#<- actually now that i think of it i think i only know one john mccormack song too and its not even on that cd lol

[gimmebackmyskeeball]

Just friends? Fuck no.

author’s note: I love enemy!jj and I’m a hoe for an enemies you lover arc but I just want me a flirty best friend jj so bad so I had to write his headcanons (?). I don’t even know what this is actually. There’s hc and small little blurbs all together so it’s definitely a little longer than a blurb but not a one shot either. I’m confused but I hope ur not. Enjoy!

summary: just some hc(?) about best friend!jj !!

pairing: best friend!jj maybank x pogue!reader

First of all, you can’t convince me that this man isn’t clingy with his best friend. And honestly not just with you and Kie but with Jb and Pope too. So picture this, divorced parents, your dad lives in another country with his new wife and your mom lives with your sister whilst you stay in the château. Your best friend John B offered you a room after his father made it clear that he wasn’t going to be back soon if never. So now you’re practically living in the château, stopping by your own house to check on your mom and your sister every couple of days. That also means you’re practically living in the same house with the one and only Jj Maybank.

At that point you were familiar with the lines such as; “How can you wake up that early? What’s the deal with that?” or “Y/N open the door! I don’t care that you’re changing, I left my lighter in there!”. He would wake up in the spare room with his messy hair and in his John B’s shorts. No shirt, obviously. He has to show off those muscles. “Yeah, you know, this is what happens when you’re god’s favorite.” He act’s like this is totally from his genes and just basically from carrying stuff to help his dad and shit but his dirty little secret is that he works out for it. Not a lot but enough to keep him in shape.

He’d walk around the château looking for some kind of food, any kind. He’d see Jb standing in the hallway, fresh out of shower, hair wet, of course he wouldn’t miss the chance to make some kinda flirty comment. “Hey, Jb. Morning shower? Too bad, wish you had invited me.” John would scoff, rolling his eyes, “Stop saying shit like that, Jj.” But Jj being the Jj he is, of course he wouldn’t stop. “Cmon gimme a hug, babe.” “Get away from me.”

“Don’t be shy.” He’d playfully caress his shoulder, with a smile on his face. “I’m literally throwing up in my mouth.” John took a step back, replicating gagging noises. “Cmon, John B. Don’t hide the infamous John D from me.” The brunette boy would pick up a pillow from the couch, shoving it right in the middle of his face before speaking, “Dude, you creep me the fuck out.” In that moment you’d walk in door from the porch, you’d woke up early to enjoy to morning breeze because you knew you’d be burning and melting and suffering thanks to Jb who kept putting off getting his AC fixed. “There she is! Hey, peach.” he’d say smiling, walking over to you before grabbing your face and giving your cheek multiple wet sloppy kisses.

“Gross.” you’d mumble. You’re tripping if you think this boy wouldn’t call you some kinda cheesy lame nickname like ‘peach’ or ‘sugar’ or ‘cupcake’ that’s suddenly music to your ears when he says it with that crooked southern accent of his. “Okay, rude. You lookin’ mad cute today. Don’t wanna kiss?” you pushed his face away, not able to stop the smile growing on your face.

Since when did you pushed him? You made the blonde mad. He’d wrap his arms around your neck, placing his head on top of yours. He’d pull you towards him until your back was completely leaning against his chest. He was heavy, you had to give him that. He was hot too. Not that way. I mean, yes, that way, he was hot, everyone knew that, including him. But he was the type of guys whose body heat was always high. The heat from how he wraps his arms around you, hot. He’s hot. In every way, shape or form. “Jay, get off! You’re hot!” He’d raise an eyebrow, pretending to be impressed by your sudden compliment that he knew was not a compliment, “Oh, I’m aware. But too bad I’m not gonna get off of ya.”

Definitely the kind of guy that would get offended if you told someone he wasn’t your boyfriend, “No partners over! This is my house and y’all are using it as a motel six!” John yelled to Kiara who had just been walked in by the owner of that very house. “That’s not fair! Y/N and Jj stay here all the time!” Kiara bit back. You crossed your arms over your chest, furrowing your brows, “What does that even mean?” Kiara sighed, “It means that boyfriend and girlfriends do stay here together and that I’m allowed to too!” you gave her a disgusted look, okay, to be completely honest, it was kinda cute she said that but you couldn’t act like you find it cute. Obviously. “We are not!” you whined. Jj shot you a look, “I mean, you don’t have to say it like that…” he frowned. The man actually frowned.

“Huh?” you were genuinely confused, was he upset? “You didn’t had to sound so aggressive about it…”

Sometimes he’d come up to you in the middle of the night, tv noises coming from the living room, meaning Jb wasn’t asleep either. “Peach?” you saw his figure on your doorstep,“Yeah, Jay?” you sat up on your bed. “I can’t sleep.” he walked over to you, sitting on your bed. “Why?”

He pouted, “Hot.” Oh how the tables have turned, “Thank you.” you spoke as he’d grin, scooting over more to your side. “I always appreciate a self aware girl.” “Okay, back off playboy.”

You scooted back, closer to the head of your bed now. “I’m just being honest.” he kept moving to get closer to you as much as he can. “Well, keep your honest ass over there.” you gently pushed his knee, trying with everything you have in you to keep your distance.

Sometimes you’d wonder if you were really only best friends. You knew how you felt about him but this is how he was with everybody, so he was ridiculously confusing. All the long weed sessions in the Twinkie, the way he’d beg to be the one rubbing your sunscreen, how he’d get visibly happy every time you’d pick him to sit next to on the couch. He is cheesy. And he isn’t embarrassed of it. If anything he knows he’s cheesy and I feel like he’s proud of it.

He’d yawn and gently stretch his arms, one of them slowly going over your shoulders and he’d end up caressing your arm. You know what he’s doing, he knows you know what he’s doing. Is he ever going to stop? No one knows. The way he’d rest his hands (definitely and totally not gripping them like you’re gonna jump off the bike and run away) on your thighs on red lights whenever you’re on his bike for him to drop you off for you to see your mom.

