiemartin @schnitzelbutterfingers @vi-writes-stuff @coffeeheartaddict2 @quixoticdreamer16 @dorisz @zahrachoices @lucy-268 @a-crepusculo @jamespotterthefirst @ofmischiefandmedicine @headoverheelsforramsey @takemyopenheart @gryffindordaughterofathena @queencarb @crazy-loca-blog @natureblooms24

Ethan & Cassie only: @custaroonie @lady-calypso​

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics 

#open heart #open heart choices #open heart fanfiction #open heart fanfics #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan ramsey x cassie valentine #oc children #short story #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #choicesaugust2022

[seanfalco]

Don’t Kiss My Daddy

an oc x oc collaboration between @seanfalco​​ & @super-unpredictable98​​​​ for @ockissweek​

Word Count: 3.9k Tags/Warnings: Lots of cuteness, a continuation of Fancy Restaurant Featuring: Sean & Blossom Falco and their daughter, Simone, as well as the Quad’s twins, Charlie & Ellery.

[ masterlist ]

"Hey, Moony!  Y’know who's comin’ tomorrow t’spend the weekend with us?" Blossom asked excitedly as she walked into the flat and dropped her bag, joining her daughter and husband on the couch. 

"Charlie and Ellie!" Simone cheered. 

"That's right! We can set up a fort in the living room so the three of you can sleep here, we'll eat junk food and stay up late watching movies, it's gonna be so much fun!"

"Sounds like a blast!" Sean exclaimed. "You're one lucky kid," he chuckled, tousling Simone's hair.

"I miss them, they live too far away most of the time," Simone murmured. 

"They miss you too, baby, and they miss their uncle Sean!" Blossom ran her fingers through his hair. "I think they mentioned something about Time Out Market, they also wanna go to drag queen story hour at the Lincoln Center. I haven't been there since I was a girl taking those classes at SAB."

"What's a Time Out Market?" Sean asked quietly.

"And you've lived in New York for decades... “ Blossom murmured, shaking her head in amusement.  “It’s that market next to the Brooklyn Bridge, those cute restaurants with a view of the East River? We went there for our tenth anniversary or something," she answered, trying to remember. "Then we went to Jane's Carousel."

"Oh, I thought it was a game the kids made up or somethin'," Sean chuckled ruefully.  "I may live here, but I'll never be a New Yorker."

"I know, you're Irish to the bone, I love that about you," Blossom said, looking down at her wedding ring, a Claddagh ring. "I don't really feel like a New Yorker either, I'm so British I'm still angry about the tea in Boston."

Sean snorted. "Coulda fooled me," he teased, leaning in to peck Blossom on the lips.

Simone watched the scene unfold with a pout. "I'm going to my room," she announced with a little huff, suddenly jumping from the couch and marching to her bed.  Blossom exchanged a confused look with her husband. 

"What's gotten into her?"

"That's strange," Sean murmured, frowning. "I'll go talk t'her." 

When he got to her bedroom, he found the door slightly ajar and he knocked before pushing it open further, peeking his head inside.  "Hey Moony, mind if I come in?”

"No... I suppose" Simone finally agreed, turning her head and folding her little arms in front of her chest, very much like her mum when she was upset.

Joining her on the bed, Sean craned his head to catch her eye. "What's wrong, darlin'? What's with th'long face?"

"Nothing... my face is normal," Simone insisted. "I just... nothing."

"You can talk t'me, dearest," he assured her, pulling her into his lap.

"I don't want you and Mommy to kiss," she whispered.

Sean had to fight back a snort of laughter, glad that she couldn't see his face. "How come, love?" he asked instead, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"You’re my Daddy and Mommy is my Mommy, I don't like it when you kiss, you should only kiss me!" Simone whined, hiding against his chest.

"Oh darlin'!" Sean exclaimed, rubbing her back as she hugged him. "Are y'sayin' it makes you feel jealous when Mummy and Daddy kiss?" he asked, glancing over to see Blossom standing outside the door.

"Yeah! It makes me angry," she mumbled. 

"Hey, sweetie," Blossom cooed, joining them. "We're really sorry you're upset, but y’know Mummy and Daddy are married right?  Usually married couples like t’kiss and hug and cuddle... one day when you're married you'll wanna do all of that." 

"I'm not! I'm marrying Daddy!" Simone exclaimed, squeezing him tighter possessively. 

"But honey, Daddy's already married to me." 

"Uncle Nate and Uncle Nats are married to both my aunties,” the little girl pointed out, knowing all about polyamory from a young age.

If not for how seriously his daughter was taking it, Sean would have laughed. “Honey, daughters can’t marry their daddies, it’s not allowed, but you will always be my special girl,” he reassured her gently.

"Oh..."  Simone was hearing that information for the first time and she certainly had some bad news to deliver to her friends, who had the same dream, at school the next day.  "But I still don't like it!" 

"You wanna hear a secret?" Blossom asked, taking her little hands in hers. "I was very jealous of my daddy and my brother growing up. I didn't like when Grandpa and Grandma kissed, I didn't like it when Uncle Simon had his first girlfriend... but I wanted them t’be happy."

“Even your uncles were jealous of me,” Sean added, very carefully avoiding Blossom’s eyes.

"Oh yeah! When I started dating Daddy, your uncles were flipping out," Blossom laughed, “but they knew Daddy made me happy." 

"I do want you to be happy..." Simone sighed reluctantly.

“You’re a good girl, Moony,” Sean said, giving her a squeeze. “When you get older, you’ll find th’one for you.”

"That’s true and we have plenty of kisses for you as well, don't we?" Blossom tickled her sides before kissing the top of her head. "Love is meant t’be shared."

“I’ll always love yeh, darlin’,” Sean murmured, kissing the top of her head.

The next day, Blossom decided not to send Simone to school, leting her sleep in a bit, and started making breakfast for everyone, including her niece and nephew arriving soon. "Good morning, sweetheart," she smiled when Sean left the room.

“Good morning, darlin’,” he replied, pulling her in for a kiss. “Somethin’ smells good.”

"Thank you, I made loads of bacon, hash browns, scrambled eggs with cheese, and toast for the small army," Blossom grinned. "So... how are we gonna deal with the whole Moony thing? D’you think she's still bothered?"

Sean sighed, glancing at the door to her bedroom. “I dunno, she seemed a little put out about it still when we put her t’bed. Hopefully her cousins’ bein’ here’ll help her get past it.”

"I don't really remember what my parents did with me, it just stopped bothering me as time passed," Blossom mused as she served his plate. "I want her to grow up surrounded by love and I don't wanna have t’hide to kiss you."

