#anyways I stopped playing for the night I went miming for a while and can’t be bothered to do more rn at least Ik where more iron is

[jotaromane]

bouncer! thorkell x fem! reader

this os does not take place in the original universe, but nowadays, precisely in a nightclub, i got this idea when i went to one for halloween lmao, i hope you’ll like this os anyway this os is a little longer than the others because i just had too much fun writing the clubbing part 

tw : unprotected sex ; rough sex ; dirty talk ; one night stand ; in a car

You just couldn't miss that night at your favorite nightclub. Indeed, the owners teased a night “2000s music only” on social media. You and your friend were so impatient to go. You did a before at your place, so you didn’t spend all your salaries by buying drinks. 

-I think you’ve drunk enough for now, you said by grabbing his glass from your friend’s hand. 

-I… i’M nOt DrUnk ! he stuttered. 

-Thorfinn, let’s go, you cut short. I don’t want to miss a single song. Imagine what would happen if we miss Poker Face… 

-You would never forgive me, he smiled. 

Thorfinn was your best friend. You met him at college, where the two of you were too shy to start meeting new people. You were forced to do a presentation together, and you instantly became friends. You discovered student life with him : bars, nightclubs, going on trips… It was reassuring to have him in your life. 

You approached the entry, and lucky for you, you didn’t have to stand in line.  -How’s my makeup ? you asked him. And my outfit ?  -You look gorgeous, as always ; don’t worry. What about me ?  You took his face in your hands so you checked if the glitter on his eyes had moved.  -Perfect, you said. I can’t believe you accepted to wear makeup ! 

You were now at the entry, facing two bouncers. They were very tall, and even if you came at this club often, you've never saw them. One of them was a true giant, blonde haired. His percent eyes met you and Thorfinn.  - Good evening, you said. Can we go inside ? -We’re dressed for the occasion, Thorfinn intervened. 

-Mh, said the second bouncer with no emotion in his voice. You can go. Have fun. 

The club was full, you couldn’t walk without bumping into someone. But the music was just as you expected, and you had a lot of fun with your friend. Due to your proximity, people would obviously thinked that you two were together, so nobody tried to importunate you.  -Stop calling, STOP CALLING ! you sang. 

-I don't wanna think anymore…Thorfinn responded while miming a phone with his hand.

-I GOT MY HEAD AND MY HEART ON THE DANCEFLOOR ! you both screamed more than sang. 

A few hours passed and while clubbing, you ordered so many more drinks, and Thorfinn started to feel sick because of the alcohol. You took him to the toilets, and he threw up while you were holding his long hair into a messy ponytail.  -Gosh, you said. That’s disgusting. What did you eat recently ? Shrimps ? 

-Sorry… he mumbled. Maybe I drank too much…

-The hangover will punish you, don’t worry.

You helped Thorfinn clean his face and you went back to the dancefloor, but the mood was gone. It was nearly 5am and most of the people were gone or too tired to dance. 

-I’m gonna call an Uber, you said as you left the club. 

The fact that there was no music anymore helped you think and manipulate your phone, even if the alcohol made your gestures unprecise.  -He’s on his way, you averted Thorfinn. 

-Okay, thank you, (y/n). It’s always a pleasure to hang out with you. You’re really my best friend. I wonder how my college years would have been without you… 

-Okay, okay, you said softly by patting his back. You’re my best friend too. 

You didn’t notice, but when he heard the words “best friend”, the blonde bouncer locked his attention on you. In fact, he had targeted you from the moment he saw you arriving at the club, but he thought you were with your boyfriend. But he decided to play it cool and pretend he heard nothing.  -Hey, lovebirds, he said to you. Do you guys need help ? 

-You… You’re talking to me ? 

The alcohol in your blood made your heart pulse when your eyes met his. He truly was huge.  -You’re very tall, you said like a curious child. 

He smiled, discovering some large teeth.  -And you’re very drunk, as I can see.

You looked away and saw Thorfinn join you.  -Yeah, you admitted. Maybe we took too many shots inside… 

-How do you and your boyfriend come home ? he asked, knowing the answer. 

-He’s not my boyfriend ! you tried to articulate. 

-For sure, Thorfinn added, nearly proudly. I can’t imagine having to live with her 24/7 ! 

You pretended to slap him.  -You are the unbearable one ! Remember our philosophy : no engagement before our 25 ! After that, if we’re not engaged, we will get married, not before ! 

-Of course, the bouncer said. Due to your age, you must make the most of life while you’re young. 

-Exactly !! you shouted, touching his shoulder. You’re totally right…uh…What’s your name again ? 

The bouncer raised an eyebrow as he felt your contact on him. Your hand was just so tiny on him. You couldn’t even cover one of his pectorals with your palm.  -My name’s Thorkell. 

-Thorkell…you repeated. What an original name. 

The Uber driver arrived at this moment and was stationed in front of the club. You opened the door and Thorfinn literally threw himself in.  -After you…you said ironically. 

-Sorry, (y/n). My feet just hurt so much. All this dancing stuff… 

When you started to sit in the car, Thorkell took your arm and forced you to watch him.  -I told you my name but I don’t know yours, he noted. Would you like to tell me around one last drink ? 

He smirked and you blushed. You never met someone this tall and intimidating. In fact, he was kind of hot. Maybe a little older than you, but who cared ? You looked at Thorfinn, silently asking for his opinion.  -(y/n) ! he sighed. Every FUCKING week ! Go, if you want to. But text me regularly. And you… 

He stepped out of the car and stood up in front of Thorkell.  -If you dare to hurt my friend or make her do things she doesn’t want to…

Thorkell threw him a look that meant “Don’t worry” and “Fuck off” at the same time, you couldn’t interpret it because of the alcohol. But you knew that Thorfinn wasn’t laughing at all. You kissed him on the cheek, and without taking his eyes off Thorkell, he kissed you on the forehead.  -Have a good time, sweetie. If you have any problems, you call me. I’m serious. 

-Sure. I’ll text you. 

The Uber got started and you turned back to Thorkell. He was patiently waiting for you, car keys in his hand.  -Don’t worry, he said. We don’t drink when we’re working. I can drive. 

-Drive to…? 

-Oh, I thought you would have understood that I’ve planned to take you to my apartment.

You were not against the idea, even if you knew nothing about him. One life, you thought.  -I don’t know, you smiled. Are you going to kill me in your basement ? 

-I promise I won’t.

Thorkell’s car was actually as big as his owner. It was an impressive black Range Rover.  -Wow, you whispered. 

-That’s my baby, he said proudly. I worked hard to afford it. So be careful with your heels when you get into it. 

-Sure. 

You sat on the passenger seat, and Thorkell was next to you. He was so close, you could observe him in detail while he drove out of the parking lot. He had some large hands, his nails were cut short and perfectly clean. He wore a black turtleneck pullover that suits his square jaws. His beard was neither too long nor too short.  -Are you staring at me ? he asked. 

-Uh, no, no… you mumbled. 

-Because I did, tonight. I noticed you as soon as you arrived at the club. You and this boy seemed to be very close. 

-Thorfinn is my friend, nothing more. We’re clear about that. 

-Fine, he concluded. 

He drove safely, so you authorized yourself to text Thorfinn instead of watching the road. “In my prey’s car. Everything’s fine. You ?”. As usual, Torfinn responded nearly instantly “Fine. Be careful, this man is truly a giant, he could easily hurt you.” By reading the message, you couldn’t help but think that if Thorkell hurted you - just a little - with these giant hands, you wouldn’t mind. At this thought, your legs started to squeeze. You knew why you were here, and so did he. 

Thorkell made the move for you, and placed his hand on your thigh. You said nothing. He ascended slowly to approach the spot, and your breath became short. You could feel your body preparing itself. All of your body got goosebumps.  -Your skin is so soft, he said with his eyes focused on the road. You know what, fuck off. 

You were concentrating on the contact of your skins, so at first you didn’t realize he had stopped the car in another parking lot. It was deserted.  -I know this place, he assured you. Nobody would disturb us. The windows are tinted. 

-Then what are you waiting for ? you teased him. 

Thorkell looked at you and you could tell he had hunger in his eyes. You thought back at the size of his teeth. God. 

He slipped up your dress so he could take off your pantties. He threw the underwear away and immediately his giant hand covered all of your cunt to caress you.  -Can we kiss ? you asked. I like kissing people.

-As you wish. 

His lips were surprisingly soft. You pushed your tongue into his mouth as he inserted two of his colossal fingers into you, making you gasp while kissing.  -Uhm… Like that, huh ? he growled against your lips. 

You nodded and took his face into your hands to intensify the kiss even more. He slowly caressed your g-spot, knowing exactly where it was. You whimpered and started sweating a little. 

-You hot, sweetie ? Let me undress you. 

Savagly, he pulled the thin straps of your dress to reveal your breasts. His eyes opened wide.  -How beautiful…he whispered. Can I ? he asked with a desperate look. 

-Please. 

Just as you expected, Thorkell wasn’t a gentle man when he had sex, especially in the back of his car. He ran to your nipples, by taking one in his mouth and squeezed the other between his thumb and his index finger. You arched your back to meet his contact more intensely. His other hand was still working on your intimacy. It was so good. You passed your hands through his hair and pulled them gently.  -Don’t be shy, he said against your skin. Pull my hair. 

After a little time, Thorkell raised his head to you, and his golden gaze made you melt on the leather seat. -And now, do you want me to eat you, little brat ? 

His eyebrows raised as he was waiting for your permission. -I… I don’t know ‘cause we danced a lot so I think I sweated and maybe the smell is…

-Let me tell you, lady, that I absolutely don’t give a damn. You want me to make you cum on my mouth or not ? 

You shivered as his words, and nodded by biting your lower lip.  -That’s what I thought, he teased. Put your back against the door so I can properly spread these gorgeous legs. 

His assault on you made you moan loudly. His large tongue circled your clit with appetite, and you tried your best not to scream, as his fingers still worked in you. You could hear him trying to keep his breath calm, but for sure he was so excited to. Your moans turned him on a lot. -Don’t be so loud, he ordered. Take this instead, you brat. 

And without any warning, he inserted his other index finger in your mouth. Immediately you sucked on it, circling it. Your eyes closed and your eyebrows frowned, you could feel your orgasm coming.  -Thorkell, you said. I’m…

-I know, sweetie, he cut you short. I can feel it by your pussy beating on my mouth. Delicious. 

Your orgasm striked you and you couldn’t help but squeeze your legs around his head, but he actually seemed to love that. 

You thought you were going to rest a little after that, but you heard the sound of his belt unbuckling.  -I assume that everything in you is huge, Thorkell, you teased. 

-You don’t have an idea, he smirked. Do you want to taste it before I fuck you like the pretty slut that you are ? 

He took off his clothes and you could barely believe it. You’ve never seen someone this big. All of his body was disproportionate : his shoulders, arms, even his legs were enormous. He wasn’t a normal human. And you could tell by the size of his erection, waiting for you. -Take it, if you dare. 

You posed your lips on his tip, took a deep breath, and started to swallow his cock, but you couldn’t take it all. Tears shone into your eyes as you sucked him the best you could. Thorkell sighed loudly. -That’s it, you little bitch, so desperate for my cock, huh ? 

You nodded, still sucking him, your saliva poured out of your mouth. He started moving his hips to make you take all of it, but you gagged loudly.  -Gonna ruin your pretty makeup, he promised while grabbing your neck. My turn to pull your hair, princess. 

He caught them so he could see your concentrated face working on him. His precum filled your mouth deliciously. You moaned on him, eyes closed to appreciate his taste and size.  -Slow down, or I’m gonna come in your mouth, I don’t want to. Nah, you know what, I have a better idea… 

He took your face in his hands so you couldn’t escape his animal gaze. He smiled largely, discovering his teeth.  -Want my cock inside of you, you slut ? 

-Ye…Yes, you gasped. 

-Ask properly for it, he demanded.

Your desire made you tremble, you felt your body so ready to take his length.  -Please, you said. Please, fuck me. 

-I like seeing those pretty eyes begging. Wanna see them while I fuck you. Ride me. 

You placed yourself on the top of him, and he took your breasts into his hands. He teased your nipples with his thumb making tiny circles on them.  -So hard for me, he murmured for himself. Are you ready ? 

-Please, you said desperately. 

He pushed himself into you inches by inches, taking a long sigh from you. You’ve never been filled so full by a man. Thorkell’s size left no space. -Be gentle, please, you asked. At first. 

-Don’t worry, darling, I’ll give you the time to get used to me. 

His movements were slow but deep, and you whimpered without any restraint, holding yourself to his shoulders. Your breasts were bouncing in rhythm. Thorkell thought that he had the most beautiful view in the world. - Now, go faster, you begged. 

-What a needy slut, he smirked. As you wish. 

With one hand, he caught your hair and reversed your head back. With the other, he strangled you so your breath was shorter. His thrusts now pounded you with no mercy.  -Move on it, he demanded. I know you can. 

He took your head back near his, and whispered in your ear. 

-You think I didn’t see you move on that dancefloor, you little brat ?  I know what that ass can do. You were having fun, didn’t you ? 

-Yes, I did. But my legs kind of hurt now, I…

He didn’t wait for your response and grabbed your ass so he could do the job himself. Due to his strength, you couldn’t help but start sobbing with pleasure. He noticed that and licked your tears away.  -I’m not done with you, you slut, so don’t you dare collapse on my cock or anything. I’m going to finish you properly. 

You started feeling weak, taking his cock was so exhausting, but it was also delicious. You managed to hold your explosion a little more. A strange fog covered your eyes. Thorkell saw it and slapped you.  -What did I said ? 

You didn’t answer. Instead, you looked him in the eyes, and they opened wide, as he slowed down.  -What, princess ? he worried. Did I hurt you ? Do you want me to stop ? 

-No, you sighed. Don’t stop, please… But slow down, please… I can’t take it anymore, I’m gonna come on your beautiful leather seats. Remember, this car is your baby. 

-You mean you’re gonna squirt ? 

-I… I think so… 

Thorkell’s eyes shone like you just told him he won at the lottery.  -Oh Lord, he mumbled. Would you let me take you to this state ? 

You gathered your last strengths and continued to ride him, as a response. He smiled, and rubbed your clit with his thumb. Only a few seconds later, it was too much for you, and you started to squirt over him, but he didn’t seem to care.  -Come on baby, you’re just too sexy moaning for me ! 

Your legs were shaking in an out of control way. Thorkell immediately slipped out his cock of your body and his seed squirted on your belly. He let go a long growl, as he caressed your face. You kissed him passionately. It was so good.  -Damn, he said, trying to catch his breath. That was an experience. 

-I agree, you murmured in his ear. Thank you for worrying about me. 

-Anything for a lady. 

Thorkell drove fast. You searched your phone at the same time.  -Do you want to rest at mine ? he asked. It’s 6am, your friend is probably asleep. 

-Hum, you responded. Why not. I’ll still text him so he doesn't worry when he wakes up. 

You texted Thorfinn “Prey’s under control. Gonna sleep at his apartment and then he will drive me home.” You focused on Thorkell again. -Did you like it ? you asked. 

-I loved it, baby, he smiled while placing his hand on your thigh. Usually, I don’t see my conquests again, but what if we… 

-Broke the rule ? you completed. I think I’m okay with this, I you’re able to fuck me like that everytime. 

Thorkell squeezed his hand around you, making you gasp.  -You don’t know a thing about what else I could do to please you, darling. 

this was a looong os but i hope you liked it anyway!! btw requests are open! <3

#thorkell x reader #thorkell x reader smut #vinland saga x reader #thorfinn #thorfinn x reader #thorkell #fanfiction #smut #+18 #dirty talk #vinland saga #manga #anime #knute #askeladd #requests open

[writemekpop]

Lipstick On Your Collar (Part 1) | Nakamoto Yuta

Pairing: Nakamoto Yuta x Reader

Summary: Till death do us part... But what happens when he cheats?  

Genre: Husband!Yuta, Angst

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Infidelity, Sexual Content, Body Image

Gif: @yuthereal​

Part 1 ⭐| Part 2  | Part 3 | Part 4

“Ten more minutes, then it’s homework time, alright?” you called to your two older sons, eight and four years old. Caught up in their wooden sword fight, they didn’t even look up.

You smoothed your hand over your face, eyes bruised from lack of sleep. Between your banking job and your three kids, sleep was a rare thing.

Just then, you felt a waft of chill air. Yuta strode in through the front door, his feathery black hair in disarray.

“Hey babe,” you called, shoulders relaxing.

Your husband had this calming presence, your island on a rough ocean. Your chest ached for Yuta’s warmth. You hadn’t hugged, kissed… touched in months.

“Hi, Y/n. We need to talk,” Yuta deadpanned.

You picked up your baby daughter Ayumi. She needed her nappy changed. Bad.

“Alright. What’s up?” You placed her on the changing mat, blowing your fringe out of your eyes.

“I mean in private.” You saw that Yuta’s face was stretched and white. A knot curled in your stomach.

“Nappies?” You lifted your hand. He begrudgingly handed them over.

“Y/n. This is serious.” Yuta’s voice quivered like a taut string.

“Can’t you see I’m busy? What is it?” you snapped. You instantly regretted it. Nowadays, you were always on the edge of an explosion.

“Okay. Fine. I’ve… messed up. And I’m sorry, and I didn’t mean it, but… it’s happened.”

You bin Ayumi’s old nappy, then pull her into your arms. “Is that all? Look, if you’ve broken something, we have insurance.”

“This isn’t a bloody plate! I’ve- I’ve done something awful.”

“Right. Well done. Anyway, I have to help the kids with their homework.”

“Just look at me, Y/n! I’m trying to fucking tell you something!” Yuta’s yell turned your head.

Yuta’s eyes were red-rimmed and wide, like he was in shock. “I… cheated on you, Y/n. I slept with someone else.”

Your heartbeat slowed to a crawl. Instinctively, you pulled your baby close.

“Who is she?”

“Diya. From the school.”

Your lips went numb. You put Ayumi down in her rocker and started rinsing plates in the sink. “How long?”

“Just once. It was a mistake, I swear… it’s just, she was there, and… I didn’t plan it!”

Your chest folded in on itself. While you were kissing your babies to sleep, Yuta was kissing someone else.

“When was it, Yuta?”

“The… day you… went to stay with your sister.”

You’d never forget that day.

It was a few weeks after Ayumi was born. You couldn’t seem to get out of bed, let alone be a good mother. So you’d escaped… just for a day.

While you were breaking apart, Yuta searched out another woman.

“Where?” You picked up the cutlery, letting the hot water scald your skin.

“Her apartment. We met up after work, and one thing led to another… I swear, that was all.”

Images burned into your mind, like a flashed camera. Yuta’s fingernails scraping the back of her neck, like he did to you. Their naked bodies gyrating, sweaty, the smell of sex saturating everything…

Your throat convulsed in a retch. For a second, it was like a brick was hitting your chest.

Then, everything stopped.

You felt a curtain dropping. You didn’t have time to deal with this. Not now. As quickly as they came, the feelings slowed. Drooped. Vanished.

You looked down. You were clenching a table knife so hard it had drawn blood. You let go.

Everything blurred. You felt like a kid again, staring up at yourself from the bottom of a pool.

Your voice was a croak. “Obviously, we’re not telling the kids. My parents are coming next week – so we can’t tell them either.”

You dried your hands and looked up at Yuta. His mouth was hanging open, like a cartoon character’s. It was almost funny.

You continued speaking, bunging toys into a basket.

“If you want a divorce, tell me now, because we’ll have to borrow money. For tonight, I’ll take the bed, you have the couch.”

“What the hell, Y/n?”

You jolt and look up. “Fine! You can have the bed.”

Yuta grabbed your shoulders, knife-cheekboned and wild. “I don’t care about the fucking bed! I just told you I cheated on you. Why aren’t you mad?”

You stared at his hands on your skin, like you didn’t recognise them. Yuta spotted your gaze, and slowly let go.

“I’m really sorry, Y/n. I want to fix this. But you need to let me in.”

You looked into his chestnut eyes and frowned. Why was he being so obnoxious?

Slowly, you spelled it out. “You cheated on me. It was with our kids’ tutor, while I was sick. You’re sorry. You won’t do it again. Now can I go and make dinner?”

Yuta blinked. Slowly. Then, he gulped and gave you a slight nod. “Yep.”

You pushed past him, and called out, “Whoever helps mummy with dinner gets ice cream!”

You ushered your eager kids towards the hob. You didn’t look back, but you felt Yuta’s gaze on the back of your head. Stunned.

------

You plastered on your brightest smile all throughout dinner, whilst laying out bedding on the couch for yourself, even whilst tucking your children into bed.

Now, you were sitting in your children’s room, with the lights out. You’d just finished reading their bedtime story. They were fast asleep.

Finally, you let the iron screen lift from your heart. Instead of fighting it, you bared the most vulnerable part of yourself.

It was a memory: you were in Paris with Yuta on the first night of your honeymoon. You were in a mid-range Travel Lodge – the best you could afford – with rain pelting at the windows.

You had woken up at 11AM, tangled up with Yuta from your cuddling. You’d talked, worried, agonised about it, but you’d never had sex with him before.

Yuta opened one sleepy eye and felt your body with his hands, as if he was checking if it was there. You tingled with lust to the tips of your toes. Suddenly, you knew the moment was right.

For once, you didn’t care about your tummy that you always tried to hide, you didn’t care about your thighs which rubbed together when you walked.

You didn’t think about anything, except the feeling of Yuta’s slow kisses, the feeling of him inside of you, the feeling of his hands reaching to the very ends of you.

You were in a hazy, golden pool of completeness. As you gasped your worries, apologies, in each other’s ears, you became whole in a way you’d never known before.

Then, the memory shattered. And in its place, before you could stop it, was the image that was burnt into your eyelids.

It played over and over again, the trailer to a movie of your shame. Yuta in her apartment, the thumping of the bedposts, him between her legs, her exclamations of ‘yes!’, that were only echoed by him moaning her name…

You screamed silently into your fist.

You knew the real reason Yuta cheated on you. Whatever excuses he made, it wasn’t a mistake or a drunk one-off.

You grabbed the soft flesh around your waist. This was why. You thought of the nights you’d told him you were too tired, that you weren’t in the mood. That was why.

You couldn’t even blame Yuta. He was only compensating for the fact that his own wife would never be attractive enough, good enough, just enough for him.

The tears rose up your throat, making your head pound and your cheeks stretch with sobs. You wanted nothing more than to drown yourself in these tears, though you knew they wouldn’t wash the pain away.

Then, you caught a grey glimmer in the darkness. Your youngest boy, Nico, was wide awake and watching you with saucer eyes.

“Hey baby… go back to sleep,” you whispered, quickly smoothing away your tears.

“Are you crying, mummy?”

The softness in his gaze was like a punch in the stomach. You choked down another wave of tears. “No, sweetie, I’m fine. Go back to sleep okay?”

Obediently, he closed his eyes. You didn’t deserve such beautiful children.

You were doubled over, silent in the darkness. You pressed your palms into your eyes, so hard they hurt, and forced the tears back.

You couldn’t even make your husband love you.

What hope did you have with your kids?

------

Three days had passed since that terrible night.

It was 10PM, and the house was unusually quiet.

You and Yuta were sitting at the far edges of the couch, the Netflix episode you never missed playing on the TV.

Both of you were pretending like nothing had gone wrong.

“So… how was work?” Yuta’s cautious voice broke the silence.

You sighed and shook your head. “Just get me a drink.” You couldn’t be bothered with this charade. But at least you could drown your feelings.

“Are you sure that’s a good-” Yuta began.

“Just get it.”

He returned with a whisky, with two ice cubes. Your heart twisted. “You remembered?”

“How could I forget my wife’s favourite drink?” Yuta gave you a thin smile, and for a second, you forgot to ice him out. You smiled back.  

That was two whiskies ago. Now, the gap between the two of you on the sofa had shrunk.

You were laughing so hard your eyes were teary.

“Do you remember, Y/n? Your shirt was on backwards, my pants were on the other side of the room, we were moaning so loud half the theme park could hear us!”

You dried your eyes, sighing. “I bet we scarred a few kids for life that day…”

Yuta’s lip curled up in a smile that sent your heart racing.

You looked down. Subconsciously, your hand was massaging Yuta’s denim-clad knee. You retracted it.

“God, we really knew how to have fun, didn’t we?” You could barely remember the time before you had your three children. It was rose-coloured.

“I mean, Disneyland was nothing. Remember Taeyong’s attic? The nightclub bathroom? I could go on…”

“Ahh!” You mimed blocking your ears. “There are kids in the house, you know!”

In doing so, you lost your grip on your whisky glass, which was balanced on your knee. Yuta grabbed it before it fell, and his hand was suddenly on your thigh.

He let go, and you cleared your throat.

That was hours back. Now, you were having difficulty sitting straight. You’d lost count of how many whiskies you’d downed.

You grabbed Yuta by the shoulders and shook him. “Look! Let’s just get it out of the way. ASAP, straight, completo. No regrets.”

For the first time in ages, your blood was running warm with more than alcohol. The worn denim of Yuta’s jeans was pulling your gaze southward.

“Get what out of the way? You’re not making sense, Y/n.”

You pulled the pin out of your hair and let it fall over your shoulders. “The big three-letter.”

Yuta looked at you, still bewildered. “What?”

“SEX.”

The glass fell from Yuta’s hand.