How he’d wrap his arms around your waist, resting his head on your shoulder despite your whines about how you want him off of you. It’s just him, it’s just Jj Maybank and you don’t know if he’ll change or not. Not that you want him to, anyway.

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Too Much (Little Sister Version)

Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by @redbird-tf

Synopsis: you have nightmares of dying like Mary, and you start to get really clingy with Dean.

It started out in a subtle way. Your first nightmare had been vague, and though it had jarred you, it wasn’t enough to curb your day-to-day activities…much.

“I’m going for a supply run.” Dean’s words had you looking up from the homework you’d been working on. “We’re out of beer…and food.”

“I’ll come.” You were on your feet before the words even left your mouth.

“It’s just a quick run,” Dean argued. “Don’t you have homework?”

“It can wait,” you insisted, already on your way to the Impala. “Let’s go!”

Of course it would be Dean—it had always been Dean. Sure, he had his anger issues and his bad moments. He drank too much and he isolated himself when he was upset. But he always came back; when Sam was at Stanford, when dad disappeared, it was always you and Dean.

So when you started having nightmares about burning on the ceiling, Dean was who you turned to.

Scary things shouldn’t phase you anymore, not after all you’d seen. But this was different. Your whole life you’d heard “what happened to mom.” Never any specifics—it was always, “the demon killed mom,” or “what the demon did to Mary.” Nobody ever gave you any details; they always said you didn’t need to know.

So when you snuck into Dean’s room in the bunker and stole dad’s journal, you were in for a surprise.

The pages you’d read had been stuck together—it didn’t look like anyone had read them—and it took you a moment to peel them apart.

I went to visit a shrink today—I thought he might be a vampire. I went in undercover, booked myself an appointment. I figured out pretty quickly that he wasn’t a monster, but I didn’t leave. It sounds stupid, but I actually talked to him. Told him about Mary. Well, as much as I could tell, which is more than I’ve told anyone. Point is, he told me to write down what happened to her. Every detail I could remember. I don’t like thinking about her…but maybe he was right. Little Sammy asked about Mary just the other day, and I yelled at him. I still feel bad…it’s not his fault, he’s just a kid. Maybe this is the only way I’ll be able to talk about her, but maybe that’ll be enough to keep me from going off on the kids. So here goes…

And John had laid out every gory detail of that night, and you’d read the whole thing. You’d always thought it would be better knowing; that it would somehow bring you some extra closure to know how your mother’s final moments went. You were wrong.

And so came the nightmares. The first one was fuzzy and indistinct; a fire, the sound of screaming. But it was enough to have you going with Dean whenever he left the bunker.

The second one was more vivid. It was also when you realized that it wasn’t your mother you were dreaming about—it was you.

It was so real—you felt the demon’s powers slashing open your stomach, you felt your body lifting off the floor…

But the worst part was the heat. It stung your eyes and sizzled against your blood and seared your skin. You tried to scream, but the smoke choked you and stopped your voice. You struggled to inhale, coughing on the smoke and crying at the pain that lit up every nerve ending.

The bright light of the fire left first, then slowly afterwards the pain. But you were still choking and gasping for breath when you sat up in your bed.

“Dean,” you whimpered, the lone word echoing through your empty room. You weren’t quite used to the bunker yet—you were so used to the motels, where your brothers were right next to you at all times. Most of the time it was annoying, but right now…

You threw your covers off you, finally getting a hold of your runaway breathing as you padded barefoot towards your door. You couldn’t stay in this room—it was this room that you’d dreamt of, this ceiling that you’d burned on.

You flung your door open and started down the hall, but you only got halfway to Dean’s room before you stopped. You couldn’t go to him like this, a tear-streaked mess in the middle of the night; he would know something was wrong, and then you’d have to talk about it.

You couldn’t talk about it.

A bang from the kitchen stole your attention and your breath, your mind wandering towards images of a yellow-eyed intruder. You tip-toed to the kitchen, peaking around the corner and breathing easily when you saw Dean rummaging in the fridge for a beer.

You slipped into the kitchen, heading straight for Dean.

“You’re up early,” he greeted, stiffening in surprise when you wrapped your arms around him. “Hey, something wrong?”

“No,” you mumbled, your voice muffled by his shirt. “Good morning,” you added lamely as you pulled away, as if the greeting would explain away the hug.

“Yeah, mornin.” Dean shrugged, choosing to ignore your strange behavior. “Couldn’t sleep? It’s only 5.”

It was later than you’d thought.

“Not really,” you said. “Can we make breakfast?” You weren’t hungry, but you’d take any excuse to keep Dean close.

“Only if you get the bacon,” Dean said with a grin.

“I think we’re out,” you answered.

“Unacceptable,” Dean decided. “You start on the pancakes, I’ll make a run.”

“Wait! Um…” you wracked your brain for an excuse. “Um, the pancakes can wait, I’ll go with you.”

Dean squinted ever so slightly as he stared you down—that was twice in a week that you wanted to go with him to the store without a good reason.

“You sure you’re ok?” He asked.

“Yeah, just…I want some fresh air.”

“Alright.” You both knew he didn’t believe you, but neither of you brought it up again.

You felt pathetic as you trailed behind Dean, but the idea of sitting around the empty bunker alone until he got back or Sam woke up…

You just couldn’t do it. You couldn’t feel safe anymore, not even in your own home, without Dean around.

You sat just a little closer to Dean than you normally would once you got into the Impala, sitting towards the middle of the seat even though the right side was empty. You felt Dean watching you from the corner of his eye, but to your relief he didn’t say anything.

…

“Ok, so how many pounds do we want?” You held a brand of bacon in each hand, eyeing them both. When Dean didn’t respond to your question, you turned around to find the cart there, but no Dean. “Dean?” You glanced up and down the aisle, but he wasn’t in sight. You threw both bacon packages into the cart and ran down the aisle, going down the row and looking frantically down every aisle you passed. Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing.