“I guess th’best thing t’do is just… make it more normal,” Sean replied, grinning as he picked up a piece of bacon.

"Smells so good."  Simone murmured, opening her bedroom door to stumble out, still half asleep, still wearing her pajamas. "Are they here yet?" 

"No, baby, but they will be soon," Lydia nodded at Sean. "Let me get you some breakfast."

“C’mere, why don’tcha sit next t’me, huh?” Sean said, lifting his daughter into the seat next to him. “Someone looks sleepy still,” he teased gently as she rubbed at her eyes.

"I had bad dreams," she yawned before taking a bite of her toast. "Why didn't you come sleep with Mummy and Daddy? We always keep the nightmares away," Blossom said, sitting to eat as well. 

"Because Elly told me after Mummy and Daddy put their kids to bed they just kiss all night and do special cuddles. I didn't wanna see it or get in the way," she said, which nearly made her mum lose it and laugh.

Sean had to bite his lip to keep from laughing as well, sharing a look with Blossom. “I suppose that’s true sometimes,” he said, clearing his throat, “but you’d never be in th’way, darlin’. We’re always here for yeh if y’need us,” he assured her.

"That's true, usually when mummies and daddies do that, they lock the door. You can always knock and we'll help you no matter what, nothing is more important than you," Blossom assured her. 

"Okay, next time I'll knock, but I'll sleep in the middle, just in case," Simone said.

“Good,” Sean said, flashing her a grin and digging into his food. It wasn’t long after when the doorbell buzzed. “That’ll be your cousins no doubt,” he exclaimed.

"Let's see... who do we have here?" Blossom opened the door and was attacked by the two children who jumped into her arms. "Oh my God!" she cried through her laughter.

"Thank you so much for taking them, we just really need some romantic time," Lydia grinned, barely able to contain her excitement.

"Yeah, I'm sure y'do. Heard all about the special cuddles you're gunna do," Sean teased.

"Nate was the one who told Elly adults do special cuddles... she kept asking to join when he invited me for cuddles, tryin’ to steal me away," Lydia laughed while the kids were distracted by their aunt and cousin. 

"Come here, we've got food," Simone pulled the twins by the hand. 

"If they need us, we'll be only a block away," Nate said, handing Sean Ellery's inhaler. "But try t'make sure they don't need us.

"No problem," Sean exclaimed, watching the children join Simone at the table. "You guys have fun."

"Thank you so much, see you guys on Monday!" Lydia waved and blew a kiss at the children, "We love you, make sure to be good." 

"We will," Elly said, paying very little attention to her mum. 

"Charlie, what if we did for Uncle Sean and Auntie Blossom a romantic night like we did for our mummies and daddies? Wouldn't it be fun?"

"Bye Mummy and Dada!" Charles called before returning his attention to his sister. "Yeah! Maybe Simmi will help us!" he suggested.

"Why do you wanna do that?" Simone asked. 

"Because we like t'watch ‘em bein' romantic, it's so cracker!" Ellery exclaimed. 

"Between Louise and the boys, she sounds well Irish," Blossom whispered to her husband. "It's adorable."

"Whereas Moony sounds like an American," Sean teased.

"Do you think there's still time to fix that?" Blossom shook her head with a dramatic sigh. "Maybe if we make her watch loads of Paddington," she mused.

"Maybe we need t'spend some time in England," Sean suggested with a grin.

"Yeah, it feels nice t'see how much they love each other," Charlie added. 

"I don't like it when my mummy and daddy show they love each other!" Simone huffed. 

"Why not?" Elly asked. 

"Because... they’re only supposed to love me." 

"But they have to love each other," Charlie frowned. "If they didn't love each other, then they wouldn't stay together," he reasoned. 

"We're waiting on that audition result, aren't we?" Blossom said. "I passed on to the callbacks, so maybe there's a chance.”

"I can't believe they wouldn't choose you. They'd be daft not to," Sean said, pulling Blossom into his arms.

"I really hope so, it was so much fun to be in Beetlejuice back in the day," Blossom sighed. "I might not be a Lydia Deetz anymore, but I'll gladly be the kookiest Delia ever."

"Oh, I know y'will. You're a right natural kook," Sean teased, quickly avoiding her answering poke.

"D'you want your parents to dissolve?" Ellery gasped. 

"It's divorce, sweetie, and nobody is getting divorced," Blossom assured them, finally catching a bit of what the three were talking about amongst themselves.

"No, I want them to stay together forever!" Simone cried.

"Then y'gotta make sure they have some romance!" Charlie exclaimed. 

"O-okay, I guess we could," Simone agreed. "How do we do this?" 

"First we make the room all romantic, then we make them dinner," Ellery explained. 

"Yeah, we're pretty good at it," Charlie boasted. “We did it for our parents too.”

"What if we make mac and cheese with nuggets? I know how," Simone said excitedly. 

“Wow! That’s more intense than what we made! Mama doesn’t let us use the stove,” Charlie replied.

"F-U-C-K you! I remember when you used to be romantic!" Blossom laughed, chasing after her husband as he hurried away from her. "A kook?  You're the kook!"

“Watch out kids, your Aunt Blossom’s gone kooky!” he exclaimed playfully.

"I usually make it on the microwave and I ask a grown up to take the nuggets from the oven, but I think we can do it," Simone said, laughing when she saw her parents chasing each other around. 

"Sean Falco! You are the absolute worst!" Blossom shouted, finally able to cling to his back like a koala. "Maybe you don't wanna have special cuddles with a kook like me... after the kids go to bed, I'll go straight to sleep," she whispered in his ear.

Charlie turned to gape at the adults as they ran past. “Elly, it’s even worse than we thought!” he hissed. “Aunt Blossom doesn’t wanna have special cuddles with Uncle Sean!” 

Sean laughed, turning to look at her over his shoulder. “Oh, but didn’t y’know? You’re married to th’biggest kook of all!” he exclaimed.

"Do you think they don't wanna have special cuddles because of what I said? I said I don't like it when they kiss," Simone frowned. 

"I don't know... I think you'll have to convince me later tonight. I know how persuasive you are," Blossom purred, slipping off his back to embrace him. 

“Oh l can be very persuasive,” Sean whispered back. 

"We'll fix it, don't worry, it'll be grand," Ellery said decidedly, finishing her breakfast and jumped from her chair. "You two, tonight we're gonna make you a romantic night and you're gonna smoochy kiss!"

“Oh?” Sean asked, turning to look at his niece. “That sounds nice, darlin’. Did y’do that for your parents as well?” he asked.

"We did and they even slow danced!" Ellery announced proudly. 

"And Moony's okay with the smooches?" Blossom asked, running her fingers through her husband's curls, slowly but surely going gray, which was quite sexy. 