To be continued…

Part 1 ⭐| Part 2  | Part 3 | Part 4

#neowritingsnet #kwritersworldnet #yuta #nakamoto yuta #yuta smut #NCT-WRITERS #nct u #nct 127 #nct 2020 #yuta scenarios #nakamoto yuta smut #yuta angst #nct smut #nct angst #nct scenarios #nct hard hours #nct 127 angst #yuta fanfiction #nct drabbles #nct 127 smut

[nicknellie]

@chickwiththepurpleguitar requested: flarrie hurt/comfort something? Maybe Carrie’s losing her voice and needs to perform soon so she can’t talk to Flynn so they just communicate with notes and pointed looks but Flynn knows what she means cause they know each other so well?

This is so cute and I love it so much. They would 100% be able to read each other’s expressions like an open book. I had a lot of fun writing this, thank you so much for suggesting it! I think I might have aged them up a bit because I gave Flynn a car without really thinking, but honestly I don’t know how that works in America so it might be completely plausible. Anyway! I hope you like it!

I Can Wait

“What did the doctor say?” Flynn asked the moment Carrie opened the car door and plonked herself in the passenger seat. She was rewarded with a glare like a laser beam paired with an absolutely furious pout. Clearly it wasn’t good news and Carrie was none too happy about it. “Is it serious?”

Carrie shook her head and sighed quietly. Instinctively, Flynn reached across and took Carrie’s hand between her own. She watched as Carrie defeatedly tipped her head back and closed her eyes, obviously frustrated, and then she pulled her hand from Flynn’s grasp and dug around in her handbag for her phone. She quickly pulled up the notes app, tapped out a message, and brandished her phone in Flynn’s face.

Doctor says I need to rest my voice for two days.

Flynn frowned. She could already tell that this wasn’t going to be a fun two days for Carrie – she relied so heavily on her voice, whether that was for singing, bossing people about (though she would never admit that’s what she so often used her voice for), or just quiet calm conversation that was usually reserved for Flynn’s ears only. Carrie needed her voice and as far as she would be concerned she’d had her best tool and weapon snatched away from her.

“Poor thing,” Flynn said, stroking Carrie’s hair. She watched as Carrie breathed contentedly, soothed just that little bit. “Did they say what made you lose your voice?”

Carrie typed out another message: Using it too much, which is stupid.

Ah. Flynn should have been able to guess that. For the past two months, Carrie had been working herself to the bone for the biggest show of her life so far, a performance with her band set to take place in front of at least two dozen record execs and managers for an incredibly exclusive crowd. Along with the other devoted members of Dirty Candi, Carrie had been rehearsing almost non-stop – when she wasn’t singing she was composing, when she wasn’t composing she was dancing, when she wasn’t dancing she was working on costumes, when she wasn’t working on costumes she was getting some sleep with the one or two spare hours in her day. She had thrown herself headfirst into her work and was still yet to resurface.

That was the thing about Carrie, something Flynn loved dearly. She never did things in halves. If Carrie wanted something she would seize it with both hands, she’d drive herself harder and faster than any sane person was willing to just to reach her goals. Sometimes it paid off; other times she sang so much that she ran her voice dry.

“So that’s it?” Flynn asked. “You can’t say a word for the next two days?”

Carrie shrugged defeatedly. In that small gesture, Flynn saw how truly crushed Carrie was feeling. Maybe two days wasn’t really that long, but in Carrie’s mind it was two days being unable to work on songs at all, not to mention she would be unable to direct Dirty Candi’s choreography with anything resembling ease if she couldn’t speak to them. In her mind, it would be two days closer to her show and two days completely wasted.

“Hey,” Flynn said, finding Carrie’s hand again. “We’re not going to let this get in the way of anything, okay? You’re still you – you’re the most capable person I’ve ever met. If anyone is going to find a way around this it’s you. Okay?”

After a moment, Carrie met Flynn’s eyes and offered her a small smile. She leaned forward and pressed a gentle, chaste kiss to Flynn’s lips before impatiently tapping the steering wheel which Flynn took to mean ‘let’s get out of here’.

Flynn knew that getting Carrie to rest completely would be impossible – she suggested it as they drove back to Carrie’s house, but Carrie sat there with her arms crossed, pouting petulantly and shaking her head until Flynn had to accept that she wasn’t going to take any more steps back than she needed to. So when they arrived back at Carrie’s place, Flynn followed Carrie through to the home studio where Carrie immediately went into the back room and started working on costumes.

It would have been easy for Carrie to get somebody else to work on Dirty Candi’s costumes – after all, she had more than enough money to hire a professional to make most of them, and if worse came to worst she could have just bought them from anywhere. But Carrie liked doing things independently so almost all of the band’s outfits were handcrafted by her (though Julie always helped when she had the time). It broke Flynn’s heart a little to watch Carrie at the sewing machine, threading bright pink fabric through it, launching herself back into preparation when she really should have been taking a moment or two to unwind.

“Do you want anything?” Flynn offered.

Carrie looked up from her work briefly and raised an eyebrow – ‘like what?’

“Water?” she suggested. “Or tea? How about honey and lemon, that’s meant to be good for sore throats, right?”

Carrie gave a quick smile, which Flynn interpreted as ‘yes please’, and not a moment later her head was back down and she was working again. Flynn hurried out of the studio to the Wilsons’ kitchen and busied herself preparing the drink. She mixed the honey and the lemon juice in with the hot water and brought it back to Carrie – she was rewarded with a bright smile and a brief hug before Carrie, unsurprisingly, got back to work.

For a while, they simply sat together in silence. Flynn texted Julie to fill her in on the diagnosis and how Carrie was doing while Carrie got on with bits and pieces she needed to do. In a way, Flynn thought, this would be good for Carrie. She was always complaining about the little jobs she never had time to get done, but now she couldn’t do much else she would be able to get on with them.

Flynn was just considering heading home and leaving Carrie to it when she was unceremoniously hit in the face with a paper aeroplane. She blinked in surprise and then looked at Carrie who was smiling innocently.

“What happened to just asking when you want attention?” she said, rolling her eyes.

Carrie just raised a judgemental eyebrow – ‘seriously?’

“Oh, yeah, that. What is it, then?”

Carrie mimed opening the paper aeroplane she’d thrown, so Flynn did. There was a message inside, scrawled in Carrie’s loopy handwriting.

I have a meeting with a manager later but it’s over the phone.

Flynn scrunched the paper up into a ball and threw it back at Carrie who caught it easily. “You’ll have to cancel,” she said apologetically. “You’re not breaking the doctor’s orders for this.”

At that, Carrie batted her eyelashes and smiled hopefully, and Flynn immediately understood what she was getting at.

“You want me to do the meeting for you,” she said disbelievingly. “I have no idea what I’m talking about! I’m not even in Dirty Candi!”

Carrie picked up a pen and grabbed another sheet of paper, hastily scribbling down another note and chucking it in Flynn’s direction. It hit the floor a metre or so away from her and Flynn kicked it towards herself, which probably took longer than if she had just stood up and collected it.

Put it on speaker phone and I’ll write down everything you need to say, it’ll be fine. Plus you’re our marketing team, you know how to make us sound good.

It was true. With Flynn’s help, Dirty Candi (and Julie and the Phantoms) had grown in popularity enormously with a fanbase well into the thousands even though they’d hardly played any live venues that weren’t spirit rallies or open mic nights.

“You’re sure?” she checked, and Carrie nodded. “Fine. When’s the meeting?”

Carrie held up five fingers.

“Five hours?” Flynn said.

She shook her head.

“Five days?” she tried. “That’s plenty of time, you’ll be able to talk by then.”

But Carrie just shook her head again.

Flynn sighed. “It’s five minutes, isn’t it? You’ve given me literally five minutes warning.”

Carrie smiled smugly – ‘now you can’t back out even if you wanted to’.

The meeting went surprisingly smoothly. Flynn blagged an awkward explanation as to why she was on the phone instead of Carrie and the manager didn’t seem to mind. There were a few awkward pauses when Carrie was taking a while to write down her response, or when Flynn was struggling to decode her unnecessarily ornate handwriting, but they got there in the end. When they put the phone down Carrie was smiling, so Flynn took that to mean she thought the meeting had gone well.

It was only then that she checked the time and realised how late it was getting.

“I should probably head home,” she said reluctantly.

She and Carrie had moved to the living room and sat themselves down on the couch, but instead of getting up and leaving Flynn laid back and rested her head on Carrie’s shoulder, getting more comfortable. She felt Carrie wrap her arms around her waist and press a feather-light kiss to her cheek. It made her heart flutter – it was good to know that Carrie didn’t need her voice to make Flynn lose her mind. In fact, this quiet solitude, no sound between them but gentle breathing, was more than enough to make Flynn’s heart beat too fast.

Flynn didn’t know how long they’d been sat there together when she heard Carrie sniffle. She had tried to cover it up and muffle it, which had made it more obvious if anything. She turned her head awkwardly in time to see Carrie turn away and sniff again. Though it was dark and neither of them had bothered to turn a light on, Flynn didn’t miss the way a single tear rolled down Carrie’s cheek.

“Hey,” she said, wriggling until she was sat in front of Carrie, cross-legged, holding her hand. “Care Bear. Come here.”

Carrie didn’t need telling twice. She practically fell into Flynn’s arms, crying quietly, her tears soaking through Flynn’s jumper. Flynn gently ran her fingers through the ends of Carrie’s hair and down her back, holding her close to calm her down.

In truth, she had been half expecting this since they got back from the doctor’s, it had just been a matter of time until it actually happened. Carrie worked not only to improve herself and get further than everyone else, but to distract herself and make herself feel like she was making progress. Flynn knew her well enough to have guessed that when she immediately set about continuing prep for her show it meant she was trying to make herself feel useful, like she could avoid the elephant in the room and actually do something.

It was just to hide how low and wasteful she was really feeling.

“I know this isn’t ideal,” Flynn whispered softly once Carrie had calmed down a notch. “I know you want to be able to carry on like normal, but you’ve got to see that you’re working yourself too hard. It might feel like a setback, but you’ve been working at this for months – you’re more than ready. These two days won’t change anything. Surely you can see that?”

Carrie just exhaled, somewhere between a sob and a sigh. To Flynn that meant ‘no’.

“Well, I’m right,” she said. “You’ve done one day, you can do another. Then you can ease yourself back into rehearsals and I promise you’ll smash it when the actual show comes. You still have two weeks left, that’s plenty of time.” She squeezed Carrie that little bit tighter. “You’ll be amazing.”

Carrie didn’t say anything, for obvious reasons. She didn’t respond at all – didn’t get her phone out and type out a message, didn’t even meet Flynn’s eye to say something in that silent language only they would understand. She just held onto Flynn like it was all she could do. So Flynn held on in return, telling her she wasn’t alone and she never would be, not if Flynn had anything to say about it.

The next thing Flynn knew, it was morning. The sun was streaming in through the living room’s enormous glass windows and she was still lying on the sofa, having just woken up, blinking sleep out of her eyes. She stretched and felt her joints crack satisfyingly, then shook her head to wake herself up.

Carrie was already awake, changed out of yesterday’s clothes (something Flynn hadn’t done since she hadn’t intended to stay the night – she would have to steal something of Carrie’s, which always made her feel a little giddy) and sat on the sofa next to Flynn, pen in hand, writing something.

“Good morning,” Flynn yawned. She laid her head on Carrie’s lap; Carrie sighed, inconvenienced, but didn’t move her away, instead reorganising herself to accommodate her girlfriend. “Did you sleep okay?”

Carrie nodded and gave Flynn a pointed look – ‘yeah, how about you?’

Flynn waved a dismissive hand. “You know me. I can sleep anywhere. What are you writing?”

In reply, Carrie picked up another bit of paper, scrawled a lengthy message, and handed it to Flynn before getting back to her work at hand.

I was thinking about what you said last night and I hate to admit it but you were right. I’m trying to write another song, but not to perform at the show. Maybe for another performance or not at all. I’m doing what you said, taking a step back for a bit.

Flynn smiled up at her, unsurprised to see that Carrie was blushing and avoiding eye contact. That message was about as close as Carrie ever came to pouring her heart out; admitting that she was wrong and Flynn was right was always a frustrating thing for her to do, but it was one of the purest ways that Carrie showed her love.

“What’s the song about?” Flynn asked, lifting her head up and trying to read to words at the incredibly awkward angle but to no avail.

If possible, Carrie blushed even deeper. In response, all she did was tap Flynn’s forehead twice with the end of her pen (which was garishly decorated with bright pink feathers and very tickly) and got back to writing.

Flynn felt her own face light up. “It’s about me?”

A tiny smile tugged at the corners of Carrie’s mouth and she nodded. Flynn shoved herself into a sitting position and tried to read over Carrie’s shoulder, but Carrie hugged the paper to her chest, scowling as she hid the words from view.

“Oh, come on,” Flynn whined. “I want to read it!”

Carrie just shook her head emphatically. Flynn assumed it meant ‘not yet’.

“When can I read it? Or hear it?”

Carrie scribbled down another note: Not until after the big performance, and even then it’s only if that goes as well as you think it will. Otherwise I’m shredding this song and you’ll never hear it.

Flynn laughed and rested her head in Carrie’s lap again. A moment later she could hear the scratch of Carrie’s pen against the paper again. “Okay. I can wait that long.”

*

Taglist (if you want to be added or removed just let me know): @ace-bookworm @williexmercer @willex-owns-my-heart @itstiger720 @the-reckless-and-the-brave @that-one-newsie @bluedarkness @lookingthroughmirrors @teammightypen @salty-star @julieandthequeers @lmaohuh @sunnysbright 

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #jatp fic #fanfiction #flarrie #flarrie fic #flynn x carrie #carrie x flynn #carrie wilson #flynn jatp #request #established relationship #sick fic #<< kinda? #hurt/comfort #emotional hurt/comfort #wlw ship #my writing #dirty candi #dirty candy #carrie jatp #flynn and carrie #carrie and flynn #fluff and angst

[gallavictorious]

Outsider POV Gallavich Fic: Captive Look

For a while there this spring, I was mildly obsessed with the CO in 10x03: you know, the good-looking guy who seems so completely unfazed by finding two armed inmates stabbing an old man, and then for whatever reason doesn't report it? (He can't have; Ian's parole wouldn't have happened so soon after something like that.) I also really dig his beard... Anyway, IMDB identifies him as Raymond and I've had this short little piece about him and his interactions with two certain dumbasses sitting almost finished in my draft doc for months and months and months, so... you're welcome? 2882 words, to help pass the time until the new episode!

You can read it below or on AO3.

---

It's half past eight on a Thursday when Raymond catches sight of them across the bar at South Side Social. He’s there to celebrate his baby sister’s birthday, familial obligation overriding personal preference, but after an hour of politely chatting with her increasingly wasted college friends over obnoxiously rustic-only-because-it’s-trendy food, he’s ready for a break. Catching Tina’s eye, he mimes lightening a cigarette; she raises an eyebrow at him and smirks. She’s a clever kid, his sister – the first in their family to go to college – and she knows him only too well. Knows, for instance, that he gave up smoking years and years ago.

Offering her a rueful grin, he gets up and gets out and spends the next few minutes breathing in Chicago’s poisonous evening air. It’s December, but unusually warm for the season, and somewhere underneath the dusty stink of exhaust fumes and concrete there’s a faint trace of melting snow.

On the way back to the table Raymond stops at the bar to order another beer, and that’s when he spots them, just three feet away. Two men in their mid-twenties, casually dressed and apparently in the middle of a not-very-serious argument, complete with waving hands and mock-scoffs. It takes a moment for the vague feeling of familiarity to click into actual recognition, and when it's does it's not so much their faces as the way they pause to look at each other.

It's not the sort of look you see a lot, especially not in prison.

So, well, he’ll be damned. It’s Milkovich and Gallagher. Cellmates, lovers, and occasionally a goddamn pain in his ass. Released, as improbable as it sounded, within days of each other less than half a year ago, and now laughing over drinks in a half-way decent restaurant in downtown Chicago. It’s not the sort of place he’d expected to find them in – but then again, there’d been a lot of unexpected things about that pair.

Not them hooking up, necessarily, not once they’d ended up sharing a cell; trading sexual favors for protection (whether voluntarily or not) was common enough. Frowned upon in theory, of course, but in practice –

Well. You didn’t have to like it, but it was what it was. Idealism didn’t survive long at Beckham. Raymond himself had never harbored any grand notions about the redemptive potential of his work, but he’d seen his fair share of fresh-faced new CO:s have their illusions crushed after a week or two caught between the often violent offenders who despised them, the indifferent malice of many seasoned CO:s, and the stifling drudgery of the American penal system in general. Not Raymond, though: he did his job, did it well, and went home and didn't spend waste moment of thought on it. You did what you needed to do to pay the bills; no need to dwell on it.

So no, Gallager getting in bed, quite literally, with Milkovich hadn’t been a surprise. The nature of their relationship, though...

Sure, it wasn’t unheard of for inmates to fall for one another, or for established couples to end up in prison together. Didn’t happen a lot, and actual homosexuality was still more likely to get you beat up than laid, but yeah, it did happen. What, in Raymond’s experience, never happened was having to people look at each other the way Milkovich and Gallagher sometimes did, whenever they thought no one else was watching: there was a kind of wonder to it, both staring at the other like they’ve been handed a goddamn gift and couldn’t quite believe their luck.

Particularly on Milkovich’s face the look was baffling.

Ever since the young man arrived at Beckamn he'd moved down the gray corridors and among the yellow-clad crowds like a man born to it. Raymond supposed he was; his father Terry had spent much of his adult life in the very same prison, as had a great many brothers, cousins and assorted associates. Though Raymond didn't know any details, and didn't really care to know them, he'd bet dollars to donuts that Mickey Milkovich's criminal career had had both an early start and a sense of inevitability to it. Various stints in juvie, followed by a real prison sentence for... attempted murder, wasn't it?... followed by a widely publicized jailbreak and an eventual and far less publicized return to Beckman.

Milkovich was tough enough to make others back down when he had to but smart enough not to start any unnecessary fights, not with the other inmates and not with the ones set to watch over them. Knew how to work the system, too: how to get things in, get things done, which guards could be bribed. Raymond didn't play that game himself, but he wasn't getting paid enough not to turn a blind eye when others do. And Milkovich had been pretty smooth about it, especially since his return; careful not to cause a stir.

Gallagher, on the other hand... He'd been the kind of inmate Raymond would've been seriously worried for, had he been inclined to worry and had Milkovich not been there to watch his back and show him the ropes. Not because Gallagher struck Raymond as even remotely helpless, but he so very obviously did not belong in prison, and so very obviously did not really have a clue about what was what in here. The nastier inmates would have eaten him alive long before he'd had the chance to navigate the intricacies of prison politics and find the friends needed for protection. He'd have ended up someone's bitch, or ended up in the infirmary, or dead.

But he'd ended up with Milkovich, and as unlikely as it had seemed at the time, that had worked out. (There were moments when Raymond wondered about that, wondered about them: apart from the looks, there were little touches, too, casual things that spoke of a familiarity far beyond what they could possibly have developed in their short time in a shared cell.)

That wasn't to say that their relationship had been all rainbows and lollipops, and it sure as hell hadn't been fun for everybody. They’d driven half the cellblock insane sometimes, as well as occasionally one another. Other prisoners had complained about their bickering and their fucking (though never officially complained, because you didn't, not unless you wanted to go looking for your teeth in the shower drain), and Raymond recalled vividly the time when not one but both of them had gotten roped into Chester Russom’s endless quest to spend the rest of his life behind bars –

He'd been passing by the infirmary when he'd heard the screaming and come running. Hadn't been surprised, exactly, to find what he found, but that didn't lessen the urge to smack both Milkovich and Gallagher on the head for being so damned stupid.

Neither of them had seemed particularly concerned about getting caught stabbing another inmate. In fact, they'd fallen over themselves to take the blame, which Raymond might have taken as an unselfish attempt to save the other – if he'd been a complete idiot and if the two of them hadn't been sniping at each other all the way from the infirmary, to the point where he felt like his head would explode.

“Imma murder you two if you don't stop talking,” he said, glaring at them as they sat chained outside the small office. Thankfully, they did stop, looking neither at him nor at each other.

Raymond waited for a moment, deliberating.

“What did Chester promise you?” he eventually asked. Gallagher might have agreed to help the old man out of the goodness of his heart, but Milkovich sure as hell hadn't.

Neither man answered. They were studiously avoiding looking at each other.

“You're not going anywhere until you tell me,” Raymond warned them. “If I have to leave your sorry asses chained to this bench all night that's no skin off my back.”

“We needed a break,” Gallagher offered eventually, reluctantly. Milkovich gave a little snort at that, but – wisely – kept his mouth shut. “So we thought that if one of us got sent to solitary... “ He trailed off, shrugging half-heartedly.

Oh, for the love of God - ! “Why did both of you have to stab him if the goal was to get one of you to solitary?”

Again, there was a protracted silence, and somewhere in it – in their earlier insistence that each of them had been the first to stick the shiv into Chester – Raymond could just about make out the shape of it.

“You are both idiots,” he said, moving to uncuff them from the bench, making a decision. “Come on, let's go.”

“Wait,” Gallagher said, not rising. “You're not reporting us? What about solitary?””

“You don't get a damn reward for stabbing someone, so no, you're not going into solitary, you're going straight back to your cell – where you will hand over all contraband you've hidden there.”

“Now, wait a minute – “ Milkovich began, but he faltered when Raymond fixed him with a hard stare.

Raymond had no illusions about intimidating this particular inmate, but Milkovich really did know how this worked; knew better than to ever be friendly with a guard, not even the ones he bribed – but knew when not to push too.

He had kept their hands cuffed for the walk back to the cell, which was policy, but was him making a point too. While there were extenuating circumstances – primarily the fact that Chester had asked them to stab him – by all rights they should be going down for this, and Raymond wasn’t one hundred percent sure why he wasn't letting them. Save himself the paperwork? Yeah, sure. Why not? As good a reason as any.

“Now, am I going to have to search the cell or will you give it up voluntarily?” he asked once they'd made it to the cell. “You make me look, I won't be too careful with your shit.”

A lot of the guards would be deliberately careless when they tossd a cell, either to prove a point or just for the hell of it. Raymond usually didn't bother with that sort of power trip bullshit, but he was prepared to make an exception if these morons proved stupid enough to give him any more trouble. He was already cutting them considerable slack here, and neither of them have the brains to appreciate it.

They had shared a look, and then Milkovich gave an imperceptible nod. Without a word they set to bring forth an array of cigarettes and foodstuff, little things that would have been commonplace and unremarkable in the real world but was made precious by its scarcity on the inside.

Raymond wasn't naive enough to believe they actually gave him everything they'd got in there, but enough of it to inconvenience them, which would have to do. He grabbed the the items, then fixed them both with a firm look.

“Either of you cause me any more trouble, I'm taking your books,” – he pointed to Gallager, then to Milkovich – “and your pens and paper. You think you have it bad now? Imagine sharing a cell and having nothing else to occupy you.”

He had hoped to God he wouldn't have to make good on his threat, though. The other prisoners would probably riot if they have to put up with more of ´bickering from these two.

“I catch either of you with a shiv again, you'll be fucking sorry,” he continued. “Talk it out, or agree not to talk, or whatever. Split the cell into his and his, I don't give a damn. But sort your shit out.”

Maybe they had, maybe they hadn't; the point became moot just a few weeks later, when Gallagher was released. Milkovich had soon followed him – and how exactly that had happened, Raymond still didn't know, because there was no way in hell anyone actually thought releasing that one back into society was a great move – and that had been that. For now, at least; he fully expected to see Milkovich again. Guy like that wasn't going to quit, and sooner or later he'd get caught and find himself back behind bars. Rinse repeat, until he got himself killed or locked away for good.

Only now here Milkovich is, but in front of a bar rather than behind them, and with Gallagher right by his side, laughing like they'd never stabbed a man just to get away from each other.

Raymond hesitates. There's some small part of him that actually wants to step up and say hello, and that throws him a little. He's got a rule about never getting emotionally invested in the fates of the inmates; that way lies nothing but heartbreak, because most of those who find themselves at Beckman will find themselves there again and again, for longer and longer. Don't abuse the prisoners, but don't care too much either: it's been Raymond's private policy for the past five years, and it's worked out so far.

Except now he's actually considering chatting with a couple of convicts, just 'cause he really is a little bit curious about how this unlikely pair is doing.

But nah. Forget it. His rule aside, it'd be pretty uncool to intrude on their evening out. They're free men now – kind of – and having a CO check up on them can't be high on their list of wants. But before he can move away, they both look his way; sees him. Recognizes him, too, from the way they freeze.

Okay. Call it fate, then. “Hello,” Raymond says, going for neutral good and a little nod; I come in peace.

A beat. Milkovich is eyeing him with a wariness he doesn't bother to conceal and it's Gallagher who speaks first:

“Officer Reese,” he says, managing a polite smile. “Hi.”

Raymond notices the way they glance down at the beers they technically shouldn't be having.

“I'm not your PO,” he assures them. “I don't give a damn if you drink. Might want to take it easy, though,” he can’t help but add. “Getting shitfaced is a quick way to get into trouble.”

Milkovich opens his mouth, but after a quick glare from Gallagher he closes it again. Probably for the best; Raymond can’t imagine him playing even remotely nice now that he doesn’t have to.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt your evening,” he says. “Looks like you’re doing all right.”

“Yeah, yeah, we've got jobs and... “ Gallagher pauses to glance at Milkovich again, as if asking his permission. Milkovich rolls his eyes but says nothing, and Gallagher turns his gaze back to Raymond. There's a real smile on his face now, small, but filled with something akin to disbelieving delight: “We got married. Couple of weeks ago.”