You rubbed a hand against your chest when your next breath wouldn’t go through your tightened wind pipe. You tried to take deep breaths, but each one was less satisfying than the last. Once you reached the last aisle with still no Dean, you turned around and started back the way you came, hoping that he was down an aisle on the other side of the store.

“Dean? Dean!” You were calling his name, but you could barely even hear your winded and squeaky voice in the vast emptiness of the store, so you knew there was no way Dean could.

You passed the aisle with your cart and kept going, looking down the first, then the second…

“Dean!” You rushed forward, flinging yourself into Dean’s surprised embrace.

“Hey, what happened?” Dean was stiff and alert, whipping his head around to see what had spooked you.

“I couldn’t find you,” you whimpered, tightening your arms around Dean’s midsection. “I-I didn’t know where you went. Don’t do that to me!”

“Ok, ok hey I’m sorry,” Dean soothed, pulling away and kneeling down, brushing your hair out of your face so he could see you. “C’mon, what’s going on with you? What’s got you so spooked?”

You didn’t answer—you just launched yourself forwards and wrapped your arms around Dean’s neck, burrowing your head against his shoulder.

“Don’t leave me,” you pleaded.

“Ok, ok.” Dean held you closely, rubbing your back. “Ok I’m right here kiddo. Let’s get out of here, ok? Let’s go home.”

…

You held Dean’s hand in vice grip on the way out to the car, but he didn’t comment on it. He waited until you were safely bundled into the Impala to speak again.

“Kid, you need to tell me what’s going on here.”

“I’m fine,” you mumbled. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Dean glanced at you, but he didn’t speak again.

…

You were feeling lucky for most of the day—Sam and Dean spent the morning going through books in the library, so you were able to do your homework right next to Dean without warranting worry or attention.

“Check this out.” Sam’s words to Dean had you looking up curiously while Sam turned his computer around. “Looks like a case in town.”

Your heart dropped to your toes—you were too young to hunt, so a hunt in town meant that you sat in the bunker while the boys were out.

They spent the next twenty minutes talking about the case before they got ready to head out. Dean was throwing guns in a bag in his room when you went to find him.

“We’ll be back tonight,” Dean promised. “But if we find the thing that’s killing these people, it might not be until late, so don’t wait up ok?”

“Can’t I come?” Your tug on Dean’s sleeve stopped his movements.

“You know you can’t,” he said. “What’s going on with you? And don’t say nothing, because I know something’s wrong.”

“I just don’t want you to go,” you said. “Please De? Please don’t leave me here alone.”

“You’re not gonna tell me what’s going on?” Dean asked.

You shook your head.

“Then I have no choice.” Dean sighed. “People are dying, and you can’t come. I have to go.” Dean zipped up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “We’ll be back before tomorrow.”

“Dean—“ you reached out for your big brother, but in one stride he was out of your reach, then to the door, then he was gone.

…

You were trying to read the same page over and over, but the words were swimming around the page, blurred by the tears in your eyes and the shaking in your hands that had the pages fluttering. You looked up for the millionth time, a deep pit in your stomach convincing you each time that the yellow eyes demon would be standing in your doorway, waiting to kill you.

You dropped the book on your desk with a thud, finally giving up on homework—you wouldn’t get anything done until Dean was home, you just couldn’t focus.

You picked up your headphones and slipped them over your head, but you found that not being able to hear your surroundings made your anxiety even worse, and the soothing notes of your favorite song did nothing to help for once. You tried turning on the tv, but you found that you couldn’t look away from the door for more than a few seconds before you started to get scared again.

Finally you couldn’t take it anymore—you closed your room door, your bathroom, and even your closet; open doors just had your imagination running away with images of yellow eyes coming to kill you.

You burrowed yourself under the covers and tried to force yourself to sleep. Hour after hour you convinced yourself that you’d just never be able to sleep, but you didn’t have anything else to do but keep trying, so you didn’t move.

You were still laying there when the door opened.

“Hey sweetheart,” Dean greeted. You smiled at him, and he smiled back for a second before the smile faded. “Me and Sammy have another case—we’re gonna be gone a while, ok?”

“No, wait!” You tried to get up to stop Dean, but you couldn’t move. “Dean, don’t go! Dean don’t leave!”

He was already out the door, and in his place stood Azazel, pale yellow eyes glowing in the darkness.

“Dean!” You screamed, but it was too late; your pajamas were already soaked in blood coming from a painful gash across your stomach. You whimpered, finally able to move as you wrapped your arms around the wound as if you could protect yourself. You couldn’t.

You were sobbing as your body lifted off the ground, your stomach lurching as you went from wall to ceiling. There was no warning spark, or small flame—you were just suddenly and completely engulfed in flames, your hair burning and your skin scorched. You were still screaming when Dean came running back into the room.

“Dean,” you whimpered. “Dean no!”

Yellow eyes had a knife in his hand, and he turned it on your big brother in an instant. As the fire burned around you, you watched as Dean got stabbed again and again and again…

You woke up screaming. The fire was gone, and so was the pain, but you couldn’t even tell. Your eyes couldn’t take in a single detail of the room—they were blurry and unfocused from sleep. Your brain couldn’t decipher what parts of your dream were real and what weren’t. You sobbed out short and shaky breaths, and your cries were just starting to fade into whimpers when you heard it; the loud thunk of the bunker door closing.

Your fears and your crying returned full force, and you were gasping for breath as you felt around for any kind of weapon.

He’s coming he’s coming he’s coming he’s coming…

It was like all you could see was Azazel as you heard footsteps echoing down the hallway. You wanted to do what Dean always did—push his fear down, throw away his emotions, and just fight—but you couldn’t. You couldn’t catch your breath, you couldn’t stop sobbing, and you couldn’t find your gun.

When your door handle started to turn, you thought you were going to pass out. Your already-unsatisfying breath caught in your throat, and with the lack of breath came black spots at the edges of your vision.