"Yes, mummy, I want you two to be together," Simone nodded.

Sean couldn't help but grin, turning to share a look with Blossom.  "Well that sounds perfect. Our evenin' is in your capable little hands," he said, crouching down and opening his arms for the kids to hug him.

"Leave it to us," Elly exclaimed, wrapping her arms around him. "You'll have so much fun."

"We have complete trust in yeh." 

"Good!" Charlie giggled, joining in on the hug.

After playing all day while Blossom worked and Sean edited from home, the kids pushed the couple into their bedroom. "Pick a nice outfit, it's a posh date," Ellery instructed as Charlie and Simone were already working on getting the nuggets in the oven.

"Yes, ma'am," Sean replied, chuckling as he went to the closet.

"Things are going swimmingly, if I do say so m'self," Charlie exclaimed, dusting his hands off as he set the timer on the stove.

"Y'sound like Daddy," Ellery laughed as she set the table.

"This is actually fun," Simone grinned, mixing the pasta that was pre-made and frozen with the cheese and milk before putting it on the microwave.

Charlie giggled even harder, glad to be compared to their fathers. “I’m glad you’re having fun, Simmi!” he exclaimed.

"I hope it makes them happy too," Simone said, taking the bowl from the microwave to stir before putting it back for another couple of minutes. "What should we do for dessert? And what are they gonna drink?"

"Hmm... we could make th'same dessert we made for our parents, unless y'wanna do something different," Charlie suggested.

"I think it's good, can y'make it, Charlie?" Elly asked. "Conjure the ingredients if they don't have ‘em." 

"They should drink beer, Mommy gets really happy when Daddy drinks beer," Simone suggested. 

"That's weird, our Mummy too," Ellery laughed.

Charlie nodded, opening the cupboards to see if they had what he needed, and getting to work.

"Mac and cheese is ready," Simone announced, serving a portion on each plate. 

"Nuggets too," Ellery added, turning off the oven like she watched her mothers do millions of times. Instead of risking a burn, she created a field around the tray and lifted it to the counter.

"I'm ready too!" Charlie exclaimed, hoisting the tray of dessert sandwiches to the table. "I'm so excited t'make Uncle Sean and Aunt Blossom smoochy kiss!"

 "Can I help y'pick out what you're gunna wear?" Sean asked Blossom. 

"Yes, please," Blossom slowly undressed while he picked something for her. "I'm not saying anything but... you look so hot in that light blue button-up with the dark slacks." 

“Say no more,” Sean murmured, pulling out the outfit she’d mentioned before selecting one for her—a purple cocktail dress with sequins that glittered.

"Oh, looks like the dress I wore for my eighteenth birthday party... the night you took my virginity, remember? The first half anyway," Blossom purred as she put the dress on. "I was going insane waiting for you to shag me, you made me wait so long."

"How could I forget?" Sean replied, brushing her hair over her shoulder so he could kiss it. "You were so eager, it made it so hard for me t'hold back," he mused. 

"I was a hormonal teenager, what did you expect?" Blossom laughed, as if that had changed.

“You’re just as enthusiastic as you ever were,” Sean chuckled, buttoning up his shirt.

"I would guess you're thankful for that. I love you so much," Blossom turned so he could zip up her dress.

"I love yeh too, darlin'," Sean murmured, stealing a quick kiss. "Y'ready t'experience some romance?" he teased, opening the door.

"I am so ready!  Are you ready for us?" Blossom asked, peeking out the door. 

"Yes, ma'am, please follow me," Ellery exclaimed, guiding them to the table. She had no idea how many times her own parents had shared that very same table.

"Why thank you," Sean said, taking his seat and unfolding his napkin in his lap. "This all looks amazin'," he exclaimed, gesturing to the food and ambiance around them. You kids did a fantastic job."

"Thank you! We hope you like the food," Simone smiled, for once excited to see them have a moment like that. "You both look very nice." 

"We’ll give you some privacy..." Ellery winked, planning on watching from her cousin's room. 

"Thanks, babies, we really appreciate it," Blossom nodded.

Sean caught Simone before she could pass, pulling her into his arms to kiss her forehead. "Thank you so much for this, baby. I love yeh so much," he whispered before setting her back down.

"I love you too, Daddy," Simone felt her chest tighten with a feeling she didn't know yet, but she was proud of herself and her cousins. 

"Can you believe them? This is so cute," Blossom said before taking a bite of her mac and cheese. "Hmmm I wonder who taught her how to make this..."

“Pretty sure she’s learned from th’best,” Sean said with a grin, popping one of the nuggets into his mouth.

"You are the most handsome man in the world, I really hope I get the job so I can spend more time looking at your beautiful face," Blossom murmured. "Can you imagine? No more late night grading, no more early mornings running to work."  

"Is that th'only reason you want th'part?" Sean laughed, offering her a nugget next.

"I miss being on stage," Blossom admitted. "As rewarding as it is to prepare hundreds of kids to live their dream, I kinda forgot about what my dream was." 

"Then let's find it again," Sean murmured, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. "Plus I'll never complain about havin' you around more," he mused, cracking open the can of beer with one hand and taking a long drink for her benefit.

"The children are watching..." Blossom whispered with a giggle, stealing a kiss. "Don't tease me too much or I won't be held responsible for my actions, sexy."

"That's no fun," Sean drawled, leaning in to chase her lips. "Shall I wait til they go t'sleep then?" he asked, chuckling softly. 

"I can take a little teasing, but save the big guns for after bedtime," Blossom laughed, scooting her chair closer to him. 

"You got it, Mrs. Falco," Sean murmured. 

"Fuck, you're getting more charming with age," Blossom breathed. 

"It's a gift," he grinned, finally pulling back, not trusting himself not to take it too far. "You ready for dessert?" he asked, picking up one of the sandwiches Charlie had made.

"Y-yeah," Blossom tried to shake off the warmth that threatened to take over and took a bite of her sandwich. "Really good," she said, not noticing how messy her face was with chocolate.

Sean let out a soft chuckle, reaching out to wipe her lip. "Now you're startin' t'look like Nathan," he teased.

"Hey! I spent a lot of time with them growing up," Blossom laughed. "It was fun when Lyds and Win would go to work and we had eating contests. I always lost, but it was a good time. One time I finished a jar of nutella in three minutes, too bad Nats finished in two."

Sean shook his head fondly. "Should we go check on th'kids?"

"Yeah, they shut the door..." Blossom was about to stand up when she decided to steal another kiss. "Okay, now we can go."

"It's working! They look really happy,” Charlie cried in a hushed voice as he peered around the door, holding Simone’s hand.