“Oh, wow. Congratulations.” Raymond isn’t quite sure what surprises him more: the fact of their marriage, or the fact that he is genuinely happy for them. Maybe he’s getting soft in his old age… Or maybe it’s just that there’s so very few happy endings for those who find themselves at Beckman, whether as inmates or as guards, that they need to be treasured whenever you find them.

“Ian!” someone calls across the room, and Gallagher turns his head to look at a blonde woman gesturing wildly. “Where are those drinks?”

“Shit,” Gallagher mutters. “Better get this to Tami before she has a fit.”

Another smile, and Gallagher is gone. Milkovich, however, lingers, seemingly debating whether to say something more. Curious against his will, Raymond does his best to look approachable. Evidently, it works, because Milkovich clears his throat:

“You’d reported us when we stabbed that old fucker in the infirmary, Ian wouldn’t have gotten his release.” He pauses, looking uncomfortable, then forces out: “Appreciate it.”

Raymond merely nods. Maybe he should say something about being glad taking a chance on them had paid off, that he is glad to see them doing well – but he’s pretty sure Milkovich wouldn’t much appreciate the sentiment.

“Your boy doesn’t belong in prison,” he says instead.

Milkovich face immediately collapses into a scowl. “Well, I didn't fucking put him there,” he growls.

But Raymond isn’t intimated; just hold his gaze. “Gonna keep him out of trouble then?” Gonna stay out of trouble, he doesn’t ask, but Milkovich isn’t stupid, so he'll hear it all the same.

Milkovich still glares, but something in his eyes seem to soften ever so slightly. “You betcha. Won’t have anything on us ever again,” he promises ambiguously, with a cocky grin and one eyebrow raised.

When he walks away, swagger in every step, he is every bit the unrepentant gangster – but Raymond keeps his eyes on him and sees the way he relaxes as soon as he stops next to Gallagher. Reaches out to touch him lightly on the arm, catching his eye. That same wondering smile on both of their faces.

Raymond thinks that maybe he won't actually see either of them again.

He is glad of it.

#gallavich #fic #my stuff

[hermannsthumb]

Could you please write #43 grandparents/neighbors one?

43. we’re having our family meal at my grandparents’ house this year so fingers crossed your parents still live next door and you grew up to be even hotter

from winter writing prompts here

oh god this one got so long. sorry everyone! thank you to @k-sci-janitor for the alien bit because it was so fucking funny

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Holidays have gotten a little weird to manage since Newt transformed into a fully-fledged adult with an apartment and a job and stuff, so while he hasn’t made it to the big Geiszler celebration in Germany every December since starting college out of elementary school, he still tries to make a point of dropping by his dad’s for dinner and a movie or something to fill his holiday quota. It’s fine by him; he loves his family, but they’re definitely overwhelming, and trying to submit final grades and work on syllabuses for the next semester all while distant relatives ruffle his hair and ask him when he’s going to hit his growth spurt is not his idea of a relaxing time. It’s a constant point of contention between him and his dad. This year more than most, apparently.

“Your grandmother misses you!” he tells Newt sadly over their Chinese takeout. “She calls me every week to ask how you are, and why you never visit with them. Every week.” He waves a fork at Newt. “You’re breaking her heart.”

“I’m in the lab, like, twenty-four-seven, dad,” Newt sighs. It’s a well-rehearsed conversation at this point, but it doesn’t get any less tiresome. Especially because he knows his dad is lying about the phone call thing—Newt is a great grandson and texts his grandmother plenty, thank you very much, he would know if he was breaking her heart. “I’m working straight through winter break this year. Seriously.”

“That’s what you did last year,” Newt’s dad says. “And the year before that…” Newt turns the volume up on the TV to cut his dad off before he can segue into the next part of his argument, which is (usually) that Newt needs to work on his personal life, maybe settle down, produce some grandkids of his own. Or at least adopt a cat. Also well-rehearsed.

He’s not sure why he says what he does next—maybe in a desperate attempt to distract his dad further. Maybe because of the sudden onslaught of childhood memories the mention of his grandparents’ house brought on. “Hey, do you remember that boy who used to live next door to grandma?” he says. “He had the weird haircut and always dressed kind of funny?” Old-fashioned, and a little too formal for the sort of things that little kids tend to do, climbing trees or playing in the mud—sweatervests and polished loafers and starched-white knee-highs.

Newt’s dad blinks at him. Newt half expects him to declare that Newt is nuts, and that he has no idea what he’s talking about, like this is one of those horror stories where the childhood friend turns out to be some ghost who died fifty years prior. The clothing would match up, he guesses. But he smiles in recognition a moment later. “You mean the Gottlieb boy?” he says.

“Gottlieb,” Newt echoes. It sounds familiar enough. “Hermann, I think. When I’d stay with grandma for the summer we would play together every day. I wonder what he’s doing now.” Hermann was a smart guy, a real geek like Newt; he used to carry a graphing calculator around in his pocket and build the most goddamn pristine model spacecrafts Newt had ever seen. Hermann’s dad shipped him off to a prestigious boarding school the last summer Newt spent there, when they were around twelve or so. Newt started at MIT not long after. “Dude’s probably designing rocket ships by now or something.”

“You could ask him yourself if you came with me,” Newt’s dad laughs. “The Gottliebs never moved away, and their children actually visit. I’m sure your Hermann visits, too.”

“Ha,” Newt says. “Yeah.”

It’s snowing by the time Newt and his dad finish their movie, and Newt (fearing his dad’s driving even in ideal conditions) declines the offer of a lift home to trudge his way through it to his T stop instead. It’s nice to have the chance to be alone with his thoughts, anyway, because he can’t seem to get funny little Hermann Gottlieb out of his head. What is he doing now?

A quick Facebook search on the train produces a few Hermann Gottliebs, but none of them promising—none of them have the brown eyes or strangely angular face (devoid of any baby fat even that young) Newt remembers, none of them are from the right German countryside, none of them went to a preppy English boarding school. Google (utilizing the information Newt does have) is a little more rewarding, and by the time Newt presses the button to request his stop, he’s scrounged up a decent amount of info: Hermann Gottlieb has a doctorate in astrophysics, Hermann Gottlieb publishes papers at a slightly terrifying rate, and Hermann Gottlieb turned out kinda hot.

As Newt stares down at a slightly grainy current photograph of his old friend—haircut and clothing unchanged, a cane in hand, some round librarian glasses perched on the end of his nose, wide mouth twisted into a scowl—he suddenly recalls another thing about Hermann Gottlieb: the summer Hermann was sent away to boarding school was the summer that Hermann kissed Newt goodbye, shyly and tearfully, under the shade of the tall maple tree in his yard. It was the last time Newt ever saw Hermann. It was Newt’s first kiss.

“Oh, boy,” Newt says.

He texts his dad when he gets back to his apartment. When do we leave?

Newt feels like the belle of the fucking ball when he steps into his grandparents’ house a week later, snow dusting his shoulders, small suitcase clenched in his hand. His cheeks are kissed; his scarf and hat and leather jacket are brushed off and tossed onto a coat rack; his hair is in parts smoothed down (too messy!) and ruffled (too flat!); he’s hugged more times than he has been in the entire last year, probably. “Still playing around with bugs in the dirt, eh, Newt?” his grandfather booms, tucking Newt into the crook of his arm with enough force to knock Newt’s glasses off.

“Actually,” Newt squeaks, scrambling for both what he remembers of his very rusty German, and his glasses before they can hit the ground, “entomology isn’t really my main focus at—”

“Newt’s studying jellyfish now,” Newt’s dad declares proudly. “He went on a diving expedition this July.”

“Diving? How exciting,” Newt’s grandmother says.

“Yeah,” Newt says. He pushes his glasses back on. “Yeah, it was fascinating, I was lucky to get the funding for it. You wouldn’t believe the sorts of—”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Newt’s cousin says.

“My little Newt’s a daredevil!” Newt’s dad says.

“It’s not that dangerous,” Newt says. “As long as you’re—”

“What happened to that nice man your father said you were dating?” Newt’s grandfather says. “With the, the what was it, the poetry? The poet? We thought you’d bring him!”

Newt flushes. Trust his dad to talk up some random guy Newt dated in March like it was a long-term affair and not an elongated one-night stand that fizzled out after three weeks. Though maybe that one’s on Newt—it’s not like he mentioned the one-night stand part to his dad, after all. He definitely didn’t mention that the guy ended it with a poem, too. “We broke up,” he says, weakly. He wriggles out from the throng of the crowd. “Look, it’s so great seeing you all, but I’m actually, like, really tired, soooooo…?”

“Oh, of course you are,” Newt’s grandmother says. She pats his head. “What a long flight you must have had! We’ll send someone up for you for dinner—you can have your old guest room.”

“Cool,” Newt says.

He scurries up the stairs.

The guest room he slept in during those summers is almost exactly the way he remembers it, but a little dustier—the floral quilt on the bed, his grandma’s sewing table crammed into the corner, the bookcase stocked with a weird combination of kid’s books and illustrated encyclopedias that Newt used to pore over for hours as a kid, often with Hermann. Newt draws back the embroidered curtains and peers out the window at the Gottliebs’ snow-capped house next door. Hermann’s window was directly across from his. It still is, technically, though the curtains (these navy blue and embroidered with little constellations) are pulled tight, and Newt has a feeling that Hermann hasn’t set foot in his old room in well over a decade. Two decades, probably.

He remembers the one summer he showed Hermann how to make a soup can telephone, and they managed to string it all the way across between their windows before discovering it kinda didn’t work as well as Newt said it would. He remembers when Hermann’s dad banned him from the Gottlieb house for tracking water all over their front hallway after he and Hermann went wading in the creek, but it was really Hermann who did it, because he forgot to take his shoes off and they got soaked, and Newt just took the fall for it so Hermann wouldn’t get in trouble. And when Hermann asked Newt to play astronaut with him, and Newt insisted on being an alien and mimed the chestburster scene from Alien, and Hermann freaked out so bad he fell in a mud puddle and got grounded for ruining his clothing, and Newt got grounded for that and for watching Alien when he wasn’t supposed to, and they spent the following few days staring sadly out across at each other before Newt’s grandma finally got tired of his moping and sent him to work weeding the garden. He remembers knotting a little friendship bracelet for Hermann out of embroidery thread he found in his grandmother’s sewing basket and Hermann vowing to keep it until he died.

Newt’s half of the soup can phone is still on the windowsill, though the string snapped and crumbled apart years ago. He picks at the peeling Chicken Noodle label, so distracted that he almost doesn’t notice the light suddenly seeping through at the edges of Hermann’s curtains, or the way they’re pushed open—almost.

Hermann—real, live, adult Hermann, botched haircut and round glasses and all—stares out at Newt with a shocked expression on his face. Newt drops the can with a clatter.

Then he waves.

“Hey, Grandma?” Newt says, poking his head into the kitchen. Tonight’s dinner is a massive pot of soup boiling away on the stovetop, dessert a mountain of cookies and tiny pastries on serving platters on the counters. Newt hasn’t had food that looked this good since he moved out, to be honest. The intersection of Newt’s sad lack of cooking skills and his attempts at vegetarianism means he eats a lot of boxed mac-and-cheese and frozen Vegetable Lovers’ pizzas. “Are you—?"

“Oh, Newt!” Newt’s grandmother says. She sets down her wooden spoon. “Are you feeling rested, then?”

“Yeah,” Newt says. “Grandma, I was wondering, could I—uh—maybe run some food over to the Gottliebs? To be…neighborly? We just have so much, and—”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Newt’s grandmother says. “They keep to themselves, mostly, but I can’t imagine they’d turn it down. You might even see your little friend again! What was his name? You were so fond of him.”

“Hermann,” Newt says, quickly shoving cookies into a red-lid plastic container. “Thanks, Grandma.”

He tucks the tupperware under his arm and nearly wipes out on the icy front path he runs to the Gottliebs’ so fast. Before he can so much as catch his breath and knock, their door swings open; Hermann, dressed in a tacky Hannukah sweater, arches an eyebrow at him. “I saw you sprint over here like a bloody madman,” he says, in blessed English. He must’ve remembered how shitty Newt’s German was when they were kids. “Hello, Newton. What’s so terribly important?”

His voice got deeper—expected—and he swapped out his German accent for an English one somewhere along the way. Probably at his stuffy boarding school. He also got taller—he’s got a few inches on Newt now, but Newt admits that’s not exactly hard. God, he’s even hotter in person. “Uh,” Newt says. Why is he here? Oh, right. He thrusts out the tupperware. “I brought some cookies over for you?”

Hermann peers down at the offering over his glasses. His forehead wrinkles. “How considerate,” he says. He pulls an olive-green parka on and steps out onto the porch, tugging the door shut behind him. He taps at a peeling porch swing with the end of his cane. “Just leave them there. Would you like to take a walk?”

It’s freezing, and snowing, but for some reason, a walk sounds like the best idea in the world right now. “Yes, please,” Newt says, and chucks the cookies onto the swing.

“I must say,” Hermann says, after their meandering walk around the Gottliebs’ yard takes them to the old maple tree. The branches are bare, but thick, and shield them from most of the falling snow. Hermann’s breath puffs out white in front of his angular face. The last time I stood here, Newt thinks, he kissed me. “I really did not expect to see you.”

“I didn’t expect to see you, either,” Newt admits. “From what I remember, you and your family weren’t—uh—well, very close. I didn’t think you’d be coming back to share in the holiday cheer with them, is what I mean.”

The corner of Hermann’s mouth twitches up. “That’s certainly one way of describing it. Yes, I suppose you’re right—my father is a bit of a bastard, isn’t he?” Newt laughs awkwardly, unsure whether to agree or attempt to weakly the defend a guy who openly hated him for being a bad influence on Hermann most of his childhood; he’s grateful when Hermann continues and saves him the choice. “This is the first year I’ve come home in a long while. My brother’s just had a daughter, you see, and I thought I should start getting used to playing uncle.”

“Oh, congrats,” Newt says. Hermann shrugs, and Newt has the distinct feeling that this is Hermann’s older brother, who used to dissemble Hermann’s telescope and hide the pieces around the house when Hermann annoyed him, and tattled on Newt and Hermann to Hermann’s parents the one time Newt snuck in to see Hermann after he got banned. He always made Newt thankful that he was an only child. “Same here, actually. Not the uncle thing—I mean I haven’t visited since I was in college. Too busy.”

“I know,” Hermann says, and then adds teasingly (in a way that makes color flood Newt’s cheeks and his heart beat just a little faster), “I’ve looked you up online. Er—quite a bit recently, in fact. I was curious. You’ve made quite the name for yourself, haven’t you, Dr. Geiszler?”

“I,” Newt squeaks, and then coughs. “I mean, I guess? I like…science.”

“I oughtn’t be surprised,” Hermann says. “You were always giving me bugs, and salamanders, and funny little frogs—”

Newt liked bugs, and salamanders, and frogs, but he liked Hermann more, and the gifts had a lot more to do with the latter than the former, because what kid wouldn’t want bugs or salamanders or frogs, right? Not that Hermann ever appreciated them—especially not the worms Newt would pluck from the sidewalks after rainstorms. He thinks he got grounded for that one, too, because his grandma wouldn’t believe that he really wasn’t trying to terrorize the poor Gottlieb boy. “And what about you?” Newt says. He pokes his elbow into Hermann’s side. “Dr. Gottlieb? Guess those model rockets paid off.”

(“No, Newton,” Hermann would snap at him on the rare occasions he would allow Newt to watch him piece one together, “the glue hasn’t dried yet. You have to be patient, or else it’ll fall apart.”)

“Not yet,” Hermann says, “but I hope soon.”

Hermann smiles at him. A snowflake catches in his eyelashes—his long, pretty, dark eyelashes. “Do you remember when you kissed me here?” Newt blurts out.

“It’s hardly the sort of thing I’d forget,” Hermann says. He reaches out and tucks a piece of Newt’s hair up into his hat. “I like your tattoos—I saw the photographs on your social media accounts. They suit you.” Newt wonders if this means Hermann saw the shirtless selfie he posted on Instagram. “I’m also pleased to see you’ve gotten your braces removed. It wasn’t a very pleasant experience last time.”

Then he leans in and kisses Newt. Again, technically. It’s so light and brief Newt hardly believes it even happened. Their glasses clack together, and when Hermann pulls away, he straightens out Newt’s.

“I confess,” Hermann says, “that I’m wholly pleased to see how you’ve turned out. I hope that wasn’t too forward of me. I’ve been thinking about doing it all night.”

“Jeez, dude,” Newt says, blinking at him, his head swimming just a little. Hermann looks smug. “Not, uh, not too forward. So. Uh. You wanna get dinner or something this week and catch up?”

Hermann snorts, and nods.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous

[emutempo]

Strike A Pose (domestic SuperCorp one-shot)

Summary: Everyone has the day off but Supergirl. And even though it means leaving Lena home alone for much of the day, Kara's determined to make the best of it.

Posted to my Ao3 here. 

Notes: It's 4:40AM and I just couldn't sleep without getting this out of my head. And since I'm still anxious about posting any of my fics, I figured once again it'd be better to hit that post button before I get too nervous and hit delete instead. Anyway, I hope this brightens at least one person’s day.

----------

Rays from the sun pour in from the windows of Lena’s bedroom and her eyes flutter open as she feels the heat on her face. She forces her eyes open and stretches into a yawn.

She looked across the bed and first saw a mess of golden hair splayed across a pillow. Kara was still fast asleep after a long week working at the DEO. It had been a long week for both them and Lena was looking for to a relaxing Friday with no work.

 She was happy the 4th of July landed on a Friday this year. It usually meant she had a three day weekend with Kara all to herself. No L Corp, no CatCo. Except, today, Kara was on call. Even though the DEO was operating with the minimal crew, Kara had volunteered to cover for J’onn, Winn, James and Alex. They had been so accommodating of Kara’s requests for days off to spend with Lena that Lena didn’t mind.

Today would be like any other busy weekend day for them. They’d lounge around the house, playing board games, watching their favorite movies and cuddling on the couch. And when Kara was called away for her Supergirl duties, she’d give Lena a quick goodbye and take off to deal with the problem before eventually coming back to Lena and resuming their activities like nothing had interrupted at all.

For now, it was still early and the city itself was still waking up so Lena turned over and cuddled against Kara. Her head, barely hit the pillow before she fell back into slumber.

—

Later, Kara and Lena were sat up, cuddling on the living room couch, each with a cup of coffee in hand. On the TV, an episode of QI playing. Kara took a sip of her coffee before

Kara and Lena had taken to watching QI on their lazy mornings. Kara was fascinated with the random knowledge and discussion on the show and more-so with Lena’s endless intelligence. This morning, they were talking about the history of astronomy.

Kara cleared her throat, “so when did people start thinking the Earth was flat again? It’s like they’re afraid the Earth is round. They’re lucky it is or they’d be off floating somewhere in space!”

Lena loved these little conversations with Kara. No matter how long she’d spent on Earth, still so much surprised her. Lena shrugged. “You know, the only thing flatearthers fear is sphere itself.”

It took Kara a moment to realize Lena’s joke before a giggle escaped her throat, still a tinge of morning gruffness in her voice.  Lena stared into her eyes, trying to memorize the beautiful sound of Kara’s laughter. But it was short-lived as Kara suddenly tilted her head, listening.

Lena smiles, knowing in that moment that duty was calling to Supergirl. National City needed its savior. Kara looked up apologetically to Lena. “Small kitchen fire. No extinguisher. Should be quick.”

And a moment later, a whoosh fills the Lena’s living room as Kara disappears for a moment before another whoosh brings Kara back, clad in her blue suit and red cape. Lena blows her a kiss. “I’ll be waiting for you, Supergirl.”

Kara mimes catching her kiss in the air and puts it to her lips before stepping out onto the balcony. Even though Lena’s a little disappointed, she can’t help but smile as she watches her go.

Kara has the goofiest grin on her face she holds Lena’s eye contact. Lena smiles, shaking her head. She knows what’s coming and she waits for it…

Lena watches as Supergirl turns around and takes a big step away from the balcony door. She turns around in place and mimes pressing an elevator button before taking a patient stance with her arms crossed in front of her, as if waiting. A moment later, still ‘standing’ with her arms crossed, Kara slowly floats up into the air as if riding an invisible elevator until she’s out of Lena’s view. But not before giving the Luthor a playful wink.

Lena can’t hold back the laugh caught in her throat. It’s loud and she knows Kara hears it.

—

Later, they’re sitting on opposite sides of the coffee table, a chess board between them. It’s Kara’s turn but she’s gone on a rant and Lena doesn’t have the heart to interrupt her.

“I just don’t understand. Why are ALL of them so sad? Isn’t there a single period drama about two women falling in love where they get to be together? The endings are always so tragic. Unrequited love… pre-arranged marriage… and that’s only if we’re lucky enough one of them doesn’t die! Doesn’t anyone run away together? Or say ‘screw you’ to all the cranky old men?”

Lena can’t stop herself. She leans over the chess board and kisses Kara. It’s soft and sweet. When she pulls back, she gestures to the chess board and Kara finally realizes it’s her move. She hastily moves one of her pieces and by the look on Lena’s face, it’s not… the best move. But Lena ignores it.

“I think they’re just trying to be historically accurate, love. Times were a lot harder for us not too long ago.”

Kara doesn’t seem satisfied with that answer. “Well, I still don’t like it. No more sad movies like that one we watched last night. Here Comes the World… or was it… A World to Come?”

“The World to Come,” Lena reaches forward to brush a hair out of Kara’s face. “We could watch Gentleman Jack.”

Kara pouts. “That doesn’t sound promising.” Lena chuckles, about to launch into an explanation of the history behind the titular character of Anne Lister when she sees that signature head tilt again and Kara’s eyes focus into the distance. Lena’s puts her hand up over the chess board about to say, “Kara, mind the chess board—“ but it’s too late. Two back to back WHOOSHES and Supergirl is again standing before Lena, who’s eyebrow’s cocked in ITS signature position. Kara notices the chess pieces all over the floor and looks at Lena apologetically, “you were winning anyway?”

Kara leans in and gives Lena a quick peck on the cheek. “Drunken brawl. I’ll get everyone settled down and be right back.” She keeps her eyes on Lena’s as she backs her way toward the balcony door. The look in their eyes and the suppressed smiles on their faces tell us that, again, they both know what’s coming. Lena watches as Kara steps outside, her cape flapping in the breeze, and takes her superhero stance. She double taps the emblem on her chest and then puts her hands out behind her and takes off in flight… Is she serious?

Lena guffaws and yells after Kara. “Iron Man? Are you kidding me?” But Lena giggles. Kara knows she’s gonna give her a hard time for that one later. As if to dig in even more, Kara loop-de-loops and flies by the window on her way to the drunken brawl.

Yeah she definitely heard that.

—

Back at home with Lena and Kara relaxing in front of the TV. Kara channel surfs while Lena plays with her hair. She lands on a movie that’s just started.

“Oh, I love Megamind! Have you ever seen it?”

Lena shakes her head, “I think most of the animated films I’ve watched in my entire lifetime on Earth I’ve seen first with you. And we haven’t watched this one yet.”

Kara scoots up closer to Lena. “Can we? Can we watch it together? It’s one of my favorites.”

Lena puts her arm around Kara and pulls her in. “How many times have I ever said no to your movie picks?” Kara turned around, wearing a hurt look on her face even though Lena knows it’s put-on. “You keep saying no to Hocus Pocus!”

“That’s because it’s a Halloween movie and we should watch it on Halloween.”

Before Kara can protest… another head tilt and yep, a WHOOSH away and back.

“Car wreck on the bridge. Firefighters’ jaws of life aren’t working. Back in a jiffy. We’re not finished discussing this.”

Kara went straight for the balcony and Lena thought she wasn’t going to get a special send off. But, of course, Kara had something else in mind. She turns around and grabs her cape, pulling it up over her head in a somewhat childish maneuver.

What the hell is she doing this time? Then Lena gets her answer when the cape puffs up revealing Kara blowing air into it to resemble a parachute before she floats up, up, and away.

“Ok, that was a good one.”

She can picture the shit-eating grin on Kara’s face and shakes her head, turning back to the TV and hitting play.

—

Kara and Lena in the kitchen, making an early dinner. Kara’s arguing a point and waving a spatula around like a judge waves a gavel.

“You agree that Bette Midler’s amazing and this is one of her favorite roles she’s ever played. She said so herself. I know because she follows me on Twitter.”

Lena flicks a gravy-covered whisk at Kara, flinging the brown sauce onto her shirt and face. Kara mouth drops open and she freezes in place, shocked at Lena’s gravy betrayal.

“That’s what you get for showing off.”

Kara, hands and face still frozen, pivots to face Lena, “oooh, you’re going to be sorry for that.” With a burst of speed, Kara reaches out and tickle Lena’s sides. Lena squeals as she tries to escape but she knows it’s futile. There’s no way she’s escaping Kara’s grip so she does the next best thing and flicks more gravy at her. And now it’s Kara’s turn to squeal. “You are gonna HATE gravy by the time I’m through with you!” Kara dives for Lena but before she can catch her up in her arms again… you know what it is. The head tilt. Kara listens for a moment as she wipes gravy from her face and licks it from her finger. Lena takes a swipe for herself too.

Kara quickly glances at Lena before a smirk takes over her face. But Lena can’t stop her before…

“Kara don’t—“

… Kara WHOOSHES away, spinning the gravy off her body and flinging it EVERYWHERE, including Lena.