You forced a single deep breath in and out—you couldn’t be unconscious when the demon came to kill you, you couldn’t be that helpless. You had to fight, even though you would lose.

The door swung open, and you were still gasping for breath and grappling for any kind of weapon when—

When Dean walked in.

“Dean!” You were off the bed and in your brother’s arms before he had a chance to speak.

“Hey, hey what’s going on?” Dean’s arms tightened around you when he heard you sobbing and felt you shaking. “Baby what happened?”

“Don’t leave me,” you begged between sobs. “Don’t leave me De, don’t leave me.”

“Ok, ok I’m not going anywhere,” Dean promised. “N/N I’m right here.”

“What’s going on?” Sam walked into the room, staring at his siblings with concern.

“I…I think we’re ok here,” Dean decided, carrying you to your bed. “You should go bandage that cut, I’ve got her.” When Sam hesitated, Dean assured him, “I’ve got her Sam.”

Sam finally left, and Dean climbed up on your bed, settling you into his lap when you wouldn’t let your vice grip around his neck go.

“I need you to talk to me,” Dean pleaded. “I need to know what’s going on, what this is.”

“There was fire,” you whimpered, your tears soaking Dean’s shirt. “There was fire, and it burned everywhere, and I was bleeding and I was on the ceiling, and-and yellow eyes stabbed you, and—“

“Whoa, whoa, slow down.” Dean started to rock you back and forth subconsciously. “Hey, how do you know about all that stuff.”

“I’m sorry.” You were sobbing again. “I know I wasn’t supposed to, but I read his journal and he wrote down everything and I thought it would help but…but now I can’t stop dreaming about it. I’m so—I’m so scared, De. All the time.”

“Shh, shh you’re ok,” Dean soothed, his hand cradling the back of your head. “I’ve got you sweetheart, I’m right here. Listen,” Dean tried to pull away so he could look at you, but you just tightened your grip. “Ok. I used to have nightmares about mom, too. All the time. I still get them sometimes.”

“You do?” You sniffled. “What do you do about them?”

“Well now it’s easier, because we killed yellow eyes. He’s gone, N/N. Nobody’s ever gonna die like mom did again, especially not you. You know that, right?”

“The dreams feel so real,” you answered.

“I know, I know they do. But they’re not. And I’m gonna help you through this, but kiddo, I can’t be around all the time, you know that. I’ve got a job to do.”

“O—ok,” you sniffled. “I can do better.”

“But I’m still gonna be here when you need me. I promise.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I need you right now.”

Dean’s arms squeezed impossibly tighter around you.

“Then I’m here for you.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley @deadlymistletoe @wayward-impala83 @whump-loverz

[mikkomacko]

loved the blurb it was amazing!!! you should do something about how reader convinces nico to get john to the devs! only if you want to ofc😘

Nico is in the back office of Sötis, renewing and updating his business registration and licenses when you come in.

Jesper usually handles these types of things but he had a baker call out sick this morning and was currently in the kitchen filling in, so Nico offered to cover for him.

Payroll and paperwork can be a bitch, and they take up most of the day, so it was better to just get it out of the way rather than push it to next week. And he gets to enjoy the smell of coffee and sweets in the oven.

“Ya know,” you say thoughtfully, “if Jesp really wanted to drive business in, he’d put the pretty things up front, not in the back office.”

Nico looks up from the computer, finds you leaning in the doorway. You’re dressed in a pair of loose jeans and Uggs, one of his already oversized hoodies swallowing your torso and bunching up on the curve of your hips.

You so look so fucking cute. Hands hiding behind your back and a sweet little smile on your glossy lips.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite little distraction,” he teases, leaning back in the rolling chair and shutting the laptop. You push off the doorway, slowly trailing towards the desk. Your hands stay hidden behind you and he raises a curious eyebrow.

“Distraction?” You round the desk, Nico swiveling the chair to follow you. “Is that all I am?”

Parting his thighs, you effortlessly slip into his lap, Nico’s hands finding your hips. He notices the careful way you move, turning just slightly to keep whatever you’re hiding from his line of sight.

“Amongst other things.”

Nico leans in, chest aching impatiently as you meet him halfway and press those beautiful lips to his. You cup the back of his neck, fingertips threading through his hair and pull him in even closer. Ironically, he’s so distracted by you that he doesn’t even notice the laminated book you’ve placed on the desk until he’s having to part from you.

“Are you busy?”

He shakes his head softly. “For you? Never.”

“Have you eaten today?”

Nico pecks a chaste kiss to your jaw. “Was actually gonna call and see if you wanted to meet me for lunch. Timo too if he’s with you.”

You laugh. “Oh he’s already behind the counter stealing croissants.”

“Just you and me then, huh?” He smirks, and your mirror it, nodding slowly.

“Can I talk to you about something first?”

Nico blinks, taken aback by the little bit of nerves in your tone. You’re never nervous with him, he doesn’t want you to be nervous with him.

“Of course baby,” he assures, rubbing soothing circles into your lower back. “What’s up?”

You press a sweet kiss to his cheek, reaching onto the desk to slide the surprise you brought with you to him. Nico looks over your shoulder, surprised to see what looks like an official business deal, the cover reading “The Steel Deal” in big black letters.

“What is this?” He asks, fingers itching to grab the book and flip through it. But this is your thing and you seem really anxious to show it to him, so he’s gonna let you take a second.

“My first ever project as a Dev,” you say, a bit shy but when he looks over you’re smiling down at it proudly. “Or I guess deal, not project.”

Nico laughs, tries to ignore how much he wants to just say yes already. He wonders if you know, probably not judging by the fact that you went through the hassle to present a deal to him. But he’d say yes to you no matter what. He doesn’t need whatever plan and outcomes you’ve mocked up.

Whatever you want, he’d make happen.

“Alright,” he says instead. “Sell it to me.”