"See? It's nice to see them enjoyin' themselves," Ellie clapped quietly. "Yeah, I guess they can love each other and love me," Simone finally concluded.

"Yeah, and we love you too!" Charlie exclaimed, pulling both girls into a fierce hug.

"I love you guys," Simone sighed, hugging them back.

"You don't have to watch them smoochy kiss, y’know," Ellery said, offering to hide her cousin's eyes as the adults leaned in.

"No, it's okay. I’ll get used to it," Simone nodded, determined to make it work.

Charlie patted Simone. "How about we play in the blanket fort?"

"Yes! I have legos, we can build a city," Simone shut the door and ran to the fort her mum helped set up.

"Hey kiddos," Sean said, knocking on the door before pushing it open. "Whatcha up to in here?" 

"Playin' with legos," Charlie answered, looking up as the adults entered.

"We have a city," Simone pointed at the buildings and houses. 

"Whatcha up to out there?" Ellery asked in a teasing voice. 

"The food was very nice and we're having a very good time, but we were worried about you," Blossom countered. "Quiet kids aren't usually a good sign."

"What d'yeh mean? We're always good!" Charlie exclaimed, planting his hands on his hips as he looked up at Blossom.

"But you're usually loud, like most little kids." 

"We didn't wanna ruin the romance." Simone explained.

"Aww darlin', you're th'sweetest," Sean murmured.

"It's a little early for bedtime and it's Friday, so... how ‘bout this, you kids can keep playing and watching TV, we're gonna watch a movie in the living room and have a cuddle. If you need anything, just call," Blossom suggested, kissing each of the kids on the forehead. 

"Don't worry! Go smooch on the couch," Ellery giggled.

"D'hear that, Blossom? I want some special cuddles," Sean whispered, wrapping his arm around her waist. "If you kids need anythin', just give a shout," he said, winking at Simone.

"Okay, Daddy," the little girl winked back before getting up to turn her own TV on. 

"Special cuddles sound amazing, we still got some beer left," Blossom whispered back, letting him drag her away from their kid's bedroom. "Wanna put a movie on and not watch it?"

"Sounds perfect."

@elliethesuperfruitlover​ @salvador-daley​ @firstpersonnarrator​

#ockissweek #ockiss23 #timeline anomaly’verse #sean falco x oc #sean x blossom #collaboration

[korribanarchive]

All The Time In the World (Modern AU)

Modern Military AU- Marine Captain Gregor x Female Dancer Reader

Rated: Explicit 18+ only MINORS NO TOUCHY

Warnings: Diabetic fluff, oral sex, fingering, unprotected sex

Words: 2.3k

Summary: You're a dancer in the New York City Ballet. You met Marine Spec Ops Instructor Captain Gregor during Fleet Week two years ago. You fell hard and fast and you've missed him more than words can say. He comes up from Camp Lejeune on leave early to surprise you.

Taglist: @kurocommitsacrime @its-capt-traitor-to-you (for the QYTGregor contest)

AO3

It'd be great if you could still comment here to vote for this one for the QYTGregor Adult Fic Contest!

Divider by @djarrex

You stepped out of the back door of the David H. Koch theater of the Lincoln Center, sighing with relief. Your feet and legs ached after two performances that day and you were ready to go home and rest up for the next day’s performances. Ever since you had moved up to one of the principal dancer positions, your pay had almost doubled, but so had your workload. 

Pulling on your jacket, you pulled out your phone and saw your usual evening text from your long distance boyfriend, Gregor. Dance like you do through my dreams every night, Mesh’la ;). You smiled a bittersweet smile while you headed across the bandshell park toward the bus stop, the lights of the City that Never Sleeps illuminating the way. How long had it been since you had seen him in person? It had to have been Christmas. 

That was the life he had signed up for though. He was a Marine- CO of Foxtrot Company and instructor at Camp Lejeune. You both had known from the start that things wouldn’t be easy, but knowing it and living it were often two separate challenges.

“Now I know those aren’t tears in those pretty eyes of yours.”

The familiar, playful tone almost startled you and you looked up from your phone, seeing Gregor of all people leaned against the back of a bench, dressed in his perfectly pressed dress blues, a bouquet of your favorite flowers gripped in one hand. You closed the gap between them and pulled him down for a sweet kiss.

“I wasn’t expecting you ‘til next week,” you breathed once you had pulled away. 

His lips twisted into his charming, crooked smile. “Heh, didn’t think I’d leave the most beautiful girl in the world alone in the city during Fleet Week, did ya?”

“I guess not,” you laughed. “Two years tomorrow. Do you remember?”

“How could I forget? Your roommate was all over those SEAL Team 99  boys, but you didn’t look at anyone but me that whole night.” He held you close by the waist, unwilling to let go of you.

“If I recall, I wasn’t the only one with eyes fixated the whole night,” you replied, reaching up and straightening his hat. “You get all dressed up just for me?”

He winked at you. “We both know you’re a sucker for a man in a uniform,” he teased you and wrapped an arm around your waist.“Let’s get you home, Mesh’la, before I decide to take you right here and now.”

“Patience is a virtue, Captain,” you replied playfully.

He chuckled while guiding you toward the parking garage. He kept his hand wrapped around your waist the whole way. He opened the passenger side of his golden yellow Jeep Rubicon and lifted you up into the car, earning a giggle from you.

“You know, you’re the only one who I let do that off stage,” you teased. 

“I bet you can say that about a lot of things, Mesh’la,” he replied with a wink.

He got in the driver’s side and started the drive toward your apartment- he knew the way well after his visits the last two years. As he drove one of his hands came to rest on your thigh and  you closed your eyes with a contented sigh, holding onto the feeling of his warm hand on you.

“How did tonight go?” he asked.

“Pretty well. No incidents like we were having in rehearsals this season,” you replied.

It was your first season as a principal dancer and it was still nerve wracking to be the main focus on stage so often. A soloist had a few minutes of focus for one or two pieces. A principal had several pieces all to themselves or as the main focus.

“So no more getting dropped?” he asked.

“No. We are finally working well together,” you replied.

“Good.” The firmness of his voice betrayed his worry for you more than he’d ever admit outright.

Your male counterpart was a highly experienced dancer and you were extremely  lucky to have such a seasoned partner on the stage, but it had taken almost two months to develop the trust and chemistry needed to perform well. Being dropped by a man taller than Gregor was not fun. 

Pulling into the lot of your apartment, he stepped out and circled around. He opened the door and helped you down, kissing your hand as he set you on your feet. He grabbed his bag from the back while you went up ahead to unlock the apartment. 

As soon as you were through the door and into the living room of the two bedroom apartment, he had you in his arms again, pressing tender kisses to your cheeks, your lips, your jaw. Any exposed spot got a kiss.