“—Do the whoosh thing.”

Lena stands there for a beat. Now SHE’s the one frozen with gravy-face. Kara whooshes back into the kitchen and licks a spot of gravy off Lena’s face.

“Break in at the pawn shop. Don’t try to sneak any kale into the fagioli ‘cause I’ll know.”

Kara makes her way to the balcony but Lena doesn’t turn around. She waits a beat for the tell-tale whoosh but doesn’t hear one. She knows Kara’s waiting for her to turn around and although part of Lena doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction of turning around, she does. Supergirl has places to be and she doesn’t want to keep Kara waiting.

Kara smiles as Lena turns around before jumping onto an invisible broomstick and doing her best interpretation of a witch cackle as she ‘flies’ off.

Lena rolls her eyes as she wipes the gravy off her face with a towel. “Ok, ok! We can watch Hocus Pocus when you get back.”

Lena goes to the fridge and grabs the bunch of kale she’s hidden in one of the fridge drawers.

—

The evening. Lena and Kara lay on the couch, the remnants of their dinner on the coffee table in front of them. Kara swipes a remnant of gravy from one of the plates and quickly dabs it on Lena’s nose. Lena’s nose scrunches at the cold liquid as Kara fights to keep a straight face. So does Lena.

“I’m starting to understand why these witches want to eat these children.”

Kara playfully smacks Lena’s arm. She knows Lena isn’t mad in the slightest. Kara giggles as Lena tries to lick the gravy from her nose with her tongue. But her tongue can’t reach. Kara leans forward and licks it off for her.

“I could eat you.”

Lena blushes and leans in for a kiss. It’s tender and sweet. Lena pulls away to look Kara in the eyes. “Well, you have put a spell on me so I’d probably let you.”

Kara’s eyebrows perk up and she bites her lip, “is that a request, Ms. Luthor?”

But of course… Lena doesn’t get the chance to answer before Kara’s head tilts once again. A beat before… WHOOSH.

“Run of the mill creep following a woman home. Give me five minutes to set this guy straight.”

Kara plops a kiss on Lena’s nose where the gravy was before she turns and runs straight out for the balcony. She doesn’t wait for Lena to turn around but Lena watches anyway as Kara takes a running leap toward the balcony bannister and lands on top of it. She takes a few more jumps like she’s on a diving board before leaping and tucking into a somersault as she “dives” off the bannister and disappears below the balcony.

“Go get him, love.”

Lena hits pause on the movie and sits back, staring off through the balcony windows at the city, her eyes filled with a dreamy haze. She’ll wait for Kara to come back and watch with her.

—

Later that night, Kara and Lena are finally lying in bed cuddling and listening to the last of the fireworks going off.

Kara flips through Twitter on her phone while Lena reads a book in one hand and uses the other to stroke Kara’s hair. She hears a small yawn escape from the blonde’s mouth and looks at the clock.

“It’s getting late. Are you ready to go to sleep, love? Should I turn off the light?”

Kara drops her phone dramatically and tucks her head into Lena. Her arm lands with a thud across Lena’s stomach, collapsing as if exhausted.

“I’m not tired if you’re not.”

Lena strokes her head a few more times before she dogs ears the book she’s reading and places it on her night stand. She leans over to turn off the light when she feels Kara sit up. She turns and sees Kara’s head tilted, listening. Lena picks her book back up, ready to continue reading while she waited for Kara to come back from another rescue.

“What is it this time? Wild assassin penguin on the loose? Three crazy witch sisters kidnapping innocent children?”

Kara stiffens up and tilts her head the other way. “No, it’s a woman…”

Lena sets her book to the side, noticing the serious tone in Kara’s voice. “Kara, what’s wrong?”

Kara looks at Lena, seemingly concentrating on a sound in the distance, a look of concern across her face. “She’s dying… of patience.”

Lena’s eyebrows scrunch together and she squints at Kara, confused. “What?”

Kara turns to face Lena, still as serious as ever.

“She has this girlfriend who keeps rushing off all over the city, leaving her alone at home and she’s just… been so patient.”

Lena’s face relaxes and falls into a lazy grin as she catches on to Kara. Kara can tell Lena’s savvy to her playfulness but she doesn’t drop the series tone.

“See, she’s a very important and very busy lady who doesn’t get a lot of time off to spend with her girlfriend and when she does, her girlfriend always has to fly off. So, if it’s ok with you, I’ve gotta go fix that.”

Lena pulled Kara in close. She didn’t try to feign shock or surprise or play along. She was too consumed with earnest love and she didn’t want to waste any more of their time today, “so how long will it be this time?”

Kara leans in close, kissing Lena with soft lips and tenderness, “forever.”

#supercorp #karaxlena #kara x lena #ao3 #supergirl #fluff #domestic fluff

[tanoraqui]

AU: Hányǐng-jūn

(”Shadowbearing Lord”, translation by @lyratalus)

(see, this is my problem. I decide, “yes, damnit, I AM going to write this longfic!” and then 0.0003 seconds later I’m absolutely swarmed by other plot bunnies.)

anyway, Yiling Patriarch!Lan Wangji but, like...better

Lan Wangji gets out of seclusion and 3 days later takes a mostly sleeping Lan Yuan, a couple days' worth of provisions, and leaves for Yiling. Lan Xichen somehow catches him just outside of Cloud Recesses and LWJ freely admits that he's going to Yiling - the city, not the Burial Mounds themselves - and he's going to raise A-Yuan there and cleanse the Burial Mounds like Wei Wuxian was starting to do with the life he brought back to them

Lan Xichen lets him go, doesn't even bother to play the "shouldn't A-Yuan grow up somewhere healthier and wealthier" card, bc a) cheap shot, b) he knows Wangji has already thought of it (he's right), and c) this is doing NOTHING to convince him that his brother won't commit some sort of passive suicide if he doesn't get to keep that child. God damn, he thought they were over this phase of mourning but Apparently Not

so Lan Wangji gets a house in Yiling, has to deal with 50 tons of gossip - of a new variety; he's used to political gossip and "isn't he hot" gossip but wow he was not prepared for small town "ooh new hot single dad" gossip with a side order of random advice from elderly women about how to care for a six-year-old

(he is, in fact, very grateful for the advice)

(there is no way in hell that Lan Wangji knows how to be the sole provider for a six-year-old)

in the internal war between "do not let A-Yuan out of my sight" and "do not take the vulnerable child to the death mountain", I think the former wins, considering the small child already lived on the death mountain for about a year, and seemed fine except for malnutrition. Which was...well, yes it was a problem with the death mountain, but not directly. Lan Wangji has money and they live in town and commute to the Burial Mounds each day for LWJ to play Cleansing while A-Yuan runs around catching imaginary butterflies or practicing reading; it's fine

...though possibly the nosy grannies convince him to get a babysitter

and maybe to take a break?

oh no i would want so many OCs of just Lan Wangji's neighbors in this

anyway, it doesn't take long for it to become clear that even playing Cleansing all day every day is like being a bird scraping its beak once a millennia on a mountain. Sure it works, technically, but...not really. Frankly, the resentful energy grows back if he stops for a single day. And even Hanguang-jun only has so much power and endurance

he's going to have to handle the resentful energy himself. If he wants to do this, wants to leave some sort of positive legacy for Wei Wuxian, he's going to have to demonically cultivate himself. Siphon the stuff off, and do...something with it. It won't just vanish. Subdue corpses and monsters, probably? Go back to night-hunting?

I dunno how or how fast word gets out, but I guarantee you Jiang Cheng is the first person of note to hear about it and come furiously flying. The fight that follows is raw and possibly literally bloody, and 99.99% about Wei Wuxian (of course.) I think the only reason it stops is that even though they took it outside, A-Yuan wakes up (as does most of the neighborhood) and pokes his head out the window to ask what's going on, and Jiang Cheng puts two and two together with the kid he saw when he visited to disown Wei Wuxian and- 

He can't quite bear to destroy something even halfway adjacent to family He wants Wei Wuxian to have a slightly good legacy, too He storms off.

the only reason he doesn't pass Lan Xichen in the air is that they aren't quite coming from the same direction. This night is becoming very long but Lan Wangji is happy to explain himself to his brother: the careful methods he's started to use, never very much resentful energy at once, and the careful checks he has on himself, meditation and Cleansing and purification rituals. Lan Xichen isn't happy, but he has to concede that it all seems sound, and the goal is certainly a righteous one, and...there are worse ways to mourn

so when an emergency sect leader cultivation conference is called, because the news that Hanguang-jun has not only moved to Yiling but started practicing demonic cultivation has spread like wildfire, Lan Xichen calmly stands forward and defends his brother, states that Lan Wangji is working on noble goals with careful precautions and the full support of GusuLan, he can confirm it himself as Sect Leader but of course any who wish are welcome to visit Yiling as well and judge Hanguang-jun's precautions for themselves.

I cannot put in words how close Jiang Cheng comes to punching him in the face

So that’s what happens: people visit, see what careful measures Lan Wangji has in place, and are convinc- ha ha lol no it’s politics. But it works out. i wish I could say that it's some sort of tie between who Jiang Cheng hates most: Wei Wuxian for everything, but particularly for not even bothering to try to make it safe like LWJ clearly is; Lan Wangji for thinking he can just get away with this shit; Lan Xichen for helping him do it; everyone else for going along with it when they couldn't give Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng and YunmengJiang a single shred of goodwill; or himself for not standing up for either Wei Wuxian (a la Lan Wangji, however post-mortem)/his brother (like LXC)

but we all know it's nowhere near a tie

so...Lan Wangji doesn't plan to teach Lan Yuan (he's still a Lan! They're both still Lans!) any sort of demonic cultivation, but no matter what he does there's still So Much Dangerous Stuff around here, and they have no backup nearby, and demonic cultivation is just so much easier for those without a well-developed golden core yet -

so he teaches him, you know, some basic chords to make a ghost or corpse go the fuck away

(to start)

UNFORTUNATELY I'm pretty sure the timing is such that the Yi City Affair happened mostly while LWJ was in seclusion? Or at least, the start of it, such that the finding of Xue Yang by the side of the road happened either shortly before or shortly after he got out (and, in this case, went to Yiling)

and they have no reason to visit Yiling, so...all that...plays out. as in canon

no reason to visit Yiling, that is, until Xue Yang is sitting on the floor of the coffin house clutching a bag containing the shards of Xiao Xingchen's soul and feeling something like remorse for the first time in his life and he HATES it, he hates it SO GODDAMN MUCH, he wants to burn everyone who contributed to this to the ground and then torment their ghosts for centuries

so, he might then visit Yiling and the man said to be some sort of inheritor of the Yiling Patriarch's power. He almost certainly tries to play nice and helpless, just a good young man who made bad choices and lost his friend, and Lan Wangji probably tries to give him the benefit of the doubt and...yeah that does not last long.

especially if A-Qing has anything to say mime about it

Xue Yang has a fierce corpse on call and the won't-stay-down attitude of a feral weasel on crack who hates you personally, but Lan Wangji has a the home court advantage, including extensive practice siphoning and applying power from the Burial Mounds, and he's fucking Hanguang-jun.

Result: Lan Sizhui gets a sad fierce corpse uncle and a cheerfully-refusing-to-pass-on ghost-jie

HARD CUT uh...10? Ish? Years later? Wei Wuxian aka Mo Xuanyu is quickly giving up the idea of subtle launching fierce corpses at this hand bc at this point it's either out himself or people die, and the latter is not acceptable. He's just about to whistle them in when a ghost whips in and probably saves someone's life by knocking them out of the way. One of the Lan babies shrieks and hides behind another one - but a third points excitedly to the sky and shouts, "Oh, it's Lan Sizhui! Sizhui, over here!"

and who should descend by sword but one Nice Young Man(TM) with a guqin that he plays while switching effortlessly back and forth between spiritual and resentful energy, which, damn, Wei Wuxian didn't even know that was an option. I mean, it wasn't, for him, but...damn! What a clever kid! Did someone teach him?!

oh yeah, imminent danger of death by angry left hand -

Wei Wuxian does have to openly intervene, or at least, obviously intervene by fierce corpse and shouting some instructions at the kids, and then letting this Sizhui kid take the credit for the fierce corpses and trying to book it but, uh...getting caught. By aforementioned Sizhui kid. Who is polite and formal and, Wei Wuxian points out, extremely un-GusuLan-like, what with the bothering him and also the demonic cultivation. There's probably still the ghost of a teenage girl following them and making rude gestures at Wei Wuxian for insulting her little brother

"That's because I'm from the Yiling branch," Lan Sizhui admits, a little shame-facedly except that it's definitely fake shame. 

"Hmm?" says Wei Wuxian, like he knows what that means but is curious for more information (as opposed to have no goddamn idea what that means and desperately wanting more information)

"I, ah, study with Hanying-jun" says Lan Sizhui, who doesn't want to make a big deal out of his parentage. 

"Hmm?" says Wei Wuxian, who is fucking Dying here "I thought I might escort you home with me, so you can get properly cleansed after manipulating those corpses. One must be careful, of course." He sighs in a slightly teenagerish way. "It'll take most of a day, probably, after that arm. I try to use only spiritual energy on night hunts, but that was...pretty bad." 

Wei Wuxian, internally: okay, CONS: getting spiritually cleaned by Lans, even possibly Cool Lans - ugh, why are Lans always like this. PROS: finding out who the fuck this "Hanying-jun” is, bc...what the fuck. In Yiling? Is he stealing MY schtick?? And I can't just ASK, because clearly this kid expects me to recognize the title, which means Mo Xuanyu would probably recognize the title, and even a Lan who practices some sort of resentful energy manipulation isn't just going to be okay with suddenly meeting the Yiling Patriarch...And i can always run if I have to. 

WWX: I mean...okay! I don't have anything else to do!

except they do detour to Dafan Mountain a little because Lan Sizhui wasn't raised quite Lan enough to beat out the rebellious teenager streak and he wants to fight a big monster, and Jiang Cheng nearly fucking draws Zidian on sight bc he really. Hates. The Yiling Lans. And then Lan Wangji shows up just bc he heard about a ruckus and figured it was a good place to find his son

and then goddess statue, Wen Ning, terrible bamboo flute...

it's definitely not 'til after Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng have started and maybe finished fighting before Wie Wuxian finds out that the mysterious bastard who totally stole his spot as Dark Lord of Yiling is Hanguang-jun

or, you know...different title now

apparently

and then LWJ takes him and orders him bathed and - wait actually if they've developed elaborate formal spiritual purification rituals to balance handing resentful energy, he. he probably does order Wei Wuxian bathed

and then brought to his room

oh wow

beautiful

AND THEN PLOT RESUMES AS NORMAL?!? except possibly several questions of romance and Lan Sizhui's history get cleared up much faster 

also Lan Wangji - Hanying-jun - doesn’t have as peerless a reputation to trade on. Public opinion is probably fairly split between camps of, like, “he’s doing a good and noble thing, cleaning the Burial Mounds” vs. “the Lans say it’s okay so it must be, but wow that seems dangerous and/or useless” vs. “demonic cultivation is always eeeevil!” Among cultivators specifically, it’s more the first two, but...performatively more the first, genuinely more the second.

#mdzs #the untamed #lan wangji #lan sizhui #lan xichen #jiang cheng #wei wuxian

[the-fiction-witch]

The Other Harmon P28 For You

TV SHOW: THE QUEENS GAMBIT COUPLE: BENNY X READER RATING; SWEET AF

I sat watching the TV seeing what Beth had done to the house since I had been away sipping a glass of wine, she had given me a glass and then had the rest of the bottle for herself drinking straight from the bottle listening to the music on the TV. Both us a little tipsy

"What was it like with Harry?" I asked her

"what do you mean?"

"Like... what did you get up to?"

"Sex." she answered "dishes, laundry, you know that kinda stuff," she says "what about you and Benny?"

"Much the same, without the sex"

"How did you deal with the shower anyway it's in his living room?"

"I showered when he was out" I shrug "Or when he's playing chess or reading about chess. honestly, if chess is involved I could be walking around naked screaming his name and that boy wouldn't look up" I giggled

"why did you try?"

"No, it was just an example Beth"

"Dose, he still walks around in like that.... robe thing?"

"Yes, but I kinda stole it a little in the mornings, it fit me better anyway. and I felt my robe here"

"What did you two spend all your time doing? really Y/n?"

"I can't tell you beth,"

"Fine... let's play it this way," she says "while you where away I was having bedpost rattling sex with a boy and he tried playing chess with me while having sex"

"How?"

"Rook to E4" she smiled "Pawn takes pawn" she giggled miming sex with her hips

"that's amazing" I laughed sipping my drink "That was harry then?"

"I didn't say who"

"Well... while I was away, somebody... Took my virginity"

"Benny?" she asked angrily

"I didn't say who" I smirked

"Didn't know you still where a Virgin still"

"I was when I went to new york"

"and now?"

"and now I'm not"

"I danced naked in the livingroom while on drugs"

"I had sex against a doorframe"

"I showed my tits to a mail guy"

"I ride a guys cock... fuck that hurt the first time"

"Not even I've done that" she smirked "It hurt?"

"Like fuck the next morning I literaly couldn't move I had to get benny to drag me around the flat like a ragdoll"

"So benny was there at the time?"

"In his room, doing.... I don't know bed chess I guess" I shrug "Then the next morning he was the only one around so"

"is that all benny does?"

"Chess and shit pretty much."

"You never used to swear"

"You swear?"

"Yeah but you don't..." she says "you sound like benny"

"Do I?"

"You do, You have his tawng. you have his speaking style" she says "and the swearing"

"I spend alot of time with him,"  shrug

at that moment the phone rang she sighed getting up having a strech wondering off to the kitchen grabbing the phone

"Hello? Yes, Ohh it's you, what do you want? why? fine," she sighed "Your a dick, Your a stupid twit, Yes I am aware," I had a feeling from that who it was on the phone only one person in the world she talks to like that "Fine But I can pick up the over phone if I want and listen in on you" she smirked

"Y/N!" she yelled into the living room holding the phone "For You" she says

"thanks beth" I smiled getting up and taking the phone from her, she went back to her wine and laid on the sofa "Hello?" I asked

"Hello Honeydew" Benny smiled down the phone

"Aww hello Mr Watts" I giggled wondering around the kitchen as much as I could with the phone cord in my hand "what is the purpose of this call then? I leave something at your apartment?"

"Well... Maybe a few things" he smirked "No I just rang to... say hi"

"It's quiet" I smiled "Without you"

"It's quiet without you too, for a little girl you make so much noise"

"Do I? Well maybe someone should stop making me be so loud"

"Hey, careful your sister might be listening"

"she's got wine she's fine, she had a bottle of red wine and there are hot boys on the Tv she's fine"

"Off You girls sitting looking attractive men are you?"

"Well, she is. I'm reading, and... talking to one instead"

"awww aren't you sweet" he smiled

"how you been doing without me?" I asked "Really?"

"it's... weird" he says "the record's aren't on, your not singing dancing around in my clothes, my laundry stays on the floor a lot longer"

"Really?" i laughed

"What, I got used to put something on the floor I turn up five mnuets later and it's gone" He says "In the washing or on you"

"Ohh Poor Benny gotta clean up after yourself?" I laughed "It's strange, without you around. I don't know I fell... Lovely"

"You have beth?"

"Yeah well beth might be here but her head isnt always, I can't always have a conversation with her not like I do with you" I smiled "I miss that robe actly can you send it out?"

"No it's mine your not having it, You already stole two of my shirts"

"No I-"

"I know you did, you snuck them in your suitcase I would like them back next I see you please I need them"

"Fine" I sighed

"I miss coffee" he says "In the morning... before I've even got out of bed. That's heavenly" he smiled "I don't like having to get up for my coffee"

"Ummm so you miss me cleaning up after you? and making you coffee?"

"And other things"

"Like?"

"I miss you," He says "I just... miss you. nothing inperticualr just, You"

"I miss you too benny"

"Y/n... I wanted to talk to you about something"

"About what?"

"Do you remmeber... the first night we, you know"

"we what?"

"You know what I don't know if beth can hear me" he laughs

"your safe" I giggled checking she hadn't got up to the other phone but she sat with her wine still

"The first time we, Did it"

"Ohhh that,"

"You remmeber?"

"I remember, How could I forget benny"

"Do you remember what I said to you?"

"No... you said alot of things to me"

"Then it doesn't matter," he says

"No benny come on tell me"

"Not like this... when I see you, You're coming with beth to Vegas right?"

"Hopefully"

"Okay, I will see if I can call you tomorrow"

"Okay, Talk soon"

"talk soon" He smiled before hanging up the phone

"what did he want?" beth asks

"I uhh I left some bits at his" I lied sitting back in my chair with my glass trying to rememeber what he said to me the first tie we had sex? what did he mean? what was he going on about?

[johannstutt413]

(requested by calligomiles; related to this but maybe not the same timeline)

“Hey, Nat, it’s Independence Day.” Sonya, sitting across the dining room table from the heiress, set down her book to address her. “We should go to the bar tonight.”

“Hmm...I agree. Rada’s unavailable, but Anna should be free.” She, likewise, closed her book and went to get her coat.

Zima shrugged. “Sure, she can come along. Things are still a bit messy, but it’s a holiday. She can find it in herself to forgive me for one night.”

“I hope you don’t mind sharing that pardon with me when you get it,” Rosa replied. “The day after you told her the news, I could feel her eyes boring into the back of my neck during our shift in the office together.”

“If he’s really that busy, the Doctor might want to stop rotating his assistants around. Can you go invite her?”

She smirked. “I never thought I’d see you scared of one of our own.”

“Between the two of us, and without Rada here, you’re the face she’d want to see more.” The General went back to their room to change. “Text me when you’re on your way back.”

“Yes, ‘General.’” Natalya tossed a bit of sarcasm in her parting shot as she left.

Istina responded to a knock on her door by looking through the peephole...and there was Rosa. Hmm. “Can I help you?”

“Tonight, not particularly.” The heiress mimed tossing back a shot. “The General and I are going to the bar to celebrate Independence Day. Will you join us?”

“You really want to celebrate our freedom while our brothers and sisters bleed to secure it? Rather optimistic, don’t you think? Nonetheless, I’ll come along; I finished my novel, and I can’t quite start the next one yet.” The advisor reached for her coat, hanging on the wall beside her door, before joining the homewrecker in the hallway as she texted her girlfriend…

To say the situation was ‘tense’ between Anna and the couple was a massive understatement; it’d be more accurate to say the relationship survived through the sheer weight of their shared history, which admittedly only made the betrayal that’d occurred cut closer to home. Zima and Istina had had what felt to the advisor like a strong bond, but shortly after Rosa re-emerged from her self-imposed exile in Logistics, the General threw that away to date the heiress. It stung, in both the past perfective and present adjectival sense, but it wasn’t as if she could disassociate with them. After all, Gummy and Leto were still friends with all of them, even if they were doing their own things for the most part these days, and on the occasions they were around, it was almost enough to make them feel like a group again.

Almost.

They walked back to Zima’s apartment, where the General was waiting by the door. “Ready to go?” She asked, hand on the handle in case Natalya needed to run in and get something.

“Yes, we should be good.” Rosa took Sonya’s hand as she passed their apartment, Istina walking on the other side and noticeably behind her. “If I’m honest, I don’t believe I’ve been to the bar with you before, Anna.”

“I don’t drink often.”

The General nodded. “That she doesn’t. The lightest-weight Ursan you’ve ever met.”

“Th-that’s not true!” She retorted. “I knew plenty of girls my age with lower tolerances.”

“None of which I or Nat have met, so my point still stands,” Zima retorted.

The heiress sighed. This might’ve been a mistake. “Let’s try to refrain from fighting too seriously until we can start a proper brawl, please.”

“Aye. No point in fighting her, anyway.” Sonya scoffed. “No challenge to it.”

“...” The advisor simply followed them to the bar without any further word.

For the first half of the night, things went as expected; Rosa sat in the middle, the General on one side and Istina on the other, acting as a half-Gummy in her attempts to keep things civil. Anna at most sipped her drink, but even that seemed to have an effect on her, making her protests more vivacious. Eventually, Zima got bored of squabbling and, seeing Beehunter and Leto at another table, left to talk to them, leaving Istina and Natalya alone.

“Shouldn’t you be going with her?” The advisor asked, officially finished with her first drink of the night and moving into her second. “You are her girlfriend, aren’t you?”

“I...have my doubts about that,” she admitted, watching the other table laugh, presumably at Anna’s expense.

Anna shrugged. “Don’t blame you. Wouldn’t be the first time, after all...Two-timing whore’s daughter...I still miss her, though.”

“Really?” Now that was a thread worth pursuing. “I thought you only had vitriol left for her.”

“I woulda tho’t the same, but I dunno. Hard to hate ‘er fe’real when she use-a be so warm, y’know?” Her words were sticking together on her tongue like honey; it was hard to scrape them off into the air without them running together.

Natalya smiled. This one really did have a low tolerance, didn’t she? “So is it possible you don’t miss her, just having someone there for you?”

“Mebbe...Do you?”

“I’m sorry?”

Istina swerved around on her stool to face the heiress. “D’ya miss ‘er at ‘er best?”

“Well, yes, I do.” Her eyes wandered back to the other table. “Or at least, I think so. But have I seen her at her best? You’ve known her longer than I ha- What’s so funny?”