You flip open the first page and he almost dies at the FaceTime screenshot image of none other than John fucking Marino staring back at him.

“This is Johnny,” you introduce, like he doesn’t already know. For months now all he’s heard about is Johnny. “He’s a Peng, but I think he’d be much more suited as a Dev.”

Oh, Nico wasn’t expecting that one. He thought maybe it was some idea you had about wanting to go see him in Pittsburgh, some kind of trip you were planning and wanted Timo to escort you on.

No this is a Devils contract deal. You want him to join the family. Nico internally cringes, already hearing Crosby’s bitching and moaning if he were to ask for this deal to go through.

God how is Nico gonna make this one work out?

You flip to the middle of the booklet, an amazingly designed chart and noteworthy points decorating the pages. Nico looks closer, realizes that you’ve managed to get your hands on every single job Johnny has done with the Penguins. You’ve analyzed it all; the statistics of which jobs have better outcomes for him, which ones he excels at, the dirty work Sid and Geno have him do, everything.

Intrigued and impressed, Nico flips to scan the next four pages. You’ve got even more stats on him, even going back to the classes and sports he did at Harvard.

A hockey player, Nico thinks, just like the rest of them.

“He does a shit ton of work for Sid, probably even stuff he’s over qualified for,” you explain, “but it’s all outside of what he’s best at. Medical, surveillance, and rat work. He can get into almost any building undetected. And he gets everyone else in too.”

Nico hums. You’re right, Johnny is the best at the grunt work. Grunt work that isn’t suited for the type of city Pittsburgh is.

“They don’t need him like that there, though.” You continue, and Nico can feel you looking at him carefully, gauging his reaction. “The Devs do. He’s our best shot at keeping up with Lee and Trouba, he’s too quick and sneaky for either of them.”

He leans back in the chair, not needing to see anymore. You’ve convinced him. Hell you convinced him as soon as you asked.

But the real problem is convincing Sid, and figuring out if the kid is worth everything Sid is gonna ask for. Nico will try everything he can to make this happen for you, but he can’t guarantee it won’t come without a great loss. For all they know, Sid could ask for Timo or Alex in return, both men he knows you’re not willing to give up.

“I can get you Johnny,” Nico agrees tentatively, and you lean into his chest, eyes wide and eager. “But I don’t know if you’ll like what Sid is gonna ask for him.”

“He won’t-“

“Baby,” Nico says gently. “These deals are rougher than you think. This isn’t goods or product, this is manpower. And loyalty. What is Sid asks for Timo?”

You shake your head, grabbing the book and laying it out over your thighs.

“I talked to Sid and Johnny, I have the deal Nico. Look…”

You’ve surprised him a lot today. But not as great as this. The back of the book has an information page on a man Nico hasn’t laid his eyes on in years. A member of the Devs but not in practice.

Ty Smith.

“Timo told me about him, and then I asked Jack and yeah.” You explain. “Sid would be willing to swap Johnny for Ty Smith, and then he’s gonna turn Ty for some young guy in Carolina.

“Jack said Ty would be willing to be bought out in Carolina, get out of the business entirely. Maybe he’d do behind the scenes stuff there but he’s tired of the city.”

Nico looks over at you, chest swelling with pride. You’re a natural. Sure it seems Timo and Jack helped, but those two are awful at deals not negotiated by Nico before hand. Meaning this plan was all you, and it’s doable. Completely doable.

It’s probably even for the best. Ty had been asking Nico to let him buy him out, but the price he’d have to set would be too high for the poor guy. So he’s just been hiding out in Jersey City for years, waiting until the Devs were big enough to drop him.

“You talked to Sid?” He asks, biting his cheek to keep from smiling. He’s at least gotta pretend this took a little effort for him to give into.

“Yeah,” you assure. “And Johnny. He wants to come here Nico, said it feels more like his home than Pittsburgh does.”

“And you want him here?”

Your gaze flickers, something heavy settling in them like you’re caught up in a memory. Nico would guess it’s something from Philly, but he can’t be sure when it comes to Johnny. You like the kid because he reminds you of your family. Because you get to speak your familial language and reconnect with your past when you talk to Johnny.

That’s always been the one thing Nico couldn’t give you.

And now he can.

“Yeah I do,” you murmur, meeting his gaze again, eyes glossy. “He’s-he’s family to me.”

Nico takes the book from you and closes it, placing it back on the desk. He brushes your hair behind your ear, cupping your cheek.

“Ok,” he agrees, easily. “I’ll talk to Sid tomorrow. Tell him we’re good on the deal, and then I’ll let Ty know.”

“Really?”

Nico laughs. “You really think I’d tell you no?”

Blush creeps up onto your cheeks. “Well no but I thought I’d have to grovel more. Or you’d be mad I did this without talking to you first.”

He squishes your cheek and nudges your nose with him. “Aw my little mafiosa, m’not mad. Impressed actually.”

Nico can almost feel the way you buzz under his praise. “I did a good job?”

“Good?” He scoffs. “You did better than half the putz’s here do. I don’t know how you found all this information or how to put it together but I’m so fucking proud of you.”

You giggle bashfully, eyes scrunching and he kisses you again. And again. And maybe for a couple more moments too.

And then you pull away, hand on his chest and fingering at his pendant. “I stole your work files,” you say innocently, batting your eyelashes at him.

Nico frowns, tries to think of the last time he saw those files in his office at the house. He hasn’t gone looking for them in a while. He can’t even tell you where the key to that drawer is.

Well now he can, he thinks. It’s with you.

“You’re good at this minx,” he chuckles. “Sure you don’t want be boss?”

“No,” you say certainly. “I just want Johnny.”

[onyxsboxes]

Monoceros

(Notes and inspirations at the end 😁) (Word count: 900)

---

Buck lets himself be enveloped by the scent of the forest, the bark biting into his back and the pin-leaf beneath him. It's cold, wisps of smoke escaping delicately from his mouth and nose into the dark. He's spent countless nights in the cold in the stalag, but here, with Bucky, it's not the same. No, because this time there's no barbed wire, only trees as far as the eye can see and the night shining brightly over their heads.