“Not even,” you murmured between kisses, “gonna let me clean up?”

Not that you minded one bit. You had longed for this. To see him outside a video chat, to be in his strong arms again, to feel his lips against yours once more.

He chuckled, his hands traveling to your hips and pulling you flush against him. “Why bother? I’ll be getting you all dirty again in no time.”

“Let’s at least get to my bedroom. Don’t want my roommate coming back and getting an eyeful now do we?” 

He smirked and picked you up bridal style. Carrying you into the bedroom, he kicked the door shut behind him and deposited you on your bed. You pulled him down on top of you and kissed him, your eyes falling closed for a moment, savoring the heat, the passion, the love you had missed so dearly. His kisses lit a fire in you--a fire you were content to allow to consume you for the night.

“If you don’t start taking off that uniform, you’re gonna have to buy a new one,” you whispered.

You didn’t wait for him to comply, instead fumbling with the belt and the golden buttons, trying to peel away the stiff wool that stood between you and your Captain. His hands caught yours and he pinned them above your head. 

“Patience is a virtue, Mesh’la,” he teased, keeping you pinned in place with one hand while the other took its sweet time unbuckling the belt then unbuttoning every single button.

This man was going to drive you insane. One button, two buttons. You struggled lightly against his grip on your hands and his grip tightened while he paused at the third button.

“You are insufferable,” you whined. “Insufferable and evil.”

He leaned down, nipping at the shell of your ear. “You’re the one who said be patient,” he purred. “So be patient or I’ll leave you wanting.”

You pouted a little, but settled in his grip and he finally finished removing his jacket. The white button up and tshirt beneath quickly followed it to the floor, leaving his muscular chest exposed. 

He leaned down, his figure dwarfing yours as he kissed his way down your neck and collarbone, pushing aside your jacket, untying your top, and relieving you of your bra as he went. Bit by bit he exposed your lithe figure, leaving a scorching trail of kisses in his wake. 

Your hands finally free of their prison, you wasted no time kicking off your shoes and aiding him in sliding off your fitted jeans and panties. He took a moment to admire the sight of you laid out before him, as awestruck by you as he was your first time. His eyes traveled from your flushed cheeks, over your perky breasts before lingering between your legs.

His hand ghosted down your figure. You groaned when he traced around your lips with a single finger. His feather light touch was going to drive you insane at this rate and by the mischievous glint in his eye that was exactly what he was going for. The wanton whine that escaped you just served to egg him on. He swiped a finger up your slit, just barely brushing your clit as he gathered some of your juices on his finger.

“Look at you,” he teased. “I’ve hardly touched you and you’re soaked.”

“You’re one to talk,” you shot back, your eyes focusing on the taut fabric where his cock was straining against his dress pants.

“Can you blame me for missing you?” he asked. 

“Why don’t you show me just how much you missed me?”

Gregor didn’t need to be asked twice. He spread your legs wide and kissed his way along your thigh until he reached his prize. He ran his tongue up your folds then delved in, his tongue dipping into your entrance. 

Heat began to flood your body more and more each time his tongue delved into you and you buried your fingers in his clean-cut hair, trying to egg him on, desperate for more. His torturous tongue only served to amplify the ache. 

“Gregor, nnng fuck,” you groaned. 

“Yes, Mesh’la?” he purred. 

“Are you going to torture me like this all night?”

He chuckled, sending pleasant vibrations through your cunt. He feigned thinking about it, lazily swiping his tongue against your clit as he did. 

“That depends on how good you are for me, Mesh’la.” He immediately returned to his place between your folds, sucking your clit into his mouth.

“Aah! Jesus! And how do you…nnn define good?” you panted. 

The heat was beginning to rise in you. Your brain was going fuzzy and all you could bring yourself to think about was his mouth that was pushing you deeper and deeper into the fire he was setting in you. 

You glanced down at him and the look in his eyes as he slid two fingers inside you told you exactly what he wanted from you. No words needed. His fingers curled up, pressing on that sweet spot over and over. A cry tore from you as the heat of your first orgasm shot through your veins. Your Captain didn’t stop either, his tongue sweeping over your quaking bud, even as your vision filled with blinding light brighter than any spotlight you’d ever been under.

The roaring in your ears slowly died down and you blinked the last stars from your vision, your head still in the clouds when you felt his fingers and mouth pull away. A whimper escaped you at the loss.

“Heh, if you think we’re done, Mesh’la, you haven’t been paying attention.” His voice cut through the fog that had settled over your mind.

His shoes and dress pants had joined the rest of his uniform on the floor of your bedroom and his warm brown eyes met yours as he slid his boxers down and threw them aside as well. He settled between your legs. Your ankles found rest on his broad shoulders, toes curling in anticipation as he rubbed his leaking cock against your entrance.

“Gregorrr stop teasing me and take me already!” 

You whined and squirmed trying to get payback, but his hold on your legs left you little room to do anything more.

“You’re cute when you get all impatient,” he teased. “I think you’ve waited long enough though.”

He filled you slowly, his hands coming down and massaging your hips as you quivered at the sensation. He stretched you near to your limit- he always had. 

“Fuck,” you gasped.

“All right, Mesh’la?” he asked, pausing with his shaft buried inside you.

“Better than all right.” You nodded that he was okay to continue.

He started at a slow pace with you, taking his time. Each deliberate thrust sent a jolt of sensation through you. His every muscle was taut and even in the haze he was slowly pushing you into it was clear he was holding back on you, always gentle and always cautious.

“You’re not gonna break me, love,” you managed to gasp. 

He smiled and leaned down and braced his arm above your head, nearly folding you in half to capture your lips in an electrifying kiss. 

“Is that so?” he grunted as his hips snapped forward with more force earning a lewd moan from you. “Perhaps I want to take my time with you, Mesh’la. We’ve got all night.”

And take his time he did. His every thrust sent you deeper and deeper into that blissful haze that only he could send you into. He kissed anywhere he could reach, leaving trails of fire along your skin. 

The pressure that was building inside you felt like it would last forever yet explode at any moment. A coil waiting to spring open at the slightest provocation. 

“Right there, love,” you panted. “Just like that. Nnng… so close.”

You could feel his discipline waning as well, but he did as you asked, hitting that sweet spot in you in ways you had no way of reaching on your own. 

“That’s it Mesh’la, come for me.”

His hand on your hip moved between you and his thumb circled your clit. The pressure exploded in you. Your whole body tensed under him, your legs trembling and your vision going white. You were a mess of incoherent curses as the last of his discipline crumbled. 