“Knew ‘er? Knew ‘er?! Oh, that’sa good one, itn’t it? I knew ‘er, yeah, sure, just like we knew ‘bout the ‘ole ‘Pet’r’eim’s a Reyunyin plot’ or wh’ever they tryda tell us, or ‘at Sonya was thirstin’ fer ya more’n I do after a night at the bar...Yeah, sure, I knew ‘er like ‘at, a’ight...I knew ‘er like the shadows ‘hind my closet door...”

There was a moment of silence, punctuated by a laughing trio of Ursus, before Rosa continued the conversation. “‘Thirsting’ as in you need water after going out drinking, or-”

“Oh, c’mon now, Miz Perfek, don’cha tryn’ play innocent wi’ me...Ya know ya’ve got some’in the rest of us don’t...” Anna giggled a bit, her eyes drifting down Natalya’s neck and settling pointedly elsewhere. “Mmhmm...Woulda been e-zyer t’keep ‘er if I’d ‘ad ‘em, too...Must be nice, bein’ so mature...Damn noble breedin’...”

“You really do have a low tolerance.” In spite of what might be expected, part of the heiress was enjoying listening to her like this. Very few people at Rhodes Island had anything negative to say about her, so all she had to back her own self-loathing was more of her own inner voice. It was depressingly refreshing, or maybe refreshingly depressing? One of those.

That came to an end when Istina drifted a little closer. “Hey. Wanna know a secret?”

“A secret?” Rosa raised an eyebrow. “About who?”

“‘Bout me, konechno (obviously). C’mere.”

Natalya looked back over at the other table, frowned, and turned around to find the advisor even closer. “Yes?”

“‘Tween you and her? ‘snot even a choice.” A pair of very intoxicated lips continued talking. “Ye might be a homewrecker, but yer still better ‘an ‘er by a long shot.”

“I don’t-”

Anna leaned in further. “I say we oughta have a lil’ revenge, don’cha think?”

“How drunk are you to be thinking...like this?” How drunk was she, to find herself kind of agreeing? “I mean, she’s right there...She could see us if she turned around.”

“Ya really think she will, though?” Istina giggled a little. It was obvious what the answer was there, judging by the animated voices coming from that part of the bar.

Rosa rubbed her forehead, sighed, downed what was left in her cup, and shook her head. “You’re right, she won’t. She doesn’t care, she never did, and I...I’m sick of it. Sick of being second-fiddle to someone she won’t even confess to. Sick of being a bystander in my own life. Sick of-”

“Ah, shut up and kiss me already.” The advisor tugged on Natalya’s shirt and pulled her close enough to do just that.

“And so I said to Nat-” Sonya was saying to the others, turning to gesture to her at the bar...Only to see that unfold. “So I...Fuck.”

Leto cocked her head. “I think they’re just kissing right now. It’s not that bad yet.”

“I knew one of them was a lightweight, but both of them? You sure know how to pick ‘em, General.” Beehunter smiled to herself behind her glass.

“...Eh. They won’t remember it happened.” Zima turned back around. “So anyone, I said to Nat...”

But the truth was, Rosa was very cognizant of what was happening - cognizant enough that, when they broke it off, she was blushing bright red. “Anna, I...This is a bit much, I think.”

“What? Didn’t like it?”

“N-no, I...I did, but...” Wouldn’t this make her a double homewrecker at this point, then? “I mean, I don’t even have any proof that-”

Istina sighed, turning back to her glass. “‘Course you need proof. I knew ‘fore she said a word what’d happened ‘tween the two of ya…’Ell, I think I r’mber yer taste from my last kiss wi’ ‘er.”

“Oh. You know I never meant to hurt you, right?”

“Just lost yerself in ‘er smile? I know the feelin’. So rare t’see...” She slunk into the bar. “Still, ‘o, I wish I’da known what I missed out on fer ‘er the firz time.”

The blushing was only getting worse. “Oh, Anna...”

“That one ‘Arkaz girl sang it better ‘an I coulda...I’m sleepy...Need a pillow...” Despite that, Anna’s head fell to the bartop, and she seemed to fall asleep just fine.

“Hmm...Hey, Sonya?” Natalya called over to the other table. “I’m going to take Anna home. I’ll see you when you’re done here?”

Ignoring the snickers from the other two, the General turned around and gave her the thumbs-up. “Sounds good. See you there.”

“Heh. Well, looks like we know who’s getting some tonight, then.” Beehunter had dissolved into a quiet but body-wrenching giggle fit by this point.

“Maybe,” Zima admitted, watching Rosa pluck Istina from the bar and cradle her as she took them back to the advisor’s place. “Honestly? I’ll just sleep at Anna’s tonight. Save her a trip back to my room.”

The other two weren’t sure whether to keep laughing at how ridiculous that sounded, or admit that, as usual, the General was two steps ahead. The drink in their systems, eventually, got them to settle on the former.

#arknights #arknights fic #rosa (arknights) #istina (arknights) #zima (arknights) #well... #just to clarify no calligo did not request NTR #that just kinda...happened #namely because when this Istina gets drunk she loses the filter #along with the love quadrangle scandal we'd already kinda set up in the fics related to this one #although this is technically a prequel to those? #yeah #also for a little bit the daily post streak is on thin ice #and i only have so much time to write #so...wish me luck? #hoping to keep it alive #have a good one!

[iwantitiwriteit]

Slow Burn: Act I - Part 2

The Meet Cute - Part 2

Pairing: Chris Evans x Famous!Reader

Summary: You meet Chris Evans at a rooftop, industry party in New York, but will your awkwardness ruin the night?

Warnings: Profanity, Sexual connotations, fluff gone sour (?) Read on to know what I mean

Notes: Please check out the moodboard + music specially curated to go with this part! Read the previous part here.

Although you had a few lightweight drinks, not wanting to get too turnt in front of strangers, you’re not really sure how you ended up here: In the middle of the dance floor, spinning, stepping and outright getting down with Chris motherfucking Evans.

It may have started with your light buzz, then a declaration of “that’s my song!!!” on your behalf, then Chris following you like a wide eyed puppy.

A mellower song plays. Yours and Chris’ energy comes down some, chemistry lingering. You simultaneously notice you’re holding hands and become all too aware of yourselves. Meaningless “ums” and “uhs” fill the air until you excuse yourself to the restroom, but not before you exchange shy smiles with Chris.

You freshen up in the mirror and take a moment to reflect on the night, on meeting Chris, with his tall, muscular frame, genuine smile, heart warming laugh, and blue eyes you could just drown in… Get a grip, SIS! You’re supposed to be meeting industry professionals, not fawning over snackable superheroes, no matter how charming. What time is it even…?

Pawing at your person for a sign of your phone, you realize you might have left it at the bar. Ugh, I hope no one took it. Who am I kidding? Rich people don’t steal phones… right?

You hurriedly rush out of the bathroom, but stop short at the sight of a boyish-looking Chris, hands tucked in his pockets. For the second time tonight, you both take a moment to take each other in. You don’t realize it, but you hold your breath as his eyes scan your hair, your eyes…her nose, her lips, her skin—

“You found it!”

“Huh?”

“My phone! Thank God! I don’t know what I’d do without it!” You say as you point to the black, sparkly device poking out of his pocket. It only became visible when Chris subconsciously went to rub his beard, under a trance at the sight of you. 

“Yeah, the bartender found it. I told her I’d give it to you.”

You go to retrieve it from his pocket, but stop short again, reminding yourself you shouldn’t be that handsy with him. He takes that as a cue, and returns the phone to its rightful owner.

You check the time. 1:39 am. Yeesh.

“I know, right?” It must’ve shown on your face. “I didn’t even notice half the party cleared out,” he says while looking at you sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

You chuckle lightly as you take in your surroundings for the first time in God knows how many hours. Had I really lost track of time, giggling with him all night? Yes sis, you did.

Tens of people are scattered about, trash is being cleaned up, and some of the younger staff are taking advantage of the photo-op area. Meanwhile, Chris is rambling about something, cutely at that, but you don’t tune in until he asks, “Do you?”

“Do I…”

He chuckles and says, “Have a place to stay in Boston yet? I always wait until the last minute to find a place when I’m filming out of town.”

You cock your brow. “Are you offering?”

“Ha! No ma’am! I enjoy my bachelor’s pad how it is. Just me and my best boy, Dodger.”

“Is that so?” 

“Mmhmm, just a pair of dysfunctional, male codependents.”

“So, it’s a no girls allowed ordeal?”

“No, it’s just--”

“A different girl every night, and they’re on their merry way by morning?”

“No--”

“Oh, so--”

“WILL YOU LET ME TALK?! Jeez woman...” You both giggle at your antics and his feigned frustration. He rakes a hand through his hair before he begins again, but you attempt to cut him off one last time for fun. “Wow, ok!” He makes like he’s going to walk away, but you catch him by the wrist to keep him in place.

“Wait, no, I’m sorry!” You say between laughs and tugs on his arm. “Look, I’ll zip it,” Chris turns to you as you mime zipping and locking your lips. He puts his free hand out, not wanting to lose this physical contact with you, motioning for the imaginary key. You oblige. 

“Thank you, and for good measure...” he tucks the “key” in his pocket. You’re admiring the deep, rich tone of his voice when he gently places his hand over your mouth, his other hand still in your hold. Your brain is short-circuiting and your heart is skipping several beats.

“I was going to say,” wow, your eyes are just... wow.  “It’s more like a different girl every other night, gone by dawn.” 

You scoff and swat his hand away from your mouth, and now you both laugh at his antics. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he quickly reassures, as if you couldn’t tell it was a joke. 

“No, I just really value my space, ya know? Not that I don’t appreciate guests, because I really do! You should see me; I host a WICKED game night.”

“Oh, I bet.”

“I just have to be... never mind. That’s more than what you asked for.”

“No, no, what is it? You can tell me.”

“I guess, I just have to be… selective, about who I invite into my--”

“Game night?”

“You’re quite the smart ass, huh?” You smirk and shrug, but it’s true: you love to crack jokes-- good or bad, for better or for worse-- especially with people you’re comfortable with. We’re not that comfortable, though. We just met.

“I get it, though, truly. Especially in this line of work,” You pause for a moment, fiddling with your fingers before you ask, “Don’t you ever feel like you can’t tell someone’s intentions? Like, you can’t tell if someone wants to be around you for you or... for what they think they’ll get in return. It’s just easier to stay in your own, comfortable bubble sometimes. I don’t know…”

The way you asked made Chris think you were looking for some words of advice more than agreement. “Well, sussing out someone’s intentions is difficult, but gets easier with experience. And not just experience with dealing with a bunch of slimes balls, but experience in listening, trusting your gut when it talks to you.” He gives you a warm smile, and you give a half one back, the thoughts of your very recent past preventing your smile from being full, bright, the way Chris came to know it tonight. In that moment, he found himself missing it.

Sensing the heaviness, Chris changes the subject, “So, uh… have any plans after this?” 

“At damn near 2 am?”

”Clearly you’ve never hung out in New York because this is considered too early to go home. This city never sleeps, ya’know? ‘S how it got the nickname.”

“No, I didn’t know that! Thanks for the tip.”

“Yeah, yeah of course, anytime.” The sarcastic back-and-forth leave you two smiling and gazing in each other’s eyes. Why do we keep doing this?

You clear your throat, “But, uh, no… well yes. Heading back to the hotel to get some Z’s. Gonna be at iHeartRadio tomorrow for a show, and I have to be alert for it.” You serve an overexaggerated focus face, to which he laughs at.

“Well, you could always have coffee.”

“Mm-mm, nope, no coffee for me. I’m still hoping to grow a few more inches.”

He sizes you up, “I don’t know, I think you’re just about done sprouting, Kid.”

“What did I say about calling me that?”

He drops his head a little and pouts his lip like a sad puppy, “Only Mackie can call you that...”

“Right! Don't make me tell you again. There won’t be a third time. Just, a consequence I have not thought of yet.” He lightly laughs as you continue, “Anyways, it’s an acoustic set, and I need real energy, real focus, ‘cos I feel like mistakes are far more noticeable when it’s stripped back, and I gotta be all here for it,” you tap your temple.

He nods, “Not only a smart ass, but quite the critic, too? Dangerous combination.” You shrug again. What can you say? You’re particular when it comes to music. “An acoustic set though— should be awesome! Who’s playing?”

...uuuummmm…  You start and stop your reply a couple of times, before awkwardly laughing. Maybe he’s just messing with me… “It’s a secret,” you say with a wink.

“Hey! Kid, Captain Little Ass! I’ve been texting both of you! Come over here for a picture!” Mackie’s booming voice bursts your bubble, and the two of you make your way over. Scott, Ansel, Jaden, and a few other people who you probably should’ve met tonight are huddled in conversation. Mackie approaches you with his phone.

“You mind snapping a few pics of me and the boys? We’ll do a couple poses and then I wanna get you in there.” 

“Oh, it would be my utmost pleasure to snap some ‘pics’ of you and ‘the boys’.” 

While they sort out their poses, you make with unlocking Mackie’s phone. It opens to Mackie’s and Chris’ text chain, and what you see sinks your heart a little bit. Well, damn. 

“Hey Kid, we’re ready,” Chris says with a smirk that quickly dissipates when you unintentionally scowl at him, stewing in your thoughts. He thinks it’s because you really don’t like the nickname, but boy is he so wrong.

Anthony was insistent on getting you in a picture, no matter how many times you declined saying you weren’t “picture ready”, when really you were too annoyed to prolong this night any longer. He waved over one of the gawking busboys, no doubt in awe of being in the same room as Shmaptin Shmerica.

As you handed the busboy the phone, he whispered he was a “big fan”, Oh. Really?, and “couldn’t believe” he was meeting you. You thanked him with a kind smile and offered to get a picture with him afterwards, Chris watching the endearing interaction. I’ll have to ask her what she’s been in so I can watch it.

Chris watched you as you scanned the group for a good spot to fit in, then go in the opposite direction of where he stood. After a few snaps, Chris yells, “EVERYBODY: NEW SPOTS, NEW POSE!!” Everyone scurries around, but you being stubborn, stay put. He inevitably finds his way to you, but you ignore his presence.

A few more pictures are taken. Everyone’s smiling their Hollywood smiles, but then there’s you on the end, just mean mugging. On the last picture, Chris puts his arm around your shoulders. The nerve, the GALL, the cologne… no, NO! Get it together! When the photos are done, you quickly go over to the busboy and make good on your promise of a picture with him. You can feel Chris’ eyes on you.

After a couple of selfies, Chris offers to take a picture for you both. When your fan is satisfied with the picture and gets back to work, Chris comes over to resume conversation with you, but you’re too in your head to hear him. You just see his plump, pink lips moving. Damn him and his good looks, and perfect lips and—

“How’s that sound?”

“How’s what sound?”

“Coffee— in Boston.”

“I’m sure there is some, but I thought y’all were more known for your tea parties.” He laughs and your breath is arrested by the beautiful sound, deepening your conflicted feelings. He seems so genuine, but the texts…

“I meant, when we’re both back in Boston, going out for coffee— with me?”

If he would text that, what does he want so badly to see me again for? *gasp* He must think I’m a quick fu— “Why?”

He’s taken aback by your curtness. What does she mean ‘why’? I thought we had a good time tonight, and I want to see her again… “Because ‘here’s to good company’, remember?” He recounts your toast from earlier in the evening, raising his hand to mime a glass in the air for emphasis. He lets his hand fall awkwardly at the sight of your unamused face.

“Good company, huh? Even for a ‘airheaded wannabe’?”

What is she talk… It hits him like a ton of bricks. 

It’s you. YOU are the musician girl Mackie and Scott wanted him to meet. YOU are the one playing the set tomorrow, and that’s why you have fans wanting pictures with you. But most of all, YOU had seen his blind judgments of you. FuuuuUUUUUUcccckkk.

“Shit. Listen, I—“

“Have to call it a night and get some rest. Wouldn’t want hot air to be the only thing coming out of my mouth tomorrow. Good night, Chris.” With that, you quickly brush past him, and walk over to say goodbyes to your co-stars. You all share your excitement for starting filming next week, and they wish you well on your show tomorrow.

You make your way to the elevator, but not before you look back for Chris, who’s nowhere to be found. You hoped you’d see his face, and there’d be a look in his eyes that would tell you that tonight wasn’t a waste, that he was as genuine as you’d read him to be and that you’d only read those texts wrong. 

But those blue eyes weren’t around for you to drown in. You figured he went somewhere to be pissed about his efforts coming up fruitless. No different than the rest.

Part 3

#chris evans imagine #chris evans x reader #chris evans fluff #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x female reader #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans one shot #chris evans x poc!reader #chris evans x woc #chris evans x you #Slow Burn Series

[zrtranscripts]

Home Front, Mission 14: Sam’s Recipe for Success

Full of Beans

~

SAM YAO: Hello, listeners! Sam here, coming live from Abel's kitchens. We're going to kick off another workout in a minute, so while I'm talking, why not do a little warming up? Dance about, or jog on the spot, something light and fun. Now I'm not usually allowed in the kitchens because of a little... incident with some marmite shortbread which I thought was a brilliant idea but Janine said was a waste of resources, especially after it caught fire in the oven.

But anyway, as some of you may know, we've had a bit of luck with the giant super horde besieging the countryside. A landslide hit the horde's east flank, scattering a huge chunk of the zoms, so we've got a little window to send runners out with supplies. Dozens of small communities were cut off by the horde, and we're sending care packages to everyone. It's been all hands on deck in the kitchens prepping the deliveries, and we're almost ready to go.

[paper rustles]

So to celebrate, today's first exercise is one I've really started to like. The instructions call it dead bug walking, but I like to think of it as happy puppy flailing. Just lie on your back with your arms and legs in the air, then walk them up and down as fast as you can for one minute, like an excited Labradoodle on its back. Ready? And go! Okay, that's 15 seconds down. Keep those paws wiggling. And that's it, halfway done. Yeah, I-I really think this is a good sign. You know, the horde weakening. A few more natural disasters and it-it could be gone. That's 15 seconds left. Yeah, not-not that we want natural disasters, obviously. Just little disasters. You know, zom-only disasters. And that's it, you're done!

Feel that Labradoodle energy. Okay, yeah, I'm gonna scoot the last crate of eggs and flour down to our dispatch runners, then I'll come right back. Meantime, I'll play some music. You can relax or keep flailing. I've borrowed Runner Seventeen’s latest good times mix, so this song should be perfect for keeping up the good vibes.

~

SAM YAO: All right, that's the last load of supplies delivered to our runners. They'll be leaving any minute. Now I tell you what, Runner Forty-Three has been baking some great treats for each package. You should see the cupcakes! It's amazing what Forty-Three can do with an egg and some scavenged Nutella.

Actually, I've been using the lockdown to work on my own baking. Yeah, well, first it was crochet until we ran out of yarn. Then it was photography, but Maxine wanted the last camera. So Forty-Three has been helping me practice recipes instead, by miming them to avoid wasting supplies. Janine made me promise not to get in the way in the kitchens today though, so I've mostly been carrying cans and crates out to the runners, which gave me the idea for our next exercise, running with cans.

So find yourself two cans or any two objects about as heavy that you can grip, and take one in each hand. But if you're not absolutely sure you've got a solid grip, put each one in a strong bag with a good handle, hold them like that. Then run on the spot, swinging your arms to get your heart pumping, okay? Yeah, let's try one minute of that. And go! Now that's 15 seconds down. Okay, 30 seconds left. Like Forty-Three always says, practice makes perfect. 15 seconds left. Actually, Forty-Three tends to say, that's weird, practice usually makes perfect. Cooking lessons could be going better, to be honest. And you're done. 60 seconds.

Time to rest, unless you want to keep running through... [device beeps] Uh, hold on one sec. Oh... okay. Um, just got an urgent message from Janine. Better take this off the air. I'm gonna cut straight to the next music break, okay? Dance along or run some more, if you fancy it. I'll be right back after this.

~

SAM YAO: Um, hello folks. Uh, I've uh... I've got some bad news. You might want to keep can running to distract you. Really wish I didn't have to say this. Apparently, we're not the only ones who decided to take advantage of the weakened horde. There was this group of runners in New Canton, vigilantes going against orders. They figured this was the perfect time to fight the zoms, rounded up a bunch of people, charged at the horde's weakened flank with guns and bombs.

Only well, the zoms got scattered by a landslide, didn't they? So loads of them were buried under rocks, which this lot charged right over. Zom hands came reaching up from the ground, scratching and pulling. Some of the vigilantes went down, some bombs went off early. Zoms got freed from the rock while the rest of the horde honed in on the noise. Basically, it was a bloody mess. And now the horde's as strong as ever. So no supplies going anywhere today.

Well, I know you must be feeling frustrated, listeners, because I am. But, but I've got another exercise that might help channel that. Yeah, uh... [paper rustles] Ah, yeah. Well, this one's pretty simple. Bicep curls. You need weights. Take your cans or whatever you were running with and if you haven't already, put them into bags, one per bag, and make sure each bag has a good handle you can hold. For heavier weights, add more cans. Then press your elbows against your flanks with your hands by your sides and your palms facing up, one hand holding each weight. Bend your elbows to bring the weights up to your shoulders and then down again, okay? Yeah, we'll do 60 seconds of that.

Ready? And go! That's it, 15 seconds down. [laughs] You know, Runner Twelve, stuck in a pub with a pinball machine? He swears this exercise helped him to top the high score. Ah, unless he was tilting it. That's it, halfway done. Concentrate on those weights. It must have been that. That would help, actually. 15 seconds left. And done. Now I hope that gave you all something else to focus on for a bit. Uh, I'm gonna play some music now, do a few curls myself. Because honestly, I've got a lot of frustration that needs channeling here.

~

SAM YAO: Uh, welcome back everyone. Yep, I've just had final confirmation from Janine. No one's going out anytime soon. [sighs] I feel sorry for those vigilantes, I really do, but how could they be so stupid, charging a super horde like that? Now they've gone and made things worse for everyone, [sighs] because they couldn't stand staying in and feeling useless, I guess. I get it. Yeah, I mean, I-I want to be doing more too, but we can't go off half-cocked, not when the stakes are this high. It's like Maxine says, right? The Z-virus is a medical problem and medical problems need patience. [laughs] I know it's a really bad pun, but it's true.

Anyway, in case anyone out there wants to reinforce their barricades now that the horde's been strengthened, we're going to do an exercise that's good for lifting furniture: squats. I bet most of you know this already. Stand with your arms at your sides and your legs hip-distance apart, then squat down like you're sitting on an invisible chair. Make sure your knees don't come out further than your feet and your bum is sticking out. And we're going to go for one minute of those. And go!

15 seconds down. Imagine you're lifting a sofa. 30 seconds down. Get that barricade reinforced. 15 seconds left. Just a couple more cabinets to lift. And done. Good job, everyone. I'm gonna play some more music for anyone who wants to keep going, but remember, you need to look after yourselves as well as your barricades, so don't be afraid to stop and rest.

~

SAM YAO: You know what, listeners? I always try and look on the bright side, but the truth is this is, um, this is getting to me. Yeah. I really thought it was going to be a good day, and then you know, wham. Janine's checked with the settlements we were going to deliver to and they've all got enough supplies to last a while longer, so... so that's something, at least.

I've uh, I've actually been secretly baking something for Janine. Banana bread based on Runner Forty-Three’s lessons. It was going to be a surprise to celebrate the deliveries. Guess them being cancelled doesn't make a difference. Come out all burned and blackened anyway, like that shortbread.

Oh boy. Ah. I think I need some cheering up here, listeners. I'm um... spiraling a bit. Tell you what. Yeah, there's this one exercise, it always looks sort of silly picturing loads of people doing it at once. Well, it'd put a smile on my face. It's called doing high knees. Just march really fast on the spot for one minute, pumping your arms and bringing your knees all the way up to your waist with each step, like something out of the Ministry of Silly Walks from Monty Python. Ready? And go!

15 seconds gone. Keep those knees up. Halfway done. Honestly, I don't miss a lot of Monty Python, but did you hear Runner Thirty-Four's radio reenactment of Holy Grail last night? I's brilliant. It was brilliant. 45 seconds, almost done. And that's one minute! Okay. That, that did make me feel better, imagining you all doing that. I couldn't help joining in towards the end, I admit it. [timer dings] Oh, and uh, yeah. That's the oven timer. Right, I'm gonna get my blackened, burned mess, listeners, but it's okay. I'm feeling more like I can cope with it now. You guys rest or keep marching to the music until I get back.

~

SAM YAO: [laughs] Right, you're not gonna believe this, listeners! I mean, I don't believe it. The banana bread, it's-it's perfect! The top is all nice and brown, and the inside's soft and spongy, and it has that delicious banana-y smell, and it's-it's just... perfect. Possibly thanks to Runner Forty-Three, who left a note on the oven saying set to 180 degrees, not 300. Guess you caught my secret project, Forty-Three. Couldn't have done it without you.

Or you, listeners. You really helped me today. I know this lockdown's tough, but we have to keep reminding ourselves the one thing we can do without going off half-cocked is just... be there, even at a distance. Be willing to help each other past dark days. And we can share the little victories that help us through, like Maxine's photos or Thirty-Four’s radio plays, or banana bread. Because if one of us scores a win, and we're all in this together, it's a win for all of us, isn't it? No matter how small it seems.

Now I'm gonna take this banana bread to Janine. She won't admit it, but it will cheer her up. And I'll put the recipe on ROFFLEnet in case you want to try it! Well, if you don't, that's okay, because exercising is a little victory too, so you're already winning today. We'll get through this, everyone, I know it. And maybe after, we can have some banana bread together. Until then, stay safe. I'll be back on air soon and I promise I'll share all my little victories and I'll cheer for all of yours.