After several attempts, he finally finds a comfortable position where he can see Bucky sitting at his right side - just as when they were in flight school - and the stars shining through the canopy of the woods.

He'd only seen Bucky in passing a few times during the day and never had time to stop by too busy for that, but now he could take great advantage of his presence.

It's feel special: the both of them under the enormous Milky Way, as free as they've dreamed of being for months in the Winter's cold.

His eyes scan the stars above them. Here, Sirius from the Canis Major constellation, known as the brightest star in the sky. Canopus from the Carina being the second-brightest. Hydra and one of his star, Alphard, Antilia the air pump, Pyxis Nautica the mariner's compass... with careful fingers, he points them all out, taking care to indicate their positions precisely to Bucky. John, for his part, listens gently at his side, adding a few anectodes and questions from time to time, his voice clear in the night, while Buck prefers to whisper to him in a low voice, fully aware of where they are.

Buck feels good here, surrender by the night sky and Bucky's presence at his side, he feels better than he had been in months.

And … here. Yes, right there, just what he was looking for. He turns to Bucky a shy smile on his face.

“Do you see Sirius?” He waits for John's agreement before going on, “If you draw a line between it and the tallest tree in front of us, you'll find a constellation in the middle. There are three of them in the shape of a V.”

“Got it,” says John,

“It's called Monoceros.” and shyly, no higher than a whisper, Gale adds, “but I prefer to call it Bucky's constellation.”

Bucky shoots him a look, interrogation and curiosity clear on his face. Buck clears his throat, rubbing his neck with frozen fingers.

“Monoceros is also known as the constellation of the Unicorn.”

“The unicorn? As in my favorite extinct animal?” They say it at the same time, a soft laugh escaping their troats at the action.

“Yes. It makes me think of you every time” A gentle smile spreads across Buck's face at the thought. He feels safe here, even though he shouldn't. Bucky next to him and his eyes full of Monoceros make him relax, maybe that's why he added the next part.

“Actually, I think about you all the time.”

“I know,” and now Bucky wore a cocky grin, the same one he held before they flew to England.

“How?”

“Well I'm here, ain't I?” John stretches out his arms on either side of his body, almost brushing Buck's shoulders with his fingertips, his smile growing wider.

Before Buck can answer, Bucky presses for more facts about his constellation. He is dashing like this, resting against the dark bark, smiling brightly as he chews on his gum and aviator hanging from his shirt.

“An astronomer once said it was ‘one of the most beautiful sights in the heavens’ and I couldn't agree more,” he stares at the other man as he finishes his sentence, grateful Bucky's attention is still entirely on the sky and not back on him.

“I'd never heard of it. When was it discovered?”

"I think it was Petrus Plancius, a cartographer , who is the first to mentioned it in the 1600's".

At Bucky's expectant gaze, he continues talking, he goes on and on, lulling them with stories and facts about Monoceros and space. Several times, he wants to stop, not wanting to bore Bucky with this, so used to people shutting him up when he start talking about this subject, not interested. But each time, Bucky looks at him eyes shining and a gentle smile on his face, always asking for more anecdotes.

The sound of his stomach interrupts his story about the black holes' temperature.

“Tsss you need to eat doll”

“Well, we were a little busy with other things today”

“I know, but don't forget to eat, it's important.” And he can't say anything against it, not when Bucky looks at him with eyes full of concern and care, instead continues his story, hands moving to keep up with his words.

“Cleven.”

It's Georges' voice which stops him in their discussion, causing his gaze to fall on his questioning face and exhausted body. He hadn't seen him return from his scouting tour. He must have been very focused on their discussion not to notice.

“Who are you talking to, Major?”

Dread settles in his stomach. When Gale turns to his right, his blood turns to ice and his mouth tastes like ashes. Bucky isn't here; his spot empty of his warming laughter, and filled with the dark German trees.

When he turns back, there's no one there.

---

What should have been a little drable (100 words) about the Buckies watching Monoceros (brain rot about this constellation started in this post) turned into this because I started thinking about @skyyguy's amazing tags from this post at the same time.

What do you think?

[b-skarsgard]

Just last month, the Stockholm-born actor pulled up to Jimmy Kimmel Live! in a lovely brown leather jacket and some billowing bootcut trousers. And a few days ago, he was announced as the face of H&M's new menswear line, Atelier, which is all about craftsmanship and premium fabrics and all that good stuff.

“It's such an excellent collection,” he says, one week after Atelier's Milan Fashion Week debut. “Great materials, very sleek, very stylish. It's exactly what I would love to wear myself, really. And, you know, it also feels fun.” When asked if he had any favourites so far, Skarsgård dove in on the high-waisted pants and the flowy shirts. “I love them. They're so cool. They're so comfortable.”

Throughout his entire filmography, the John Wick actor has had some big costumes. “The Pennywise one was probably the weirdest and the most iconic, and the Nosferatu one was, in a lot of ways, so beautifully intricate. It was created by [costume designer] Linda Muir, who's worked on all of [director] Robert Eggers' movies.” But even though Bill Skarsgård's played so many darker gigs over the years, even a 400-year-old vampire needs to feel a little cosy every now and again.

“I think as I'm getting older, I just tend to prioritise comfort a lot more these days,” he says. “I'm a father, and I'm running around and doing things, and comfort's just a big, big, big thing for me. Because when you wear comfortable stuff, not only do you feel comfortable, you also look comfortable, and it's something that I really care about whether I'm in front of the camera or behind it.”

read more at the link

[marticoresims]

THE SIMS 2 ULTIMATE CALCULATION You need to copy it and save on your account to be able to use it. I can't risk letting people edit the calculator so they can just wipe out the whole thing.

I made a calculator for The Sims 2 that makes it easier for me to choose certain things for Sims such as aspiration, career, hobby and to get a clear idea of who this Sim is.