He chased his own high letting you ride yours out on his pulsing cock until he couldn’t hold out anymore. He pulled himself from you, pumping himself once, twice. Hot ropes of his cum painted your flat stomach as he groaned your given name. It never sounded as sweet as then.

Catching his breath, he looked down at you, his crooked smile returning. “Worth the wait, Mesh’la?”

“Always worth the wait, Gregor,” you murmured, shifting to lie down fully and pulling him down onto you.

He wrapped you in his arms and buried his face in your neck. “I missed you,” he admitted quietly, running his hands up and down your back. 

“I missed you too,” you whispered back, pressing soft kisses to his shoulder. “I always miss you.”

“I’m sorry, Mesh’la. I understand if-” 

“Hush. None of that. No apologies. No sadness. We knew this wouldn’t be easy, but we have time now and we’re not wasting it on regrets,” you chided. “For this week we have all the time in the world. Let’s make the most of it.”

Please take a moment to like, reblog, and/or comment if you would like. <3 Thanks for reading!

#QYTGregor #soft!gregor #clone trooper gregor #captain gregor #gregor x reader #modern au #modern military au #gregor x female reader #gregor x dancer #gregor would be marine spec ops #i have spoken #NSFT #minors DNI #not sfw #em's writing #lovelorn reader #missing each other #long distance boyfriend #gregor fanfic #tcw fanfic #gregor smut

[endlessreruns]

Where: The Forest - in the area covered by the south station

Who: Roman with mentions of Val aka the ranger ( @callofthxvoid ) and Lucy ( @ambercast )

Status: closed self-para

There wasnt anything special or out of the ordinary about how Roman's day had started. Wake up and grab a couple handfuls of the cereal, or what passed as cereal here, that he'd swiped from one of his trips to the market, brush his teeth, and then get changed into a pair of clothes that were clean or mostly clean if he hadn't been able to do a wash in a few days. Then there was grabbing any extras he feel he might need for the day, a couple ration cards he'd swiped in one pocket, and the pocket knife that he'd never been without since he first stole it at 11 in the other.

He moved away the makeshift door enough to slip out and then moved it back to completely cover the entrance to the cave he had been living in since his arrival. There was no agenda for the day, in fact there rarely was, so he started to make his way from the cave in the direction of the commune in order to see if Lucy was there. She usually was.

As with his morning routine the walk was seemingly ordinary, the same basic path he always took…that is until he saw the body. Someone that must have gotten stuck out here overnight and didn't survive. He made his way over to get a better look, see if he could tell who it was.

Roman recognized the person almost as soon as he saw them. He didn't know them personally, had never even exchanged words with them, but he knew who they were. What seemed to be be even more of a shock than a dead body in the woods was that this dead body was still completely intact. No claw marks or ripped open torso. No sign of a monster attack whatsoever.

After hearing the sound of crunching leaves, Roman spotted one of the rangers out, and made his way over. Pointing her in the direction of the body and then briefly answering the follow up questions she had, before cutting her off because he had places to be. A hand slipped into his pocket, and his thumb moved over the handle of the pocket knife as he walked, a habit he'd developed to center and calm himself in certain situations, still headed towards the commune. Towards Lucy. Not about to let them learn about the fact that Lincoln had been found dead in the woods from the paper or some random ranger he couldn't be sure even cared about her.

#death tw #tw death #self para #self para: roman #lucy mention #val mention

[rottingmanifesto]

Some writing I did for John, just to better get a feel for his style. Can’t say I adore it but I tried! Commentary > likes. Photo credit here.

March 12

It’s humid, hot, and stinks of that fucking river in-country. New Bordeaux, Louisiana— Bourbon City, playpen of Salvatore Marcano and his family (and not just in the mob sense). If I knew Lincoln wasn’t going to burn this city to the ground, I would do it myself. The rich residents have their blood filled with Marcano’s heroin or hate and the poor ones don’t stand a damn chance at social mobility. The American Dream might as well be a nightmare to half of the residents. Southern manners my ass.

The Father’s not a big fan of me, but unfortunately for him, I’m used to it, between here and the Company. At least he’s kind enough to let me set up shop here until I can find a better place, which really isn’t saying much in a shithole of a city like this. It’s either mob-owned hotels worth ¾ of my paycheck or shitty motels in hick-controlled Hollow. But I’ve had worse. As long as it’s not another backwater hellhole, I can bear it, no matter the outcome. Until then, it’s just me and the Padre. And Lincoln, when he comes back around. (It’s not an “if”, I know that much.) And when he does, I’ll be ready.

March 27

The Padre and I agreed on a schedule to keep things running in the house. He watches Lincoln in the mornings and nights, and I take midday and late night shifts. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve fallen asleep next to Linc on those late night shifts. Need to buy more coffee. The air is always stuffy in the Padre’s house (I blame Louisianan humidity) so we open up windows sometimes. Doesn’t seem to help.

Anyway, this paperwork is a goddamn maze already. If mobsters have got one thing right, it’s their dedication to pissing off federal agents. I’d almost admire it if I wasn’t one myself.

March 30

Christ, just how many rackets does this asshole have? I’ve spent 4 days straight solely on Sal’s capos— I haven’t even had the time to look into Sal himself yet. To his credit, he sure as hell knows how to allocate resources. Then I’m here, downing the Padre’s entire fucking coffee pot pouring over tax returns from 1962. Princeton education at work.

Current findings are relatively clear at least; Lou deals with pimping and drugs, Olivia gets her highs from fucking with the Southern Union (which I’m assuming is an offshoot of the Ku Klux Klan, though I can’t say for certain), and Tommy does just about anything he can find. Public face, Southern charm, middle management. Haven’t had the opportunity to look into Enzo Conti yet, but records indicate he’s the least dickish of the Marcano family. For starters, he’s not a Marcano. That’s already a plus in my book.

All that’s left after the intel-phase is writing up dossiers on all these fuckers. Not hard by any means, but might as well keep it brief for Lincoln’s sake. And my own sanity.

I also found a place just out of reach of the Dixie Mafia (racist southern assholes, albeit the “normal” variety) on the other side of the Hollow. Considering how many times the Padre has told me to go fuck myself, it’s probably for the best that I get a room sooner rather than later. It’ll be nice to smoke without someone reciting Psalms two rooms over for once. Goal is to set up a tac-op center in one room and have the room next door to sleep. No promises that I’ll ever use that room, but it’s the thought that counts.

On that note, Lincoln’s condition appears to be stabilizing over the past 2 weeks. He’s still unconscious for the most part but he’s breathing regularly. I always knew he was thick-skulled. He’ll pull through. No matter how long it takes, I’ll be here.