~

#zombies run #zr home front #zrhf 14 #sam's recipe for success #zr transcript

[junetuesday]

sweetener - [seven]

Hoodies and Hormones

Pairing: Tom Holland x Female Reader - uni AU

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: swear words, drinking, menstruation and all the wonderful feelings it brings, fluff.

A/N: just remember that good things come to those who wait :)

Updates Sunday nights

Mother Nature either had really terrible timing, or she’s just one sadistic bitch. The first possibility in you’d-rather-not-think-about-how-long that you might actually need access to that region, and she block booked the place for a week. On short notice, no less.

You'd decided to go back on the pill - not that you were expecting anything, it just made sense. You’d only come off it because you didn’t bother to re-register with a doctor when you went home for the summer, and you weren’t anticipating needing contraception any time soon so you just let it run out. Not to be presumptuous, but things with Tom were going pretty well, plus it’s nice to have some control over your hormones, so a quick trip to the GP later you were armed with a prescription - all you had to do was wait until your next period to start taking it. Which, as luck would have it, came approximately an hour before you were due to meet Tom for drinks, completely unannounced. This was irritating for a number of reasons.

Number One - you had to change your outfit because your Surprise Guest meant you had to put on different underwear, and you only had one pair that didn’t give you VPL in the skirt you had planned to wear.

Number Two - your boobs had grown half a cup size overnight, and that combined with their overall tenderness meant they were very unhappy about being squeezed into a push-up bra.

Number Three - the rest of your body was no better off, cramps twisting your abdomen, your lower back aching, a low-grade headache pulsing behind your eyes.

Number Four - you felt like you were on an emotional rollercoaster. You wanted to cry with rage when you realised it was pouring with rain, so very tempted to cancel and stay in and eat your body weight in pasta and/or chocolate. Of course, once you got there you were thankful you didn’t cancel, almost forgetting about your Visitor - until yet another emotion reared its head:

Number Five - you were, what’s the phrase? Erotically charged. After a while you had to suggest a change of venue because if you kept on sitting opposite him, looking like that and making you laugh so hard you could hardly breathe, you were pretty sure you were going to explode. You didn’t even really want food (though that changed once you started walking to the restaurant and the cold wind brought you to your senses), but you had to make do, given that you couldn’t do what you really wanted to do. That was the worst part, you’d have been able to deal with the other things if it weren’t for:

Number Six - no matter how well the evening went, you would be going home alone, just you and your Tampax. Sitting on that bench in that bus shelter, Tom’s lips on yours, his tongue in your mouth and his hand on the back of your neck holding you close, it had taken all your self-control to stop your hand inching further up his thigh, to not reach out and run your fingers through his hair, the time he’d clearly taken to style it already ruined by the blustering wind. Each time you pulled apart for air, breathless smiles on your lips, you could almost feel him about to invite you back to his place - and each time you kissed him just to stop him asking, until eventually his bus came and you announced its arrival in an unnecessarily stiff voice. It was torture, truly.

And unfortunately, you were still Out of Service the following Wednesday. With just over a week left of the autumn term, most of the university’s sports teams had played their final games that afternoon. So, naturally, between players still in their kits, cheerleaders in full uniform, and those who just knew that AU nights were sure to be messy (if you can’t be an athlete, be an athletic supporter, right?), the students union was packed that night.

Every window was steamed up, heat radiating off the masses of sweaty bodies squeezed inside and condensing on the glass, perpetually cold from the December air. A few choice illustrations were scattered across the windows lining the corridor that connected the main rooms on the first floor, phalli drawn crudely by drunken fingers. You only registered them briefly as you passed through, your mind elsewhere. Pre-drinks had run on a little longer than planned, after you had thrown a mild tantrum when none of your clothes looked right. You had declared you were never leaving the house again, until Liv and Mads spent a good half an hour telling you in no uncertain terms that you looked great and you needed to get a grip. And get a grip you did - around the neck of a bottle of prosecco, and soon enough your tummy was bubbling happily instead of cramping violently. Your mini-meltdown did mean that it was almost midnight by the time the three of you piled into the backseat of a cab, only just getting to the SU before security stopped letting people in. Time, then, was of the essence.

For the last week, you and Tom had been messaging almost constantly, whether it was over text or Snapchat. Mostly inconsequential stuff - Twitter threads he thought you’d find interesting, you asking if he’d mind if you strangled Harrison when you read over the final draft of your project and found out he hadn’t referenced any of his sources properly, screenshots from his weekly Sunday FaceTime with his dog, that sort of thing. Over the last couple of hours his messages had been coming in bursts - three at once, then nothing for forty-five minutes - as the rugby team set up camp in the pub to celebrate their win.

That was where you found him, telling the girls you’d text them to meet up later. Tom had told you where he was when you texted to say you were outside, but he needn’t have bothered - they were hard to miss, a dozen or so boys spread out across sofas and bar stools, making more noise than the rest of the room put together. Most were wearing some combination of shorts, rugby jerseys, tracksuit bottoms, and hoodies, all emblazoned with the Athletics Union logo. It had rained pretty heavily that afternoon, so those still in the kit they played in were splattered with dried mud, caking and cracking on their bare legs. You spotted Tom as you weaved through the crowd, hearing his laugh before you actually saw him.

Maybe it was because you were drunk, maybe it was your raging hormones, or maybe it was just because his hair was all curly from the rain and he looked really cute in his AU hoodie and grass-stained shorts, smiling at you as you approached - in any case, you really wished the rest of the team weren’t there because you wanted nothing more than to go over and kiss him. Alas, they were, the two either side of Tom jeering and shoving him teasingly when they caught him smiling at you. Had you not had such long predrinks, you might have felt self-conscious as you squeezed between two guys that seemed to be as tall as they were wide, feeling too many pairs of eyes on you. As it was, though, you had a sort of tunnel vision, guiding you in between pool tables and sofas until you got to Tom.

“Hey,” he beamed, pushing off the edge of the pool table he’d been leaning on to stand up straight as you approached him.

“Hi -”

You didn’t get out anymore than that (not that you had anything else planned), cut off by the guy to Tom’s right shouting as he pushed Tom towards you.

“Go on lad!”

Tom caught himself just before he slammed into you, his left arm flying out past you to grab the back of one of the sofas. The plastic cup in his other hand crumpled between your chests, but thankfully it was practically empty so you didn’t end up with snakebite all over your playsuit. It was a little jarring, sure, a little aggressive, but him being this close was actually kind of nice. Plus you were pretty sure you heard him mutter ‘fuck’ under his breath, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy hearing him swear like that, voice rough and right in your ear.

“Sorry,” he grimaced apologetically as he stepped back, his fingers grazing your hip as his arm returned to his side.

“S’okay,” you smiled. “D’you wanna go get a drink?”

His grimace twisted back to a grin as you smiled, nodding enthusiastically at the suggestion of another drink. You both looked in the direction of the bar, no clear path through the mass of students in sight.

“Erm…”

“Lead the way,” you gestured, trying (without much success) not to grin like an absolute idiot when Tom took your raised hand in his own, lacing your fingers together.

Together you weaved through the crowd towards the bar, Tom’s almost-empty cup shoved into the chest of the boy who pushed him into you as you passed (much to the enjoyment of the others around him). There was, of course, a queue for the bar, but you didn’t mind too much. In truth you probably didn’t need another drink just yet, you just needed an excuse to get away from the group.

“Sorry,” Tom said again once you joined the huddle of people waiting to be served. “About them, they’re dickheads...well they’re not, they’re alright really, but-”

“S’cool, my friends can be twats, too.” You chuckled, your face falling once you realised what you’d said. “Don’t tell them I said that.”

He nodded sagely, miming zipping his mouth shut, turning a lock and throwing away the key.

“Anyway, well done today.”

Truthfully, you didn’t know much about rugby, but Tom had told you they’d won 41 to 19, which sounded pretty good even to your untrained ear. He’d started talking about how it wasn’t really a fair match because it was their first team against the other uni’s second team, whatever that meant, but you’d been busy rummaging through Madison’s wardrobe for something to wear and by the time you texted back he’d moved on to asking what time you thought you’d be out, so naturally that took precedent.

“Thanks,” he smiled after miming unzipping his mouth - to which you rolled your eyes (but actually found rather endearing). “You’ll have to come and watch a match next term.”

Next term, huh? Sooo this is still gonna be a thing next term?

The queue moved forwards then, the people in front of you moving to the side to take the place left by the group leaving with their drinks, allowing you to reach the bar. There was only space for one, so you leaned on the counter and looked over your shoulder at Tom as he stepped in behind you.

“Only if it’s better weather - I’m not standing in the rain all afternoon.”

The person next to you left with their drinks, prompting another reshuffle at the bar, the girl behind it moving to the opposite end. You would have been annoyed - now you’d have to wait until she came back to your end - but Tom managed to elbow his way into the gap beside you so he was facing you, leaning against the bar.

“Not even for me?” he pouted, eyebrows raised above glassy eyes.

Literally fuck off why are you so fucking CUTE?!

You rolled your eyes. “We’ll see.”

“Yeah we’ll see, alright - we’ll see you in the pouring rain come February.”

“Hmm, okay, sure.”

You shifted as he laughed, feeling his eyes scanning over your face, down to your chest and back up again as you mirrored his position. You rested your forearm on the sticky surface of the bar to steady yourself as someone squeezed in behind you. He was very, very close then, practically chest to chest. You were also very close to the people around you, but you didn’t really notice them, you only noticed Tom’s hand on your waist - not exactly pulling you closer because you couldn’t really get any closer, but holding you where you were at least.

You glanced over his shoulder at the bar staff to see if they were likely to come over any time soon. It didn’t look like it, so you figured you might as well make good use of your time while you waited, right? So, resting your right hand on his chest, you closed the miniscule gap between you. In your inebriated state, jostled by the people around you, you missed your target slightly, your pouted lips just meeting the corner of Tom’s mouth.

Eh, close enough.

Your giggle against his lips was cut off as he kissed you back - properly this time. It was a little messy, as most drunken kisses are, all tongues and teeth and hands pulling at clothes, and so all-consuming, as most drunken kisses are, that you all but forgot where you were by the time you pulled apart for breath.

The deadpan expression of the girl behind the bar brought you back to reality pretty quickly though. Whoops.

Tom cleared his throat and you gave her an awkward smile before you ordered your drinks, thanking her when you ordered and again when you paid, hoping she wouldn’t skimp on the vodka just to spite you.

You following close behind, Tom cleared a path back through the crowd once you had your drinks. He turned to you once you were far enough away that he had space to do so, that easy smile you had become so fond of on his flushed face.

“D’you wanna go back to the others, or…?”

Absolutely not.

You pretended to think for a moment, before a grin spread across your face when you heard one of your favourite songs coming on in the clubroom next door. Tom just laughed as you grabbed his hand, pulling him into the other room to dance.

You couldn’t be sure how much time passed with you and Tom dancing together (read: kissing on the dancefloor and lazily grinding together whenever you took a break to breathe). Eventually you went outside to cool off - both literally because that many bodies packed into a room, dancing and breathing and whatever else makes for one sweaty environment, and figuratively, because you’d been dancing with your back to his chest and you were pretty sure there was something pressing against your ass, and you had to keep reminding yourself that despite the squirming feeling in the pit of your stomach, nothing was going to happen tonight. Nothing physical, at least.

You found Madison and Liv out in the smoking area under a halogen heater, talking animatedly with the other people around the circular picnic-style table. You vaguely recognised them, but not enough to know their names or anything about them, but they all moved up on Madison’s instructions to let you and Tom sit down, so you decided they were good people.

Squished together on the bench, you laced your fingers between Tom’s, your clasped hands resting on your thigh. You sat and talked as you cooled down - sometimes just to Tom, sometimes to Mads beside you, sometimes as part of a table-wide discussion - but his hand stayed in yours the whole time.

After a while you started to shiver, goose-bumps erupting all across your arms and legs, exposed to the winter air by your cute-but-not-seasonally-appropriate playsuit. Liv and Madison were in the middle of a story, bickering about some inconsequential detail, so most of the table were focused on them.

“You cold?” Tom murmured in your ear, his body close enough to yours that he only had to turn his head slightly to be able to speak low enough that only you could hear.

“Sort of.”

He laughed when you shrugged, and you shivered again - only not from the cold, his breath on your skin making all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. He asked if you wanted to go back inside, but after looking around the table you decided that, no, you didn’t really want to leave just yet.

“D’you want this?”

Tom tugged at the neck of his hoodie with his free hand, and you started to shake your head no, because then he’d be cold - but he was already letting go of your hand and pulling the hoodie over his head before you got the chance to protest. The jersey he had on underneath rode up a bit with the movement, but you pretended not to notice, choosing instead to focus on the fact that it had long sleeves and your playsuit had spaghetti straps, so you didn’t feel too bad about stealing his clothes. Taking it from him, you tried your best not to mess your hair up as you put it on. Tom was smirking when your head popped up over the neckline, though, so you guessed you weren't very successful.

“Thanks,” you giggled, tugging his hoodie down over your hips as he fixed your hair.

Whether their story had finished, or they just happened to pick that exact moment to look at you, you didn’t know, but either way Madison and Liv ‘aww’ed loudly beside you, drawing everyone’s attention to you.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” you groaned, bowing your head against Tom’s shoulder. “Sorry.”

He just laughed as he took your hand again, squeezing it gently. You took that to mean ‘it’s okay that your friends are really fucking embarassing, because mine are too and at least yours aren’t violent’, and thankfully the topic moved on quickly, drunk minds unable to stick to one thing for too long, so the attention was soon away from the two of you.

“Warm enough now?”

“Mmmhmm,” you hummed as he dropped your hand, leaning against him when he wrapped his arm around your back instead. “Thanks.”

You weren’t actually quite warm enough yet, but you were well on your way. The material of Tom’s hoodie was soft and heavy, and if you were sober you might have noticed that it smelled vaguely earthy and warm, a mix of dirt from his jersey and the amber base notes of his cologne still clinging to the fabric. As it was, you didn’t notice any of that, you were too busy wondering how the hell he’d been wearing it inside, especially with a long-sleeved jersey underneath.

“How were you not roasting inside in this?”

“Dunno,” you felt him shrug next to you. “Maybe cause m’wearin’ shorts?”

You looked down at his legs next to yours under the table, both yours and his bare below your mid-thighs. That didn’t really make sense because you weren’t too cold inside with the same amount of exposed leg and no hoodie or heavy jersey on top, but you didn’t really care anyway. It wasn’t important, so you just hummed in reply.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a moment, until someone across the table asked Tom a question about the match that afternoon. You just listened to him talk, barely registering how you were getting jostled as he gesticulated with his free hand, the other tucked under the hem of his hoodie where it rested on your hip. After being outside in the cold, and quite a while passing since your last drink, you had sobered up into a pleasantly drunk state, just a little sleepy and a lot happy.

You would have been happier if you could go home with Tom, but there wasn’t much you could do about that. You’d been prepared for this, but it didn’t make it any less annoying. His texts had been getting increasingly flirty as the afternoon became the evening and then became the night, post-match beers no doubt dulling his inhibitions. It had almost made you not want to go out - it was hard enough to make yourself go home after your date, how would you manage it when you were drunk? You knew that would have been a really stupid reason to miss a night out though, especially when it would probably be one of your last before exam season started. You’d made arrangements though, making Liv promise not to go home with Harrison because that would make it even harder to go home alone. She’d reluctantly agreed, although now you thought about it you hadn’t seen much of him anyway. You wondered vaguely if you’d seen him at all, the details of the night blurring together, and made a mental note to interrogate Liv later about their Relationship Status.

That wasn’t important just then anyway, and neither was what excuse you’d use to avoid going home with Tom. For the moment you’d just enjoy things as they were - a little blurry around the edges, a little loud and a little muddy, but comforting all the same.

⋘SIX | EIGHT ⋙

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#tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfic #tom holland imagine #tom holland fluff #tom holland x female reader

[dvp95]

quiet on widow’s peak (14)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester, pj liguori/sophie newton/chris kendall rating: teen & up tags: paranormal investigator, mystery, online friendship, slow burn, strangers to lovers, nonbinary character, trans character, background poly, phil does some buzzfeed unsolved shit and dan is a fan word count: 3.4k (this chapter), 46.4k (total) summary: Phil’s got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story.

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

"You're Martyn's brother, right?"

"Martyn is my brother," Phil corrects her, doing his best to keep a straight face. He's never met the teenager, but she'd been happy enough to get on Skype with him for his last-ditch attempt at getting some information that isn't useless. He's really running out of ideas, and he isn't sure how much longer he can stretch this case out. "And you're Frankie's sister."

"Frankie is my sister," she repeats. Her grin is wide, her teeth straight and lips painted a dark pink. Phil wonders how that colour would look on Dan.

Great. He'd managed a whole thirteen minutes of coordinating this Skype call without thinking about Dan. It's a new record at this point, and all it took to break it was the memory of how pretty Dan looked with lip stuff on.

"I'm going to start recording now," he says, getting his various windows all sorted before pressing the big red button on his software. "Can you state your name and connection to the case for us?"

"Sure. I'm Val and I'm one of the people responsible for the sigils in the Wilkins place attic."

Phil freezes. He hadn't known that. Val had simply confirmed that she and her friends had gotten in trouble for trespassing in September, and now Phil feels like an unprepared idiot for not seeing how connected she was to the mystery before he hit call. He wonders what Dan would say about that.

He checks the time again. Definitely less than thirteen minutes that time.

"Will you tell us a bit about sigils in your own words?" Phil asks. Maybe if he keeps her talking, he’ll have time to lasso his wandering mind back into place. "I've done my own research, of course, but I think it can be useful to hear it from someone who knows what they're talking about, y'know? Plus," he adds, giving her a conspiratory sort of smile, "then I can use your voiceover instead of recording one myself."

Val laughs and launches into a Sigils For Dummies explanation that Phil does his best not to interrupt. He asks some leading questions and mentions his own hit or miss experience with taking sigils into the house. For a teenager, she's surprisingly eloquent. Moreso than Phil is, anyway.

They talk a bit about the Wilkins place the way he had with the other people he's interviewed, because he's fairly certain that Val's testimony will be the only one that he actually ends up using for his video. He doesn't let himself feel any creeping sense of hope, though. She could still have nothing aside from some fun backstory, and this whole investigation could still be a failure.

Not just the investigation, either. Phil doesn't like to conflate his own worth with the content he produces, because there are always going to be people who are unhappy with what he does - including himself, more and more lately - and he can't be worrying about his future every time a video doesn't pan out the way he wants it to. Something about this case is making him feel that in a way he tries very hard not to on others. Maybe it's how close it is to home, quite literally, or just how helpless he'd felt while waiting for his friends to wake up.

This investigation could still be a failure, and so could Phil. He can't deny how entwined those are right now.

Phil knows he shouldn't be basing his decisions on something as volatile as a single YouTube video, not when he's usually comfortable posting anything that's entertaining, but he feels like the tide is coming in and he's going to get swept away unless he moves somewhere.

"So, back to your sigils specifically," says Phil. He's supposed to be taking notes or something, probably, but instead he's just doodling some half-assed sigils of his own.

"Yes. We heard about all the incidences and, while we were pretty sure that not everything going around was true, my friends and I wanted to check in and make sure. We did a couple of different rituals first, cleansing the space and trying to see if we could find the presence, but..." Val went quiet for a long moment. "Well. I don't know what exactly was in there, but there was something."

"What makes you so sure?" Phil asks quietly.

"Well, you can feel it," she says. She runs her hands over her own forearms, like she's a mime pretending to be cold. "Goosepimples. Hair on the back of your neck standing up. You keep wanting to turn around, but nothing is looking back at you from the darkness."

Phil keeps his own input rather impartial in interviews. There's no real reason to alert anyone to his own opinions on what might be going on - that's what the wrap-up is for.

So instead of telling Val that he felt everything she's talking about, he simply asks, "Is that all?"

"No," says Val. "No, the rituals we tried to do... it didn't work, Phil. And I know you might be thinking that rituals aren't supposed to work or that magic isn't real or something, but it's not just that nothing happened. It's that... it was like something was messing with them on purpose. My candles kept blowing out even though there wasn't a draught and Sammy's sage bundle just... disappeared. It really scared us, to be honest."

"Why didn't you just leave the place alone from then on?"

"We knew people weren't going to stop partying there," she says. "And that's... a choice, I guess. But we wanted to help if we could, so..."

"So you put the sigils on the floor," he says when she can only finish with a vague gesture. "I know that you can't tell me their exact meanings or anything, since you don't know them anymore, but can you give me a general gist of what you guys were trying to do?"

"Sure, yeah," she says, shifting around like she's getting comfortable in her chair. Phil can see an incense burner on her desk next to a perilous-looking stack of books, and he wishes he could light a candle or something. His room, and his parents' whole house really, has been smelling like nothing but cleaning supplies since he got here. "We took different roles, kind of? I focus on minor protection most of the time, so it was my job to make sigils that would sort of protect innocent people from coming into contact with whatever the entity was, while Sammy is more about healing and cleansing - she was trying to heal the house, I think. We tried not to talk about them in detail so we didn't fuck each other's things up, because the whole thing felt a bit too high-stakes for that."

Phil doesn't know nearly enough about sigils to know whether or not the ones in the attic were helpful or harmful, but he's glad he didn't have to talk to a bunch of teenagers trying to summon a demon or anything. For the second time this year.

"That's really good of you to try," Phil says with a little smile. He's trying to figure out exactly how he should play this one. "And you covered a good amount of the floor."

"Of course, that's when the cops got called," Val grins back.

"That's when the cops always get called," he says.

He's got a handful of other questions for her, but Val doesn't actually know much more about the Wilkins place that she hasn't already told him, and he doesn't want a lesson on protection magic today. She says that he can email her when the video is up, and to send her any other interesting magic cases he comes across in the future.

The future. Phil is trying not to think about that too much right now. He promises, anyway, and ends the call on a fairly light note.

He's got more of an idea how he wants this video to look, now that he's gotten one of the small mysteries solved. He exports the video and audio from the call separately, knowing he's going to use a good chunk of Val's answers as narration over the surviving footage. Not that he has much of that - just the tour of the house that he and his friends had gotten the first night and some more dark corners in VHS and Polaroid form. He knows that he can make a video out of what he's got.

The problem is that he also knows it won't be good enough.

Sure, it might be good enough for his audience - most of them, anyway, since he's got a pretty stubborn set of fans - but it isn't good enough for Phil.

His suspicion is confirmed after a couple more hours of cobbling together what survived into a rough edit, which he sends off to PJ. After a moment of thought, he adds a final line to the email.

P.S. I know you already told me that you aren't a gender guru and that was really funny and everything and I don't expect you to like educate me or whatever, but why do things get so effing complicated with it????? Like I had myself figured out and now I don't, and that sucks.

--

PJ calls him a little after dinner, lulling Phil into a false sense of security with questions and comments and suggestions about the video. Phil has almost forgotten about the postscript entirely, but then PJ cheerfully says, "So you're an idiot, huh?"

"Yeah," says Phil. "Wait, why?"

"What's so complicated about gender for you?" PJ asks, and Phil wishes he'd never answered the phone. "Are you questioning?"

"You know that I'm not," says Phil, rolling his eyes.

They've known each other for years, and PJ is his best friend, and there is no way in hell that he doesn't know exactly why Phil is Googling words he'd only ever thought about in passing before. He can practically hear PJ's smirk. He seriously considers hanging up before this gets even more humiliating.

"Yeah, I know, but thought I'd ask in case," says PJ. "It would be irresponsible of me as your token trans friend to act like I know how you feel about your own gender."

It's the first time that Phil has actually heard him use the word. He'd always imagined that PJ talked in riddles on purpose, like maybe he didn't actually want to use words for things when he could use extended metaphors and jokes instead, but it's possible that Phil just hadn't been paying enough attention, because PJ sounds ridiculously comfortable with saying it out loud.

"You're not my token anything," Phil says. He waits a beat, picturing PJ's skeptical expression, before he adds, "Dan's my friend, too."

"Dan," PJ repeats. "You've got it bad, my friend."

"What?"

"I can hear it in your voice. You already miss them, don't you? You've been spending all your spare time with them already, you absolute knob. And let me guess," PJ continues before Phil can even attempt to defend himself, "you've got it in your head that liking Dan makes you less gay?"

Phil touches the tip of his nose and then remembers that PJ can't actually see him.

"Maybe," Phil hedges. He knows that PJ is right and he's sure that PJ knows it too, but admitting that is a whole other beast. "And it's also, like... it isn't fair, is it?"

"Fair to who?"

Despite everything in Phil wanting to brush the subject off and start talking about ghosts instead, he takes a moment to consider the question. He supposes that it isn't fair to either of them, really. His feelings for Dan are throwing everything he knows about his sexuality into question and he doesn't know how to deal with that.

Because Phil is gay. He's very gay. He's known it for a long time, even if most of his family members are still in the dark about it, and he's never had reason to think about it like this before. Sure, he's had the usual fantasies of how much easier things would be if he were straight, but he's never actually wanted to be. Maybe he doesn't talk about it the way some people do, but that's because it's far from the most interesting thing about him. Phil has never really considered it other peoples' business.

That doesn't change the fact that it's a fundamental part of him.

Someone who's gorgeous and tall and has big hands that fit ridiculously well into Phil's own shouldn't be enough to throw a wrench in that certainty. But they have, and Phil can't keep acting like they haven't.