How does it work? Here's an explanation for all modules!

Aspiration I rarely use this part of the calculator because usually I look at a Sim's personality and already know. This module is not perfect, but definitely comes in handy when I'm not sure. So basically you put in the Sim's personality points into the teal-colored category, and the burgundy-colored one counts itself (giving "negative" points for a trait, e.g. 6 in Neat is 4 in Sloppy). Each aspiration takes different traits into its formula, giving a certain number of points. The more points, the "better" the aspiration fits the personality. Of course this is very simplified, so only use it when indecisive (which I always am). Here is a general idea on which traits suit which personality in my opinion. Except now I think the difference between fortune and knowledge is how nice the Sim is.

Interests finally matter! The calculator has two systems based on interests that I think make a lot of sense and actually make the interests mean something other than if Sims are going to argue while talking. This calculator makes NO SENSE with VANILLA interests system!!! Interests are based on age which means kids and adults are interested in specific things "according" to their age, e.g. kids like animals and adults like culture. In the vanilla system, this calculator will end up giving you the same results over and over! So I recommend getting this mod that makes interests random and not change in the child→teen age transition.

So go ahead, type in your Sim's interests! Expand the interests panel to have them in the same order as in the calculator (counting by columns left-right top-bottom, so starting with Politics and ending with Sci-Fi).

Career Without this calculator, I would give my Sims the same jobs over and over because I wouldn't even remember all the 25 careers + a few custom ones I have. Each career has a formula and takes different interests into account, you can find them listed next to the career name. It also counts in aspiration, so don't forget to give a few points there! I add in 5 points for aspiration.

One True Hobby I often just leave whatever OTH the game calculated for the Sim based on personality mainly. But sometimes I like it when the hobby and the job align. I also don't like that certain OTHs seem to repeat a lot, so I recalculate it if need be.

The calculator highlights 22+ points in careers and 12+ points in OTH. You can also mark all the career numbers and look in the bottom-right corner for the "max" value to navigate it more easily.

EXAMPLE! This is John Mole's calculation. His aspiration is popularity, so I gave him 5 points for it and put in his interests numbers. The perfect career for him is Slacker and his OTH could be Tinkering because he's very interested in toys. But he could just as well work as a veterinarian and take up fitness or sports as his hobby, for more variety. This calculator will give you a few options to choose from instead of the entirety of game features. And that's what I love about it!

[eyes-of-nine]

truly what a guy

[theotherrichardpapen]

...because any moment may be our last. everything is more beautiful because we're doomed.

[scintillatingshortgirl19]

as much as i despise john house tbh i wish we'd gotten more episodes with him . . . partly for more of that sweet sweet Daddy Issues content but also. because there are so few scenes with this man i have to do so much fucking guesswork when writing him

[wispythreads]

I don't trust North we disagree on literally almost everything why does me attempting to still be a civil human being with the basics of decency lock Markus and her into a romance what the heck

[wikipedie]

grief is like a really ugly couch

I think grief is like a really ugly couch. It never goes away. You can decorate around it; you can slap a doily on top of it; you can push it to the corner of the room—but eventually, you learn to live with it. ― Jodi Picoult, Leaving Time

[obnoxiousarcade]

I have a longing to be understood more than anything else i think

[lisbonsteresa]

climbing the walls this is so excellent

[weidli]

oh so 1x22 really is exactly calculated to make me specifically go fucking feral huh

[thymewayster]

Really good Twitter thread originally about Elon Musk and Twitter, but also applies to Netflix and a lot of other corporations.

Full thread. Text transcription under cut.

John Bull @garius

One of the things I occasionally get paid to do by companies/execs is to tell them why everything seemed to SUDDENLY go wrong, and subs/readers dropped like a stone. So, with everything going on at Twitter rn, time for a thread about the Trust Thermocline /1

So: what's a thermocline?

Well large bodies of water are made of layers of differing temperatures. Like a layer cake. The top bit is where all the the waves happen and has a gradually decreasing temperature. Then SUDDENLY there's a point where it gets super-cold.

That suddenly is important. There's reasons for it (Science!) but it's just a good metaphor. Indeed you may also be interested in the "Thermocline of Truth" which a project management term for how things on a RAG board all suddenly go from amber to red.

But I digress. The Trust Thermocline is something that, over (many) years of digital, I have seen both digital and regular content publishers hit time and time again. Despite warnings (at least when I've worked there). And it has a similar effect. You have lots of users then suddenly... nope. And this does effect print publications as much as trendy digital media companies. They'll be flying along making loads of money, with lots of users/readers, rolling out new products that get bought. Or events. Or Sub-brands.

And then SUDDENLY those people just abandon them. Often it's not even to "new" competitor products, but stuff they thought were already not a threat. Nor is there lots of obvious dissatisfaction reported from sales and marketing (other than general grumbling). Nor is it a general drift away, it's just a sudden big slide. So why does this happen? As I explain to these people and places, it's because they breached the Trust Thermocline.

I ask them if they'd been increasing prices. Changed service offerings. Modified the product.

The answer is normally: "yes, but not much. And everyone still paid" Then I ask if they did that the year before. Did they increase prices last year? Change the offering? Modify the product?

Again: "yes, but not much."

The answer is normally: "yes, but not much. And everyone still paid." "And the year before?"

"Yes but not much. And everyone still paid."

Well, you get the idea. And here is where the Trust Thermocline kicks in. Because too many people see service use as always following an arc. They think that as long as usage is ticking up, they can do what they like to cost and product.

And (critically) that they can just react when the curve flattens But with a lot of CONTENT products (inc social media) that's not actually how it works. Because it doesn't account for sunk-cost lock-in.

Users and readers will stick to what they know, and use, well beyond the point where they START to lose trust in it. And you won't see that. But they'll only MOVE when they hit the Trust Thermocline. The point where their lack of trust in the product to meet their needs, and the emotional investment they'd made in it, have finally been outweighed by the physical and emotional effort required to abandon it. At this point, I normally get asked something like:

"So if we undo the last few changes and drop the price, we get them back?"