May 15

Just picked up information that Hoover’s fairy brigade has set up shop in New Bordeaux. Headed by some guy named Jonathan Maguire, sent here from DC to deal with the little Marcano situation. Late to the party (as always). Might pay them a visit, see what intel they’ve got already.

May 18

Finally managed to install a wire into the FBI’s tac-op center and steal their files. Really professional of them to leave it unattended, but then again, I’m the uncontrollable variable in this American experiment. So far, the files are mostly what I gathered already, but the background is sure-as-hell interesting.

1934 is the stuff of local legend. The FBI cites the “official” story as just usual mob bullshit— revenge for the murder of a family member— but there’s an issue. Sal could have gotten his father off the hook for the gambling debts if he wanted. He didn’t. What he actually wanted was to take over New Bordeaux’s increasingly divided crime underbelly. So, he used his old man’s death as a rallying cry for revenge, and then took over New Bordeaux with force and fear. Reason I bring this up; he doesn’t want his son to do the same thing he did.

June 6

Goddammit.

First it’s John Kennedy, then Martin Luther, now it’s Bobby Kennedy. How much longer will this happen? The hell is this country fighting for? The fuck do we believe in? What happened to liberty and justice for all? What happened to men being created equal?

Jesus fucking Christ, I need a smoke.

Padre was nice enough to offer me a drink. At least he believes in a better America for all. Only if more priests were like that. Then maybe things wouldn’t be like this. The Father isn’t keen on violence but at least he’s not fucking spineless.

At least Lincoln didn’t have to see this shit. That’s the one positive here. The only one.

#mafia 3 #john donovan #my writing

[penmansparadise]

Robin Buckley ~ The Drive-In

*I DON’T OWN THIS GIF* *CREDIT TO GIF OWNER*

Pairing: Robin Buckley x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: None

a/n: This was requested from my Wattpad.  I just want to thank everyone for reading, liking, and reblogging on my stuff.  I am happy to say that the next post I make will be, insert dramatic drumroll, part two to The Adventurer and the Dungeon Master!!!!!  I know how much you all have been wanting me to write this, and I know you've been waiting.  I'll start outlining it tonight and hopefully have it up in the next couple of days!  As usual, my requests are still open, but it will take me a while to get to any new ones.  If you don't mind the wait, go ahead and send them in!  Thanks again for all the support.  You all are so amazing!!

§

You shoved your hands into your pockets as you walked up to the Family Video. This had become your new hangout, and it was not because Steve Harrington worked there. It was because Robin Buckley did. Even though you never admitted it aloud to anybody, you had a huge crush on her. It started years ago as a little thing but grew until your feelings for her were untamable. At first, you tried to avoid her, afraid of exposing yourself. But that didn’t last long. Soon you were attending high school sporting events just to see her in her little band uniform. Then she got a job at Scoops Ahoy, and you went to the ice cream parlor every day. In the summer of 1985, you probably had more ice cream than actual food. When she started working at Family Video, you started showing up there. You were slowly making your way through each genre of movie, ensuring that you always had a reason to visit her at work.

Today was no different as you approached the door. She and Steve Harrington were standing at the counter in the center of the store when you entered. The little bell above the door signaled your entrance, and their conversation immediately stopped. You gave a little nod and waved as you made your way toward the Sci-Fi section of the store. Your fingers slid across the VHS tapes, but you weren’t paying attention to what you were touching. Instead, your eyes were fixed on Robin and the way her bangs bounced over her forehead when she moved to wipe down the counter. You grabbed a tape, pretending to be interested in the movie, when you heard Steve start talking.

“Why don’t you just ask her out?” His voice was low, but you could still pick up what he was saying.

“Because,” Robin said, “what if she’s not, you know, into me?”

You put the tape you had in your hands back and grabbed another, feigning fascination. Steve let out a dry laugh.

“Are you blind? She’s not coming in here for the movies, Robin.”

Your eyes shot up at his comment. You surveyed the store to make sure you were the only person there, and your heart swelled when you realized it was only the three of you.

“Just ask her to go out tonight,” Steve said, earning a squeak from Robin.

“Tonight!? Are you nuts?”

“There’s a drive-in going on at Lincoln Park tonight. Take her.”

You put the tape back and slowly started moving toward the counter.

“I don’t have a car, Steve.”

“But I do,” you said as you came to a halt in front of them.

The two of them stood, frozen in place, clearly not thinking you had been listening. You looked at Robin, whose cheeks turned crimson at having been caught. A small smile pulled at your lips as you stared at her.

“And I’d love to go. What time is it at?”

“Eight,” Steve said, “and they’re playing The Goonies. It’s a classic. You’ll love it.”

Robin gave Steve a look, and he just shrugged. You chuckled.

“Great. I’ll pick you up…” you trailed off in question. Robin didn’t answer until Steve gave her arm a nudge.

“Here,” she said a little too loudly, “you can pick me up here.”

You could feel the butterflies in your stomach dancing in excitement, but you bit back the squeal that wanted to claw its way out of you.

“Okay, I’ll see you tonight then,” you said before turning and showing yourself out.

The rest of the afternoon crawled by. It felt like it had been days when it had only been hours. Then, finally, you were sitting at your dinner table with your parents. Your parents weren’t usually concerned about your whereabouts, but since teenagers started dropping dead, they were increasingly becoming stricter. You looked at them as you pushed food around on your plate.

“Hey,” you said, coughing a little, “so, there’s this drive-in tonight, and I was wondering if maybe I could go.”

You had high hopes. Maybe your parents hadn’t been watching the news as much as you suspected. But when your mother nearly choked on her food, you knew what the answer was going to be.

“What!?” She asked, then started shaking her head, “Absolutely not! Teenagers are being murdered left and right, and you want to go out after dark? No.”

“But-”

“I said no.”

Your mother gave you a stern look, and you dropped the subject, finishing your meal.

After helping clean up, you retired to your room. The minutes were ticking by, and you knew you had to make a decision quick. You were pacing your room, hands wringing. Then, as you did a lap around your furniture, your eyes fell on your window, and you stopped knowing exactly what needed to happen. If your parents wouldn’t let you go willingly, you’d just sneak out.

You checked the clock and had about fifteen minutes before the movie was supposed to start. So, you walked out to the living room where your parents were sitting on the couch. As soon as they could see you, you rubbed your eyes and then stretched your arms over your head.

“Well,” you said through a fake yawn, “I’m actually really tired, so I’m just gonna go lie down for the night. Good night!”

You gave them each a hug, then hustled back to your room, locking the door behind you just in case. As you approached your window, your heart felt like it was about to explode. This was a first for you. Usually, you never defied your parents, but there was no way you were going to miss a date with Robin. Not after you had waited years to even get this far. A couple of murders were not going to stop you now. You grabbed your bag, lifted the pane of glass with shaky hands, and stepped out onto the dewy grass.