PJ is being patient, waiting for Phil to find the words. There's some kind of video game music on his end that Phil can't immediately place, and Phil has a weird moment of homesickness for PJ and the Brighton house, even though it hasn't been that long since they were there together.

"It's not fair to anyone," Phil eventually says. "I think it's pretty obvious why it isn't fair to me, but it isn't fair to Dan either."

"Humour me," says PJ. "Why isn't it fair?"

"Dan isn't... a man," Phil says, slow. He pulls a face at his ceiling, knowing how clumsy he sounds right now. "And I don't think I'd like them if they weren't..."

"You wouldn't be attracted to them if they had a typically feminine body, right?" PJ asks, and then immediately continues as if Phil had answered. "That's not unfair, Phil. I seriously doubt Dan would be bothered by it."

"We don't know them that well," says Phil. It feels a bit like a lie, because he feels like he does know Dan fairly well at this point, but he needs PJ to understand where he's coming from with this. "And I don't know if they'd even be comfortable enough to tell me if they were bothered."

There's a long moment where the only sound is Phil's own breathing and the music of PJ's video game - Spyro, Phil realises - but PJ breaks it in a mild sort of tone. "I get that. Like, I really do get it. You might not think I get it, but I get it. Thing is... I've been somewhere like this. Because I met Soph after I was already living as a guy, right, but I thought she was totally straight at the time. She thought so too, actually, but I know she's felt a lot more connected to the community for a while now. And I didn't know... how to tell her. Because what if she totally freaked? That's not exactly a low risk, y'know."

Phil is far from an expert, but he does know that much. He's well aware of some of the numbers out there, knows that it can end in more than just hurt feelings when trans people come out to their partners, but he'd never once considered that PJ dealt with that. He feels a bit stupid for it. Sophie - and Chris, he supposes, even if he doesn't particularly know the intricacies there - isn't PJ's first foray into dating. Yeah, they've been together as long as Phil has known him, but that's not an excuse.

"Sorry," says Phil, hoping it sounds as sincere as he feels. "That, um. That sounds like it sucks."

"Oh, it totally sucks," PJ laughs. "And that's why I can say that you're freaking out for no reason. I mean, your own shit, whatever, you can run yourself in circles for months if you really want to, but the Dan thing? It's unfair not to tell them how you feel, Phil. They've been out for a little while now, they know how this works as well as I do. Sometimes there are compromises."

"I don't want anyone to compromise an identity," says Phil. He can't explain why that makes him so on edge. It would take too long, and he knows that his friends are various degrees of fluid when it comes to their attractions, so there's no guarantee of them understanding at all. It's not that he's being stubborn or close-minded or anything; it's that he's gay. "Peej, I'm a Kinsey fucking six. Telling Dan I have feelings for them is opening a bucket of worms that I don't know if I could close again."

"A can."

"What?" Phil asks, thrown.

"A can of worms, you fucking buffoon."

"Why would worms be in a can?"

"The - you know what, Phil? I can't have a conversation like this with you right now." PJ is doing his best attempt at a serious voice, but Phil can hear him trying not to laugh. "Tell Dan you like them. They like you."

Phil sighs. "I know. That's part of the issue here."

"I don't see an issue," says PJ. "You like them, they like you. Go... like each other."

"It's not that simple."

"It's never really that simple," PJ says, giving in to the laughter. Phil smiles at the unrestrained sound. "You think what I've got going on right now was simple in the beginning?"

"I don't like to put much thought into what you've 'got going on right now'," Phil admits. "But... no. You just make it look easy."

PJ cracks up properly. Phil can't help grinning, too, because PJ's Muppet laugh is always a bonus to saying something ridiculous. PJ waits until he's got his breath back before he says, "Phil. You're kind of a moron."

"I accept that," says Phil. "And before you get your lecturing pants on again, I know that it would be best to talk to Dan about this. I'm just..."

"Scared?"

Phil wants to deny it. He almost does, knee-jerk, but the problem is that PJ knows him too damn well for that. He knows that Phil worries about everything to the point that he's got medication to help with the anxiety spirals, and he also knows that Phil isn't exactly jumping to think or talk about his feelings at any given moment. It's normally a bit like pulling teeth, both for Phil and for the person trying to connect with him.

But PJ knows him. So he says, "Yeah. More scared of that than of the house."

--

The lighting isn't as good as Phil has in his room, back in Brighton, but he brings all the lamps he can find into his childhood bedroom to make sure he's decently visible on the viewfinder. He doesn't do a lot of talking to the camera without any external stimulus - the only times he's sitting still and addressing the audience directly is when he's doing the wrap-ups at the end of each video. Sometimes he does an intro as well, but it's usually able to be replaced with some good B footage and voiceover. Phil fixes his hair for the millionth time and takes a deep breath before he presses the record button.

He tells his audience what happened, the night that's been lost. He explains everything, every vibe that felt wrong and every terrifying moment in the attic, every file that he can no longer access. Even as he's saying it, he can imagine what the comment section is going to look like.

"I won't blame the lot of you if you don't believe me. I'll put what it looked like when we tried to access the files on the screen now. The corruption was on our devices, though, and we couldn't retrieve anything."

Another deep breath. They're still not going to believe him.

"And that's okay," he adds. "I'm not here for you guys to take my words as, like, facts or whatever, and it's not my job to convince anybody. I'm just here to tell a good story. I wish it had a more conclusive ending, but I'm sure you're already bickering in the comments about what we all experienced, or if you think we experienced anything at all. So tell me what you guys think, and let me know - do you think I should keep imposing on my parents to investigate this some more or is the Wilkins place a story to leave alone?"

He'd normally start to do his like-and-subscribe routine after that, but he pauses.

"And I wanted to say a really big thank you to everyone who helped me with this project, but especially to Winnie. They really went above and beyond in sending me this one, and I'm not going to forget that."

Phil gives the camera an awkward sort of smile. He might not leave that bit in, but he needed to say it.

#quiet on widow's peak #words words words

[chasseurdeloup-retired]

The Fast and Furious: Stripe Drift || Jane and Kaden

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Kaden’s apartment and then some fun travel PARTIES: @jane-the-zombie and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: FOLLOW THAT MIME! CONTENT WARNING: Reckless driving (motorcycle)

Kaden was running out of sick leave, but he couldn’t possibly go to the station or the shelter covered in black and white stripes. The field would be just as bad. But somehow work had to get done. He could do desk duty from home, right? Only, uh, well, he needed his files. Or anything. There was no way in hell he was calling Gary. He already felt like shit, the last thing he needed in his life was Gary. He sure as shit wasn’t calling Stryder and he had a feeling Sarge was going to have more questions than was worth his time. Which left Wu. He just had to figure out how to get the files without her seeing him. At all. Not even a little. He asked her to leave them at the door. So why was his phone ringing? “Hello? Wu? Are you bringing the files? You can just leave them at the doorstep. I’m very sick, super contagious. Really best if you just drop them off.” he said, adding in a few coughs for extra effect.

“I’m outside, Paw Patrol,” Jane replied, leaning against her bike, files tucked under her arm. Last thing she expected to do today was pick up desk duty for animal control. She pinched the bridge of her nose. Those coughs sounded as real as could be, and she didn’t really feel like walking all the way up to Kaden’s apartment building. “Come on Langley, come and get’em, I don’t really give a shit if you give me cooties or whatever?” If she didn’t know any better, Jane would have accused him of playing hooky. And if she didn’t know that Kavanagh would rather cheerfully throw herself out a second story window rather than miss work, she’d tease him about wanting to spend more time with his girlfriend by pretending to be sick.

“Outside?” Kaden said, his heart dropping to his stomach. He couldn’t have her see him like this. Leaving the apartment hadn’t gone well before, but at least he hadn’t run into anyone he knew. This, Wu? She’d never let him live it down. “Can’t you just stop being an asshole and drop them off? I’m not feeling w--” A chill ran down his spine. The one that meant a werewolf was nearby. Or maybe… “Hold on.” He grabbed his scarf, gloves, and jacket despite the heat, trying to cover up what he could, and peeked out of the door. There was a scuttle, a familiar inhuman movement. A small creature on all fours. The mime that had emerged from the cookies. It was at least ten inches tall now. And it was booking it. “Putain!” He reached inside to grab a knife, but when he looked back, the creature was gone. “Get back here!” he yelled, forgetting the phone was still in hand as he ran down the stairs to try and find the thing. He saw it stretch and morph, pulling itself through the underside of the door. Fast. Far too fast. He ran after it, watching it crawl past Wu and her motorcycle. “Not this time, connard! Not this fucking time!”

Jane was about to mock Kaden for being a big baby when something distracted him… And then he was yelling. “Langley? Langley!” She snapped into the phone, and started striding right to the front door, only for a cat to slip out, followed by Kaden. A striped Kaden. She hung up the phone. “Are you striped?!” Jane asked in amused disbelief, except then she got a good look at what she originally called a cat. “What is that! What is that! Argh!” This was the bad place. The thing stretched and skittered across the pavement way too quickly for it to ever be possible. “WHat the hell is that!” It seemed to grow just a bit bigger, it’s black and white body a stark contrast against the pavement. Jane was moving after it before she even realized what happened, and next thing she knew she was at her bike, chucking the helmet she didn’t wear at Kaden. “Hop on, let’s go.”

Oh fuck, Kaden almost forgot he was striped and covered in the stupid face paint. Almost. Either way, Wu sure reminded him. “Maybe. It’s not by choice, alright! We gotta follow that--” Before he could finish his sentence, he found himself catching a helmet. A helmet? For what? He looked down at it, then back up at her. And her motorcycle. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Wu. There’s no way I’m getting on that thing with y--” Out of the corner of his eye, Kaden saw the creature scurrying away, further and further, about to be just out of vision. A string of French curse words flew out of his mouth as he shoved the stupid fucking helmet on his head and climbed onto the stupid fucking bike behind Wu. “You better drive saAAAAAAAAFE,” he screamed as she took off speeding, his arms barely locked around her before she started.

“You said the same thing about the rollercoaster!” Jane laughed - yes, laughed. She wanted to figure out what that thing was, despite everything. She just barely waited for Kaden to grab onto her before she revved the bikes engine and was off like a shot. The damn thing only seemed to go faster and faster and faster. Jane was known for speeding - in fact, she frequently pushed the bike up to 90-100 miles per hour at night with no helmet on. She caught up easily, gaining on the stupid little mime thing. “What is that!” Jane didn’t know if he could hear her scream over the sound of the bike, the adrenaline and - oh crap, was he screaming too? - Jane wove around a large pickup truck, hardly paying attention as the driver laid on the horn. Come on, come on, come on! And then they took a sharp turn down another large stretch of road. “Will this thing ever stop running?!”

Kaden felt his stomach rolling and reeling as the motorcycle darted through traffic. Putain de fucking merde, was that a truck? That truck almost cut them off. He was going to die. This is how he died. Not by werewolf, mime, or even by banshee, but a fucking motorcycle driven by an almost zombie adrenaline junkie cop. “Slow down, what the fuck! THAT’S A CAR, THAT’S A-- STOP!” he shouted while she clearly ignored him and sped around with no cares in the world. Meanwhile, he was pretty sure he was one fucking swerve away from a heart attack. “And where the fuck is your helMEEETTT.” The sharp angle of the turn nearly sent him spilling off the edge and his arms wrapped around her tighter. He was likely using entirely too much hunter strength but right now he didn’t give a fuck if he bruised one of her ribs or two, he wanted to live. “I don’t fucking know but try not to kill us!”

“My helmet’s on your head!” Jane called back. But it wasn’t like she wore it anyway. She really only carried it around because Marley bought it for it and gave her a look every time she saw her not wearing the damn thing. The only reason she slowed down a little was because Kaden had a death grip on her torso. “Ow - ow - ow! Can you stop! Loosen up!” This wasn’t at all like when she rode with Marley. Except she didn’t have time to think about the pain in her ribs because the fucking mime thing burst off the road and into the field. And, automatically, Jane followed. She surged the bike off the road and down onto the dirt bellow, careening after the fucking thing like it was some really fast rabid dog. “Hold on tight! We’re off roading!”

“I loosen up when you slow the fuck down!” Kaden screamed in her ear. It surely didn’t hurt as much as any time Regan screamed ever, but he hoped it hurt a fucking little after the sheer amount of fucking panic he was experiencing. “We’re what?” Kaden asked as his eyes went wide. Was she really turning onto the dirt. Off the road? Off the-- They were going off of the road. Away from the road. “No,” was all he said at first. And then the ride got bumpier and it was clear she wasn’t turning around. “No, no, no. Wu, no. WU, NO!” All Kaden could do was scream more as they flew through the dirt and grass, his voice breaking up and bouncing with every jostle of the motorcycle. At this point, he was almost okay with letting the fucking thing live. It was fine. He could be a mime forever so long as he never had to do this again.

Dirt, grass, and small rocks kicked off behind them as she sped through the field abd after the mime fiend. Jane watched in some horror as the mime stopped, stood upright…. And then melted into what looked like a black sticky substance. “Uh-oh.” Jane was going too fast to stop, and next thing she knew, they were flying through the sauce on the bike. The bike slid, and for 10 solid seconds, Jane was certain they were going to crash. At least Kaden’s wearing the helmet. But Jane steadied them, swinging the bike around as dirt and mud sprayed back behind them before forcing the bike to jerk to a stop. Jane cut the engine just as she spotted the black, sticky sauce moving across the ground, before disappearing down into a nearby drain. Jane pressed her lips together in a thin line, before wincing. Her ribs? Bruised. But maybe she deserved it. Her thoughts sobered a little when Daniel’s voice echoed in her head -- you’re out of control, Wu. She looked behind her, a little guiltily. “How you doing, Paw Patrol?”

Kaden was pretty sure his screams reached a new decibel as the bike spun out of control. It was nearly impossible to remember that he had to be conscious not to break Wu’s ribs as he clung onto her. It slowed and he thought it might have stopped, but he couldn’t tell because his world was still spinning. Was he seeing this right? Did the mime monster turn to ooze? And, yaah, pretty sure it slithered away. “What the fuck?” he said at the sight of the sauce disappearing into the drain. Then he remembered. They were stopped. He let go of Wu, scrambled off the bike as quickly as possible and considered heaving right then and there. “What the fuck, Wu?!” she said back to her, shouting once again. “Were you trying to get us killed?! Do you normally do this?! Why?! WHY?! I know you’re going to bounce the fuck back but I’m not! And why aren’t you wearing a helmet, if your head gets damaged you won’t come back at all! If you end up as a fucking pancake on the side of the road, no amount of zombie anything is going to let you live!” Kaden screamed again and turned to let a new slew of curse words in multiple languages fly while he tried to get his pulse back down to a respectable fucking level.

Jane winced as Kaden started screaming at her, talking about pancakes and zombies and helmets as well as a multitude of colorful things in multiple languages that she only half-understood. Crap. “Hey, hey! You said follow the mime!” Jane said, hands raised in slight defense. Of course, he was right, but she wasn’t about to easily admit that. “I only own one helmet, I thought it would be better for you to wear it instead of me.” Jane prodded at her ribs, wincing again, before glancing back at him. “Sorry, though. I would have gone myself if I knew you weren’t going to like it. I do normally drive like that - hey.” Jane squinted, leaning forward. Something was off about his face - wait. Wait. “The stripes are gone. Off your face.” She leaned against the seat of her bike, pointing. “You’re clean.”

“I know what I said but I didn’t think you would drive like th-- Wait, what?” Kaden looked down and took the gloves off his hands. His hands. That were flesh colored. And not striped. No black, no white. Pink fleshy skin tone and blue veins. He squished it a bit to make sure. He pulled up his sleeves to check and still, no sign of stripes. “I’m clean? Putain, I’m clean! No more stripes. What about my face? Is my face okay, too?” He pulled out his phone and fumbled with the screen until he opened the front facing camera. There was his face. No paint. No dumb black triangles or silly eyebrows painted on. “The screaming worked, holy shit!” Regan was right! Again! Somehow! He ran over to Wu and picked her up into a hug. “No more stripes!” he said, beaming. And recalling pretty quickly that he bruised her ribs. And that she was his colleague. “Right, sorry. Just excited,” he said as he quickly put her down. “It didn’t go away for a few days, so yeah. Uh, ride back? Slower? Much, much slower.”

“Your face is fine too - oh.” Jane watched in amusement as he pulled out his phone to look at his face. “The screaming? What do you me - Whoa!” And Kaden has seized her, picking her up in a big hug that hurt her ribs. Laughing loudly, Jane shook her head. “Hey! Ow! Put me down!” But her words mixed with laughter as he seemed to sheepishly put her down. She snorted. “No kidding, huh? I guess what they say about Hunters having a killer grip is true.” She poked at her ribs again, feeling the pain shoot through them. Ouch. That was going to hurt for a bit. Well, she certainly had worse. Jane grinned at him when said she could drive back, bending to pick up the helmet off the ground and held it out to him. “Don't worry, I promise I'll only speed a little.”

#wickedswriting #writing #chatzy #janethezombie #jane #fast and the furious stripe drift

[divineluce]

Grounded || Ulfric & Luce

Location: Al’s diner

Timing: May 26th, 2020

Tagging: @big-bad-ulf and @divineluce

Description: Luce and Ulfric have a less than successful heart-to-heart. More of a guard-to-guard.

With a tired smile at the waitress who led them to their booth, Luce took a seat on one side, the material of her jeans sliding against the vinyl. “Thanks for lunch,” She said with an attempt at her typical grin and a flick of her hair over her shoulder. “Consider us working towards getting even.” As they sat there for a moment, Luce stared at her hands, at the small triangles tattooed onto her middle fingers. The alchemical symbol for fire. Her fire. She hadn’t really sat down to think about what had happened in the woods with the blue flames that had erupted from her hands. But, ever since that morning, she’d been unable to conjure up any other kind of flame. Her power hadn’t been diminished-- if anything, it was a stronger, hotter flame. But, the blue remained, no matter how she tried to channel the energy. Realizing that she’d just been staring at her hands for a while, Luce cleared her throat and looked across the table at her boss. “I hope those wards haven’t had to be put to use yet.”

It had been awhile since Ulfric had been to Al’s, not since before he’d found out Celeste worked there. But he missed his old haunt, and he’d grown accustomed enough to the former hunter’s presence that it wouldn’t be enough to stop him from enjoying his favourite lunch spot anymore. “You’re welcome, I know we’ve got a long way to go.” He replied, sinking into the familiar worn leather booth across from Luce. “Not yet fortunately, purposely or accidentally.” He assured her, the map she’d drawn out had made sure of the latter. He wanted to say something about her drawn out pause, and even more about her disappearance. It wasn’t like her, she’d always had a wildness to her that he appreciated, but she’d never just blown things off like that. He fiddled with the napkin dispenser absentmindedly, unsure how to bring it up, they usually stuck to banter not earnest heart-to-hearts. “The jewellery your sisters set us up with has come in handy, though.” He continued after a moment, thinking that was a logical, neutral topic to follow the one she’d brought up, and one that might provide some insight into if there was something going on with her at home. “I still need to think of a way to properly thank them.” 

“Damn right we do.” Luce responded, though the words lacked her usual warmth or joking tone. She was just… going through the motions. It was all she could do to try and maintain the cocky bravado that usually came so easily to her. Now, in the wake of… Bea’s death? Her emotions were raw. She was exhausted, physically, mentally, emotionally. Weariness had settled into her bones, into the very core of who she was. But, she had to stay strong. Strong for Nell, for her only sister. “I’m glad to hear that.” She said with a nod. Running her hands over the laminated tabletop, she traced shapes onto the surface with her fingertip. Geometric patterns, wards, meant to call forth an inferno of flame and heat and death. But, without her pouring power into it, she was just drawing invisible designs onto the table. At the word “sisters,” her finger came to an abrupt halt, her blood running cold. Doing her best to recover, she wiped a nonexistent crumb off the table before nodding. “Yeah. I’m glad they could help. Don’t-- don’t worry about it. You don’t need to thank them.” She said, hoping her voice didn’t catch on the word “them.” There was no them. There was only her and Nell.

“Sure, I don’t have to, but I’d like to,” Ulfric countered, noticing her stammer. He probably could have picked up on an increased heart rate too if he’d been listening, but it would be rude to invade her privacy that way, when he considered her a friend. “Occasionally I do feel like being nice to someone just because I want to, it isn’t alway about being professional or… whatever else.” He vaguely alluded to the deep sense of pack loyalty he figured she was now at least a little aware of. “I just thought you might be able to give me intel on what kind of things they like, so I don’t send them something embarrassingly cliche like a crystal ball, or something.” Perhaps he was pushing the topic a little, but he did genuinely plan on sending them a proper thank you gift soon. A waitress carrying a pot of coffee strode past and he waved her down, to refill both of their cups. “You look like you could use some,” He suggested, hiding concern behind the light ribbing. “You never told me what you were drinking that night, anyway? Seemed like strong stuff.”

Luce’s lips pressed together in a tight lipped line as she glanced from her boss out the window of the diner. Outside, she could see people walking down the street. The sun was shining, there were birds flying from roof to roof of the various buildings, the flowers were in bloom. Further down the road, she could see a mother and her daughter walking down the road, hand in hand. A lump formed in her throat. She and Nell had decided not to tell their mother what had happened-- how could they? How could they tell her that kind of news, over the phone, when she was half a world away? Ulfric’s words filtered in through her thoughts and she let out a surprised chuckle. “Yeah… Maybe no crystal balls.” Swallowing, Luce nodded as she looked at the tabletop again. “Nell likes plants, she keeps a greenhouse. Something for that would be nice. Bea… candles. Candles are always good.” She said, forcing the words out as quickly as she could manage, as though the less time she spent thinking about them, the easier it would be to say. “Coffee sounds good.” She said with a polite nod and quiet thank you at the waitress who poured her a mug. “Uh… whiskey. Just whiskey.” Just lots of whiskey.

Ulfric smiled at Luce’s chuckle, glad that whatever was going on that she didn’t want to show, he’d still brought her a little amusement. “That’s much better than anything I would’ve come up with on my own,” he thanked her sincerely for her suggestions, making a note to pick out stop by the market on the  weekend to pick something out for them both. Ulfric muttered thanks to the Waitress as well, and reclined further back into his seat, staring into his coffee and making every effort to sound casual as he asked, “And what was the occasion? Did your mime self ask you for a second date?” He joked, thinking maybe she’d let slip a bit more if he leant into keeping things light and humorous. “You know, the last woman I went out with actually ran away from me. Not that our outing counted as a date,” He clarified, taking a long sip of black coffee. “But, clearly I could benefit from some pointers from an expert.”

“Yeah. Yeah, no problem.” Luce managed with a nod as she poured creamer into her coffee and watched as blooms of light brown appeared in the mug of dark coffee. Stirring it with her finger, she didn’t even feel the way the heat burned against her skin. Instead, she just lifted the mug to her lips and took a drink. This was… normal. This was fine. She could hold it together for lunch with Ulf. She could do this. The coffee was scalding, but the bite of pain was a welcome relief to the numbness that had consumed her over the past four days. “No, nothing that fun and exciting. Just the… usual.” She said with a weak grin. Ulf had thought she’d just… cut loose for the weekend. She couldn’t blame him. She didn’t usually text him that she wouldn’t be in for work, not unless she was absolutely trashed after a night of debauchery and excess. The mention of Ulf’s own “not a date” situation felt like a buoy in the midst of a sea and she latched onto it as enthusiastically as she could. “Oh really? How’d you manage that one, huh? You didn’t try and convince her to try some pickled herring or something, did you?” She asked, doing her best to play up the teasing nature of her words. She could do this, she could make it through lunch. 

“Hmm,” Ulfric hummed skeptically at her non-explanation, eyes narrowing slightly over the coffee cup at the contradictory state of her. Luce was clean, and dressed in her usual style, but the clothes were decidedly more rumpled than usual. The dark hollows under her eyes spoke of little sleep, and if he looked carefully he could make out various small bruises and scrapes that were reminiscent of someone who’d run through a dense thicket of woodland without wearing protective clothing or having the benefit of supernatural healing. He felt a little skeevy, assessing her in a way he normally reserved for hunters when he was trying to learn their weaknesses. But if he was doing it out of concern, and planned to use the information gathered to make things easier for her than surely a little clue collecting was okay? “It tastes better than you think. There are even sweet versions some people consider a treat,” he defended his national delicacy. “But no, she gave the classic, ‘It’s not you, it’s the smoke monster’. It’s… a long story,” he told her, enjoying the warm response he was getting, even if it was only because he’d given her ammunition to make fun of him with. It seemed like she needed it, since she wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders. “You had to be there.” 

“I highly doubt that making it sweeter would make it any better.” Luce said, wrinkling her nose, “And this is coming from a girl who grew up eating korkorec, I feel like I really gave it the old college try. There’s just something off about the after taste that I can’t handle.” She said, thinking back to some of the traditional dishes that her mother had fed their family growing up. Which only brought a fresh wave of pain-- Bea had cooked like their mother. She’d cooked with more variety to her dishes, but there had been nights when Luce would come back from a shift and smell her sister’s iskembe corbasi wafting through the house, a bowl of hearty soup waiting for her in the microwave. “Uh huh? The smoke monster? You sure now how to show a girl a good time, don’t you.” She said with a shake of her head and another long sip from her coffee mug. “Maybe, but if you’re out there pulling moves on a lady, I’d really rather not.”