And then I have to break the news that nope: that's not how it works.

Because you're past the Thermocline now. You can't make them trust you again.

[audisive]

♪ BROOKLYN BABY. (💌) – previous part

౨ৎ simon 'ghost' riley | reader

synopsis: the 141 believes the scot now.

tags: fluff, romance, soft!simon, you're basically their mom atp lol, bickering, there's a bet between gaz n soap, gaz secretly wants you shh, ooc characters, not proofread, price being the gentleman he is, he's seriously just watching everything unfold

       It's not always that Ghost is willing to let the 141 stay at his house for their traditions – which is just drinking beer and watching sports, really. In fact, he's always said something about his place being empty, so they always settled on someone else's. They stop asking after a year, and in turn, he stops having reasons.

It's not until Soap pops the question again when everyone else's houses are unavailable for a variety of reasons, his being that he left his faucet on and now his shitty apartment is flooded. You can only imagine the suspicion and shock when Ghost agrees (or, rather, simply grunts).

The drive is long, nothing short of 5 hours, and Soap spends the better half of it bickering with either Gaz or Ghost. He falls asleep by the next half, and when he awakes, he gawks at the lovely looking house before their car. There's two stories to it, a balcony, a front porch, and there's no doubt that there's a backyard.

Contrary to popular belief, no, it is not all black or plain at all. It's all equally surprising to them. The Brit isn't the type to care about the appearance and state of a house, usually. They do envision him in a mostly empty apartment with only a bed and a bathroom, though.

There's a delicate touch to where a rough man lives; the smell is almost heavenly when they enter the house. It's homely, the scent of newly washed sheets and lingering smell of food; there's a cat perched on the living room table that Ghost scratches the head of lovingly in a way that's so casual and natural. It's like they're at the gates of–

"Simon!" Heaven's bells ring in their ears, luring them into the doorway of the living room, and the sound of feet padding against the cold floor. There comes a soft-looking thing running into Ghost's arms, completely engulfing you.

You only notice the three familiar faces of your boyfriend's team members – though you know he considers them family if anything – when you pull away. An angel clad in only a cami top, shorts, and Simon's hand around your waist, you turn to look at the group with a surprised look on your pretty – Soap thinks that God, you're so pretty – face. "Oh, hi," you smile sweetly, obviously awkward at the silence and the staring.

"It's been a while," Ever the gentleman, the gruff voice is the first to speak up with your name uttered, the only who's actually met you – John Price. Soap is too enamored with the way you hold yourself and the fact that, holy fuck, even your name's pretty. Gaz raises a brow at the captain's greeting.

You smile once more – a genuine one now. "Nice to see you again, John."

"'S rude to stare, Johnny." Simon speaks out, a smirk under the mask. "Please excuse him, miss," Gaz adds, this beautiful man, and offers a charming smile.

"You must be Gaz," you hold your hand out, "it's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"Pleasure's all mine," Kyle forgets that a hand could be this soft and gentle, "and please, call me Kyle." He barely stops himself from turning your hand in his to kiss the back of it like one should to a lady so fair; his lieutenant has good taste in women, he'll give him that. And when you're out of the area, Soap is sure to rub it in Gaz's face. I told ye so! LT wis hidin' somethin' from us. A pretty something, that is. You don't miss the way he slips a twenty-dollar bill into the Scottish man's hand.

"Glad tae meet ye," Soap finally says, winking. "Understand why he wis hidin' a bonnie lass like ye from us." There's a mischievous glint in his eye, almost naturally so.

"A'm hurt, LT, but whit can I do? After all, we're just a couple o' brutes, arenae we?"

Simon watches in amusement, "you'll live." Soap is quick to move to your side as you lead the small group of hulking men through your shared home after that.

Simon is visibly more relaxed with you around. He's comfortable, that much is a given, with the way he's taking up most of the thankfully large couch with his manspreading. So is the 141. They're pampered like spoiled children (or pets, really) through the whole day.

Instead of just beer and faucet water, they're offered a variety of drinks in the kitchen that's enough to be considered a private bar. Instead of an empty belly unhealthily stuffed with beer and a mix of mediocre takeout, they're met with warm homecooked meals. They lose track of time quickly; the night falls by the time they've tired themselves out, and they've had not one, but two meals thanks to you.

(They're sure to commend your cooking skills and think of how lucky this tall brute of a man is blessed with a woman so soft and pliant and wonderful and– while Price is the one to be the most grateful, Soap compliments you the most. "A can practically taste the love." You laugh in turn.)

Gaz is the first to speak after a meal so lovely, they could simply just sleep on the floor comfortably and wake to the same smell of home. "It's a bit late, love, we should probably go."

"Thank you for having us," Price smiles down at you kindly.

"Ye've been lovely, bonnie." He wants to stay some more.

"Wait," you stop them, looking up at Simon for further approval. He's already looking at you with a reassuring brush of his thumb on the side of your hip and a nod. You turn your eyes back at them. "It's already late, you three should stay the night. We have enough room for everyone."

There comes, "we don't wanna intrude," then, "we can take care of ourselves, it's alright."

"Please, I insist." Your smile brightens, "I'll even cook breakfast before you leave."

The mohawk moves with a sigh, "now tha's just no' fair, lass. How are we gonna say no tae that?" You giggle. Only then do they find themselves tucked away in the guest room, and boy, you were right when you said it could fit them all if not more.

On the way to the bathroom in the late hours of the night, Soap catches a glimpse of light through the crack of your bedroom door to see his oh-so strong lieutenant, vulnerable in your arms. There's something natural about the way you cradle the large man and kiss his hair like it's part of your DNA, like you're programmed to do that 'cause Soap thinks you're simply unreal.

He's proud of his lieutenant, this lucky bastard. He turns another blind eye once more, but he's paid in full with another fulfilling meal by the morning.