As you walked up to your car in the driveway, you could see the light of the flickering TV in your living room. You quickly unlocked the car door and turned on the car before releasing the parking brake and putting it into neutral. The vehicle started silently rolling down the driveway. You turned the wheel enough to maneuver the car onto the road, then turned the ignition and drove off. Once you were far enough away, you flipped on your lights and headed toward Family Video.

By the time you rolled up in front of the store, Robin was already standing there bouncing on the balls of her feet. You unlocked the door, and she hopped in. You couldn’t help the way your breath hitched in your throat. She looked beautiful. The moonlight cast shadows on her face making her look like an angel. Every time she blinked, the shine from the streetlight glistened in her long lashes. You could have sat there all night and stared at her. Forget the movie. She was the only thing you wanted to watch, even if she wasn’t doing anything. But after a minute of staring, you cleared your throat and looked away.

“Sorry, I’m late. I had to, uh, sneak out.”

Robin let out a scoff.

“You too?”

You turned to face her again and were taken back. Even after all these years, you had never gotten a good look at her eyes until that moment. Blue as the sky and soft like a blanket. You wanted to kick yourself for denying yourself the pleasure of looking into the most captivating pair of eyes you had ever seen. You let out a little laugh, finally gathering yourself to respond to her question.

“Yeah,” you said, a smile forming on your lips, “me too.”

Robin held your gaze for a beat, then turned to look out the window as you began driving toward Lincoln Park.

The drive from Family Video to the park was not long, but the awkward silence filling the car made it feel like hours before you finally arrived and pulled into a spot. You turned the car off and looked over at Robin, whose leg was bouncing uncontrollably. She refused to look at you, and you could see her heavy breathing. You gulped down your own nerves as you placed a hand on her leg, her bouncing ceasing immediately as she turned to face you.

“You don’t have to be nervous,” you said before pulling your hand back. But as soon as your hand was gone, her leg started hopping again.

“Sorry,” she said, with a nervous giggle, “it’s just been a while since I’ve been on a date.” Her eyes grew wide at her statement.

“Did I say date? That’s not what I meant. I mean, unless this is a date. You never specified.” She shook her head.

“Sorry, am I rambling? I do that when I’m around someone I find really pretty.” Her face scrunched up, and she let out a breath.

“I’m just gonna stop talking now.”

You could feel the heat burning on your cheeks. Robin thought you were pretty. And what’s better, she thought you were so pretty that she was a nervous wreck around you. You stared at her, and your heart overflowed with joy. She was cute fumbling and bumbling over her words in the passenger seat of your car. You swallowed down your excitement.

“You think I’m pretty?”

Robin looked at you again, and you could see the war raging in her mind at the question. But she finally let out a sigh and nodded.

“Uh…y-yes, I do.”

A wide grin took over your face, and a giggle you couldn’t suppress bubbled out.

“I think you’re pretty too, Robin.”

You could see the storm clear in her eyes, and a small smile pulled at her lips before she turned back to the movie.

Silence fell over the two of you again as you tried to focus on the movie. But you couldn’t seem to keep yourself from sneaking glances at the girl next to you. Even without looking at her, you were so aware of her being there. Both of you had your arms resting on the center console, and you could feel the warmth radiating from her. Your hands were so close, and every part of you itched to reach out and touch her, but you resisted. That was until you felt Robin’s fingertips grazed over the top of your hand. Your heart skipped as you slowly turned your hand over and allowed her slender fingers to interlock with yours. For the remainder of the movie, you couldn’t do anything but focus on the way Robin’s hand felt in yours. You didn’t even care that you paid to get into the drive-in. You could watch The Goonies another time. The only thing that mattered at that moment was finding a way to memorize Robin’s touch.

When the movie finally ended, you pulled out of the drive-in, never letting go of Robin’s hand. You drove back to Family Video and put the car in park. At first, neither of you said anything. You just sat there in the comfortable silence until you turned to Robin.

“Thanks for taking me tonight.”

Robin chuckled.

“Thanks for picking me up.”

You let out a little laugh before staring down at your intertwined fingers. You rubbed your thumb on the back of her hand.

“You know,” you said, “Steve wasn’t wrong earlier.”

Robin’s eyebrows furrowed.

“What? About the movie? I don’t know. I wouldn’t consider it a classic, but it wasn’t bad.”

“No,” you said between bouts of laughter, “about me. I don’t go to the store for the movies, and I’m definitely not going for Steve.”

Robin’s mouth was open just slightly, her lips forming a perfect ‘o,’ sending shivers down your spine. You felt like you were shaking from how nervous you were, but you pressed on, giving her hand a light squeeze and locking your stare on her.

“I go for you.”

The comfortable silence was replaced with tension so thick you could almost grab it out of the air. Neither of you looked away or let go of the other’s hand as you sat there. You could feel your heart beating rapidly in your chest, but it was like you were possessed by some other confident person. On any normal day, you would never make the first move, but you couldn’t help yourself. You leaned forward and used your free hand to brush Robin’s hair behind her ear before slowly bringing your lips to hers. It was a soft kiss. Slow and unhurried. Neither of you were in a rush to have the moment end. Your head was exploding, and you felt tingles all over your body. When you finally pulled back, you could see the red tint on Robin’s cheeks, and you smiled.

“I’ve been waiting to do that for a very long time,” you said.

Robin brought her fingers to her lips and nodded.

“Yeah, me too. Can I do it again?”

“You don’t have to ask.”

Robin shook her head.

“Sorry, I thought it was good dating etiquette to ask.” Her eyes widened before she smacked her forehead with her hand.

“I said date again, didn’t I? Sorry, we still haven’t clarified. But I’d really like it to be one. But no pressure, you know? Don’t feel like obligated now. I’m rambling again.”

You started laughing as you placed your forefinger over her lips and started shushing her. You moved your hand to grab the back of her head and pulled her into another kiss. It was shorter than you wanted, but you knew that if you didn’t stop yourself, you would spend the rest of the night kissing her from head to toe. Robin let out a sigh.

“I should probably go.”

“Okay,” you said, “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“I have to work.”

You nodded.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Robin chuckled at your certainty before exiting your car. You watched her walk down the street until you couldn’t see her anymore. Even after she was gone, you still waited another minute before driving back home. The sensation of Robin’s lips on yours was burned in your memory. You were high on the feeling of Robin’s fingers curling around yours. You didn’t even care if your parents found out you snuck out because you knew any punishment would be worth it. And you would sneak out a hundred times over if it meant you’d get to share a moment with Robin again.  

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