Ulfric shrugged, he would just have to bring another flavor to the Ink Inc. Yule Party this year, then she would change her mind. “There weren’t any moves,” he protested, beginning to regret creating this conversational trap for himself. “But fair enough. Look, I think we’re getting a little off track…” he started hesitantly, downing most of the remaining coffee in one gulp. “I asked you here because I got the sense that you might not be entirely… alright. And that’s alright, if they’re not, I just wanted to know if there was anything I could do?” He sighed, he’d never been any good at these kinds of speeches, it was much easier for him to leap into action than any discussion of feelings. “I know you’ll handle… whatever it is, but if I can do something to make it easier along the way, let me know? I need to work off my debt of favors somehow.”  He thought it might make it simpler for Luce to accept or refuse his help if he said it was for that reason, though as he’d mentioned earlier it wasn’t always about obligation, there was care behind it too. 

“Well, there’s your problem. No moves means no game.” Luce joked but the attempt at easy bravado faded when Ulfric changed the subject. Hands clasping the coffee mug tightly, her shoulders tensed as she waited for the shoe to drop. What was he going to ask? What was she going to say? What could she say? That… that Bea was dead? No. No, she couldn’t… Not here. Not now. But, as he began to talk, his voice soft and compassionate as he tried to offer her as much support as he could, Luce couldn’t help but wonder. If not here, where? If not now… when? And if not with Ulf, one of the people she trusted the most, one of the people she held in such high regard… who? The coffee in her cup began to boil and froth, the sound jolting her from her thoughts. Releasing the burning ceramic cup from her hands, Luce stared at the table for a moment before speaking, “No, things aren’t alright. And I don’t know if they’re ever going to be alright again. But,” Luce took a deep breath before looking at her boss from behind sad, tired eyes, “Thank you. For asking. There’s nothing you can do, but, thank you.” 

Ulfric flinched back quickly, dodging boiling coffee as it spilled over onto the table, but otherwise didn’t call Luce out on it. “Okay, I understand,” he said simply instead, swallowing any disappointment that he wasn’t able to be of more service after she’d been so helpful dealing with the Bennett situation. Whatever was affecting her it wasn’t about him. The waitress passed again eyeing the mess. “Sorry, I get clumsy,” he took the blame, slipping an extra tip in with the bill before starting to wipe it up with a fistful of napkins. “No harm in asking, right? See you back in the shop as usual tomorrow?” 

Watchng the way he flinched back, Luce mentally kicked herself for losing control like that. She shouldn’t have lost her cool like that. Grabbing some napkins, she also began to sop up the boiling liquid, not at all bothered by the heat. “Thank you. Really,” Luce said quietly as she cleaned. “It means a lot to me, that you’d offer to help. Means a lot to… my family. But, this is something I have to handle myself.” She said before shutting her mouth as the waitress came by. Typical Ulf, taking the fall for her. What a guy… He deserved to have someone better working for him. As Luce gathered up the coffee soaked napkins into a pile, she glanced over at him. “Yeah. I’ll be there.” She’d be there for Ulfric. She couldn’t let him down. She’d already let down so many others, she couldn’t drop the ball here too. “Bright and early.”

#p: ulfric haakonsson #p: g #wickedswriting

[mithranqueersmusings]

Baby, You’re A Rich Man XIX

Chapter: 19/28

Rating: T

Summary: Ringo could never understand why that group of three boys made him feel so uncomfortable, or why the way George looked at him sent him into a panic. After a chance encounter Ringo discovers the truth and has no clue what to do with the information.

Tags: AU - Gangsters, Slow Burn, Smut, Eventual Romance, Violence, Angst

Pairings: George Harrison/Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul McCartney

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

"I think this calls for a celebration!" Paul shouted excitedly when they left the house and climbed back into George's car.

The excitement of the whole ordeal was still rushing through Ringo, his heart beating faster than normal and his fingers were itching for a cigarette. George held his hand tightly as they sat in the front, both of them with ridiculously large grins on their faces.

"What did you have in mind?" John asked, he seemed the most excited out of all of them.

"I say we head out for a real fab dinner, proper fancy like, since we're all big spenders now, eh Ringo?" Paul winked at him when he turned round with a smile "Then head out to the clubs, get borderline unconscious and see where the night takes us."

"Well you know I can't say no to that." John said with a grin.

"Not to put a downer on things, but can we at least get some sleep first?" George asked as he drove the car back onto the street "I'm still pretty knackered from last night."

"Sure, that's the reason you need to rush Ringo back to bed." John giggled like a child.

"I'm too tired even for that." George laughed.

"Poor Ringo, after all he's done for you." John frowned dramatically which made Ringo laugh.

"I dunno, I'm family now so isn't that technically incest?" Ringo joked.

"Ew, don't put it like that, please." George mimed throwing up.

"George you can't go around calling people 'daddy' then complaining about incest." Paul smirked, earning a proud look from John.

"Daddy?" Ringo asked surprised with a grin on his face, George was turning bright red.

"Wow, thanks for that Paul. Really appreciate it." George kept his focus on the road but the blush in his face wouldn't die down, yet he was still smiling.

"Uh oh, did Paulie say something amiss?" John smiled "Can't believe you haven't broken that one out yet, George."

"Remind me why I'm friends with you two again?" George couldn't look at Ringo in this moment.

"Because if you weren't we'd go airing your dirty laundry around." Paul laughed "And we've got baskets full."

"Who knows - maybe tonight's the night!" John was almost in stitches.

"No need to be embarrassed, George." Ringo teased, nudging his boyfriend playfully who finally turned to him with a smile.

"It's not like that with me and Ringo, alright? If you must know." George was trying to sound serious but John's laughter was too contagious.

"No way..." Paul gasped "You're telling me-"

"George, my boy, you're all grown up!" John cackled "Never thought I'd see the day."

"Fuck off the both of you." George glared.

"Sounds like you're doing all the fucking!" John was rolling around with laughter.

"Who could've guessed?" Paul had tears forming in his eyes.

"Come on now, lads, that's enough of that." Ringo said somewhat sternly but his tone was light "I'm sure George has got some right nasty stories about you two that he's trying very hard not to blurt out right now."

"I've got nothing to hide." John said with a smirk.

"We both know that's not true, Lennon." George smirked at him in the rear-view mirror.

"I don't like where this is headed." Paul said.

"Shoes on the other foot now, eh Paul?" Ringo chuckled.

"No, no I wouldn't dare." George held his nose up dramatically to feign his moral superiority "Our friendship is just too important to me."

"If you call what we did 'friendship' then Ringo must be getting a real lavish treatment." John giggled again.

"I won't deny it." Ringo smiled.

"Alright, alright, let's lay off now." Paul sat up straight "There'll be plenty of time for us to humiliate each other at dinner."

"Oh good, I'll make a list." John joked.

"You do that Johnny boy." George smirked.

There was a pause before Ringo spoke "This isn't gonna end in a big orgy is it?"

The whole car burst into laughter then, Ringo included.

"Not unless you ask nicely, Ringo." John wiggled his eyebrows playfully.

"In your dreams." George said, Ringo wondered how he was able to still drive with all this chaos going on.

The drive back to George's continued in this manner, the four of them joking and laughing with one another with Paul or Ringo eventually having to step in before it went too far. Ringo was surprised with how normal the conversation felt to him, with the three of them talking and joking openly about their sexual experiences. Granted, he'd spoke to his mates about girls he'd slept with but it was always somewhat awkward and a desperate show of masculinity. Now, Ringo felt completely at ease hearing in excruciating detail how John lost his virginity, or how George got cramp during his first time and almost cried in embarrassment. Even if the aspect of George having his first sexual experiences with his two closest friends was strange at first to Ringo, now he saw no issue with it as it was clear that Paul and John loved each other very much and that George had eyes for nobody but him.

When they finally arrived back at George's, they all had tears in their eyes from laughing so much. They all clambered out of the car still in hysterics and haphazardly greeted the doorman on their way in. Into the lift they all squeezed, John resting his head on Paul's shoulder as he fought off sleep. Ringo couldn't wipe the smile off his face, his cheeks and stomach hurt from all the laughing. The familiarity of George's flat was very welcome and they all collapsed comfortably onto various pieces of furniture; Ringo thought about how he'd likely be spending all of his time here now, with these three, if he was going to be living on their floor and he couldn't think of anything he'd rather do.

"Where are we gonna eat tonight?" George asked, taking off his jacket and tossing it lazily onto the floor.

"Maybe Ringo should choose." Paul suggested, he was sitting in John's lap when all eyes turned to Ringo.

"Oh... I dunno. I don't really know any fancy places." Ringo said sheepishly.

"Who says it has to be fancy?" George asked, he was lying across Ringo's lap.

"Why don't we go back to your old workplace, that could be funny." John smiled mischievously.

"Oh God, I thought we didn't have to go there anymore since George stopped stalking Ringo." Paul chuckled.

"Who says I stopped?" George winked which made Ringo nudge him with his knee.

"I don't think I'll be going back there any time soon." Ringo said somewhat quietly "My work 'mate' threatened to call the cops on me."

"What for?" John laughed, he was playing with Paul's hair gently.

"What do you think?" Ringo asked, gesturing to the slim boy laying in his lap.

"No... Really?" George sounding partly offended and partly angry.

"That seems all the more reason to go." John said, he had a stern look on his face "Teach that fucker a lesson."

"Come on now, John, how's that gonna help?" Paul asked soothingly, Ringo never thought he'd seen him looking more comfortable than sitting with John as he did now.

"I never said it would help." John snickered.

"I wouldn't mind kicking the shit out of him, but that's just me." George said.

"No, no, we can't." Ringo tried not to sound desperate "He's harmless anyway, just a hollow threat."

"If you're sure." George said taking hold of Ringo's hand "But I'm sure me and John would jump at the opportunity to beat him up, wouldn't we John?"

"It'd be my pleasure." John grinned.

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind." Ringo joked "But anyway let's just focus on having a good time tonight."

"Can we decide on somewhere to go then? I swear its impossible making a plan with you lot." Paul scoffed playfully.

"You just pick Paul, that's what always ends up happening anyway." George said with a smile.

"Only because you guys are so impossible." Paul folded his arms dramatically.

"Let's just go somewhere with good food and cheaper drinks." John suggested "We're probably gonna end up throwing our dinner up anyway, does it really matter where we go?"

"Good point." Ringo laughed.

After a little while John and Paul finally retired to bed, not without a stern warning from Paul that they had to be awake by 7 'or else'. George lay in Ringo's lap happily, allowing his hair to be played with while he allowed sleep to slowly overcome him. Ringo felt completely at peace like this, very thankful that he didn't have to work until tomorrow evening and while his brain wanted to shift into panic mode: to think about all the things wrong with accepting Brian's offer, with all the things that could go wrong the next time he went to work, but his happiness was just too powerful to overcome. Ringo noticed George slowly slipping into sleep so happily carried him to bed, he noticed him stirring awake at points but George just welcomed the gesture. Ringo drew George's bedroom curtains closed and slipped of George's shoes and belt, just as he had all that time ago when he first stayed the night here, and similarly stripped his clothes off onto the floor before climbing into bed. The softness of the sheets sent a smile across Ringo's face as he cuddled up to his boyfriend, wrapping his arms around him and resting his head on his shoulder as he too fell asleep.

Ringo had no idea how they managed to sleep that long but before he had already really noticed that he was falling asleep, he was being awoken again by some banging on George's bedroom door. Ringo shot up in alarm, George just groaning sleepily beside him, but relaxed immediately when he heard Paul's voice shouting from the other side.

"I'm coming in, you two better not be fucking!" Paul called, opening the door slowly.

John burst in the room without a care, causing Paul to roll his eyes "Aw, that's boring. I was hoping to catch something juicy."

"Fuck off John." George mumbled, still lying on his side with the covers pulled up over his shoulders.

"You should really lock your door George." Paul tutted, walking over to the curtains and pulling them open harshly. "You guys have been asleep for like 10 hours, you know that right?"

"Jesus, really?" Ringo asked with a laugh, he was holding the cover over his chest as casually as he could.

"Let me sleep!" George shouted weakly, his eyes still not open.

Ringo rocked him somewhat roughly "Come on, get up now."

John made his way over to the bed, jumping down into the centre "Room for one more?" He asked with a wiggle of his eyebrows, making his way between the two of them.

As soon as George felt John brush against him he shot up "Fine, fine, I'm up!" He rolled out of bed sluggishly, rubbing his eye and stretching with his other arm.

"Spoil sport." John stuck his tongue out at George then slipped underneath the covers to take George's place.

"No, come on John, I'm not spending another half an hour trying to get you out of bed." Paul signalled with his hand and John reluctantly got back up to his feet.

"Now clear off you two, we need to get dressed." George said, already undoing his shirt.

"Oh sorry, didn't realise you'd become so Catholic." John chuckled but headed out of the room nonetheless.

"10 minutes, no longer, alright?" Paul said sternly as he closed the bedroom door.

"Yes mother!" George called out with a laugh then turned to Ringo "Sorry about them."

Ringo finally got out of bed, feeling a little cold just in his boxers, and began to rifle through George's wardrobe to find some of his casual clothes "No, it's fine, I'm just still not used to John's..."

"Sluttiness?" George joked "He's just having you on, it doesn't mean anything. Well, unless you want it to mean something."

"Really?" Ringo asked surprised, he'd found one his dark blue jumpers at the bottom of the wardrobe and tossed it onto the bed "Is Paul alright with that?"

"He's not fussed really, he knows John will never replace him." George walked up beside Ringo to find something to wear for himself "But every so often they might bring someone else to bed, for a laugh usually. John's always the one to initiate it, but Paul has to approve o'course."

"Weird." Was all Ringo could think to say, finding a pair of trousers and sloppily getting dressed.

"If it bothers you though, I can say something to John and he'll lay off." George was in nothing but his boxers now and the sight made Ringo freeze for a moment.

"No it doesn't bother me. I just didn't know if he was serious or not." Ringo couldn't keep his eyes off George while he tried to put his jumper on.

"Fair enough." George smiled at the sight of Ringo with flushed cheeks "John's just got a lot of love, you know? He's gotta share it around somehow."

Ringo managed to bring his attention away from George's gorgeous body long enough so that he could dress himself, he evaluated himself in the mirror and decided he looked good enough. It was always refreshing to see George out of a suit, as much as he did look good in them, as he was now wearing a turtleneck which accentuated his strong jaw perfectly. Ringo had always thought George was attractive, even if it he couldn't admit it the first time he saw him, but the more he spent time with him the more George just looked even more beautiful; it was a strange phenomenon, because Ringo thought George couldn't get any more attractive.

"How do I look?" George asked with a grin, meeting Ringo's prolonged gaze.

"Gorgeous." Ringo smiled back.

They headed out of the room to find John and Paul sharing a heated kiss on the sofa, George just coughed awkwardly to pull them away from each other. Without any more delay they headed down to the lobby and into the darkening evening. Paul insisted that they walked because he didn't trust John to not get ridiculously drunk yet manage to convince the rest of them that he was sober enough to drive them home.

"It's not my fault you always believe me." John laughed "You're supposed to be the responsible one, not me."

"I know, that's why I'm removing the car from the equation entirely." Paul explained.

Paul had decided on what he described as a 'semi-fancy' place for them to eat which Ringo couldn't really decipher. They ended up at what Ringo could only conclude was a very fancy place, at least by his standards, and they got in without any trouble despite the long queue waiting outside.

"Do you even bother making a reservation?" Ringo asked with a chuckle, trying to block out the complaints the people in the queue were making.

"Of course, we're not animals." Paul laughed "Well, I'm not anyway."

They were seated at a far corner in the restaurant, the waiter seemed very happy to see them, and headed off to fetch them a bottle of wine which John asked for before even sitting down. They sat in a booth which faced the band, currently a fairly attractive woman was singing quite emotionally, with John and George sat on the outside. Ringo was once again intimidated by the menu, as he always was, and looked over at George for some guidance. While Ringo was getting more used to being in such upscale places he still wasn't surely whether he particularly liked them, nor did he think the rest of them did, and he always wondered why they always ended up in such places. The waiter returned with a bottle of wine and four glasses, John didn't even bother pretending to read the bottle to see if it was 'acceptable' or not and just drank it.

"Keep 'em coming." John said with a wink to the waiter who just nodded stiffly.

They ordered their food and began what Ringo imagined was going to be a long night of drinking. It didn't take too long for the food to arrive and they all dug in without much conversation, Ringo was absolutely starving considering he hadn't eaten all day. They got through two bottles of wine easily before they even finished their meals. The music switched up for a jazz band which Ringo greatly appreciated, he began singing along to some of the songs without noticing.

"I just realised, this is the first time we've been out as two proper couples." Paul smiled with his wine glass in hand.

"Wow, word gets around fast." Ringo chuckled, passing a joking look to George who just smiled at him.

"In all seriousness though, I'm really glad you two ended up together. Back a day when we used to get lunch at your place I worried it wasn't gonna work out." Paul paused to take a sip.

"Why's that?" Ringo asked.

"Honestly, I didn't think you were gay." Paul laughed.

"Well I wasn't technically." Ringo smiled shyly which made John laugh.

"How can you not be gay technically?" John giggled "Were you only gay philosophically? How about metaphorically?"

"I just didn't know I suppose." Ringo shrugged his shoulders.

"Suppose I just have that effect on people." George grinned devilishly, putting his arm around Ringo's shoulder.

"Must be true after all, it's contagious." John laughed.

"Well the cycle's ended now at least, unless Ringo goes passing it along." Paul winked and nudged Ringo playfully.

"Hey now, we're not like you two." George said rather defensively "All we need is each other."

"No need to get uppity George, just a joke." Paul said with a smug smile.

"And you didn't seem to be complaining about our generosity before Ringo came along." John smirked.

"Whatever." George took a sip from his wine.

If this conversation was happening between anyone else, although Ringo couldn't imagine who else would be having a conversation like this, he would've thought they were actually trying to upset one another but with these three he knew it was all done lovingly.

"You guys sure to do talk about sex a lot." Ringo said with his mouth full of food.

"Well you can only talk about the weather for so long." John quipped back quickly which made them all laugh.

After a ridiculous amount of wine, they finally got through their dessert and asked for the bill. Ringo wasn't sure whether he was drunk or not but as soon as he stood up he knew that he certainly was. He held onto to George's arm as they walked out of the restaurant partly for support but mostly because he just wanted to touch him. Ringo had a feeling he'd drank more than anyone else but once John burst out into song in the street he wasn't sure anymore. They drunkenly shuffled down the streets before they came to a club, it was one they'd never been to before - at least not with Ringo - and it was clean looking enough. From outside Ringo could already hear the music, although it was pretty muffled by the bricks and his alcohol intake. It was rock and roll music which made all of the boys very happy, especially John, and they made their way to the dance floor immediately.

After dancing for a while they retreated to the bar where they each ordered a drink. Ringo had offered to pay for everyone, considering he'd be coming into more money than he'd ever had before very soon, but they politely refused and somehow they ended up paying for Ringo's drink instead. With a drink in hand Ringo turned his back to the bar and looked out at the club and came to a realisation.

"Where's all the girls?" He asked George, having to lean in and shout over the music.

"Bored of me already are you?" George grinned but when he saw Ringo's vacant expression he felt he had to explain "This isn't the type of club girls are particularly interested in going to."

Ringo wasn't sure if it was his own fault for not understanding George, but his words almost sounded like another language "Huh?" He shouted back which made George laugh.

"It's a men's only club, if you catch my drift." George leaned in closer to Ringo's ear.

"Really?" Ringo said after a pause "I didn't know there were any."

"Ringo, love, there's a lot you don't know." George bit Ringo's earlobe playfully before pulling away to take a sip of his drink.

Paul and John had vanished off somewhere after they got their drinks and Ringo hadn't noticed their absence until now. He looked at the groups of men dancing here, and he found himself thinking how normal they all looked. Well why shouldn't they look normal, Ringo asked himself, he looked normal - or at least he liked to think he did.

"Isn't it illegal?" Ringo asked, thinking aloud more than speaking directly to George.

"Of course it is, but who's gonna do anything?" George was leading them back to the dance floor now "Brian makes sure the police stay away from the place, so anything goes really."

"That's nice of him." Ringo smiled thinking about Brian, how kind he'd been during their first meeting.

The two of them finished their drinks quickly, making Ringo shudder at the strong taste, before they began dancing again. Ringo hadn't felt this drunk in a long time, but he wasn't complaining and just allowed himself to mellow out. After a while, Ringo had no idea how long, John and Paul resurfaced and began dancing with them. Both of them looked fairly flushed, with Paul's lips plump and John's hair ruffled with a very satisfied grin on his face.

"Really, you couldn't wait until you got home?" George asked with a smirk.

"You try resisting him." John nudged Paul lovingly who gave him a soft kiss on the cheek.

"I wasn't hearing any complaints." Paul said proudly.

Ringo just laughed, he was never really sure how to respond when their conversations got like this, the three of them joking back and forth at lightning speed without any time to even think.

"Geez Ringo, you look pissed." John chuckled, lowering himself slightly so that they were eye to eye.

"I'll level with you John, I feel pissed." Ringo grinned stupidly.

John put his arm around Ringo's shoulder and hugged him into his side "You're a right sort, Ringo. Glad George picked you up when he did."

"Thank you." Ringo slurred out, looking at George hazily who was looking right at him happily.

They danced for a while longer before heading back to the bar, this time getting two more drinks each. George quickly headed off to the bathroom and in his absence another man took his place, between Ringo and John. Ringo didn't even notice he was there, he hadn't even really realised George had gone, before he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Do I know you from somewhere?" The man asked, he was blonde and rather short.

"Maybe." Ringo said with a lazy smile. "I don't know you though."

"Well I'm sure we can fix that." The man purred, moving in closer to Ringo.

Ringo stumbled backwards clumsily "Sorry mate I'm not interested."

"No need to be scared, I can show you a good time." The man moved closer again but he was stopped by a hand gripping his shoulder tightly.

It was George, he towered over the man and spun him around with ease so that his back was pushed against the bar "You heard him, not interested, now fuck off." He growled.

"Jesus, sorry. Can't hate a guy for trying." The man said with a weak smile, he wasn't hiding how scared he was of George very well, before he hurried away into the crowd.

"You alright?" George asked with a serious expression, Ringo was still processing what was happening.

"Yeah fine... Was he hitting on me?" Ringo asked and George couldn't help laughing.

"God, you are pissed, aren't you?"

"Sure am, you better catch up."

Ringo raised his eyebrow and offered his drink to George who took it gladly and downed it with ease. He slammed the empty cup down on the bar and scrunched up his face as the alcohol went down his throat which made John jump.

"Blimey, when did you get back?" John asked, he'd ordered a third drink.

"Oh just after some bloke tried it on with Ringo, thanks for helping by the way." George smiled sarcastically.

"George, I'm gonna be real with you, I don't really have any idea what's going on. So I'd appreciate it if you stopped expecting me to notice things." John slurred, Paul just looked at him and rolled his eyes.

"What are they like, honestly?" Paul said shaking his head.

"Paul you can't talk when you're giving blowies in the toilet first chance you get." George laughed as Ringo offered him his second drink.

"Hey now, I do that when I'm sober, thank you very much." Paul retorted with a drink in hand.

They stayed at the bar for a while, Ringo wasn't even sure who was paying for the drinks at this point but he was hoping that's why his money had mysteriously disappeared from his pocket. It didn't take too long before they were all stumbling around, when they tried to dance they kept knocking into people and at one point it looked like John was going to start a fight. The man who was flirting with Ringo reappeared at a point but George only had to look at him before he vanished once again. Ringo danced with everyone individually at different points in the night: when he was with George it was bordering on obscene with how they pressed their bodies against each other, with Paul Ringo felt very happy as they were spinning each other around sloppily, and with John it was the most ridiculous as they were by far the most drunk of the group as they were trying to dip one another or climb on the other's shoulders. After yet another failed attempt of Ringo trying to climb onto John they all decided to head outside for a smoke. Ringo worried that the cold air was going to sober him up but it just made him feel even drunker. He wasn't sure how late it was but he was just hoping the club wasn't going to close anytime soon.

"How's your first gay club treating you then, Ringo?" Paul asked as he lit his cigarette.

"I haven't noticed a difference, but that might be because I'm very, very drunk." Ringo leaned up against the wall as he smoked.

"I thought John was bad, but Jesus, Ringo you can really throw them back." George said, he was standing close beside him.

"Thank you very much." Ringo grinned.

"Here's hoping you can make it to work tomorrow." Paul smirked.

"Here's hoping he can make it home, more like." George chuckled.

"No, Ringo's not gonna miss an opportunity to sleep on George's sofa, are you lad?" John was currently swaying from side to side.

"I'll probably pass out before I even get my clothes off." Ringo laughed, he was just staring at the floor.

"John knows all about that one." Paul said "Once he offered to suck me off and then he fell asleep halfway."

Ringo burst into laughter hearing this which made George laugh too. John looked offended at first but couldn't help laughing with the rest of them. After they finished their cigarettes they headed back into the club, which had now significantly emptied. Ringo felt a pang of sadness in his chest at the thought of having to go home, for the night to be over, but he had a feeling that the closing of the club wasn't really going to put an end to things.

George pulled Ringo enthusiastically to dance but once they stopped in place, he pulled him in for a kiss instead. Ringo felt his head swimming as George pressed his lips up against his own, he tasted strongly of smoke and alcohol which normally would make Ringo feel sick but he just loved the taste of George. It felt like they were kissing forever, George's hand lowering down to Ringo's back, and Ringo grabbing a handful of George's hair. Eventually they pulled away from each other but Ringo couldn't help wanting more, and he felt determined to stay awake as long as possible so that he didn't risk repeating John's mistake.

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