#(mr cups is not appearing in this film)

[viric-dreams]

The death certificate doesn't make sense. The longer he looks at the documents, the more they fall apart before his eyes. The new doctor had confirmed it. Which means...

Laurence had lied to him. The Commodore was murdered, and Roberts won't rest until he finds who did it and rends them piece by piece.

Once he weans himself off of the laudanum the perpetrators become child's play to locate--hardly bothering to hide their crime. Prideful, even, that they'd finally avenged themselves against the man who'd given the order to sink that ship, kill the people they most loved. The order Roberts had carried out personally, because orders are meant to be followed.

The chase carries him half way across the Zee, passed the Iron Republic, where law melts and bubbles, deeper south, into the Machine's domain. Under the first rays of dawnlight the ships take their positions.

He has to kill them. Avenge the Commodore, the man he'd loved like a father. But then what? Take his seat at the helm of the Admiralty? Take the Commodore's place, never knowing where the next knife in the back will come from? The dawnlight stings his eyes. He feels nauseous. Wasn't it once comforting? But there's no comfort here. Killing them won't bring back the Commodore, just like killing him or the Commodore hadn't brought back the Beverleys. All it causes is more death, more pain, more loss. He doesn't want this, any of this. The dawnlight pulses on the horizon. It feels wrong.

He turns the ship around. Enough.

No shots follow.

Slowly but surely, as they zail, the light at the ship's aft fades. He feels like he can breathe again.

He doesn't know what awaits him in London, but he hopes it's something better.

[uwu-bxtch]

||I’M A GOOD GIRL OFFICER|| k.n.

summary :: “everybody knows that i’m a good girl officer.” OR detective!nanami is suspicious of you murdering your husband and you need to convince him otherwise.

content :: film noir au, detective!nanami, nanami kento x reader, suggestive, mentions of murder, quid pro quo, fem reader

a/n :: guys i was tryna go for those old timey detective films. film noir is the proper term. i hope yall like it, should i do a part two?

it’s late into the night when nanami kento finally has had enough of looking at paperwork. with a loud sigh, the detective stands from his desk and walks towards his mini bar. pouring himself a shot of whiskey, he contemplates the case at hand.

Jin Takeshi, the town’s most well known business owner, mysteriously died two days ago. being the best in his league, he was put on the case. all clues point to his wife, but no one would believe him. he’s been suspicious since she first appeared in his office with the cops. he just needed to find a way to prove his hunch. with another groan, he downs his shot before placing the cup down with a clank.

“a man who knows how to hold his liquor, i like that.”

he didn’t even hear you come in. kento looked behind him to see the devil herself.

“mrs. takeshi, how did you get in here?”

you hold your hand up to your chest, feigning sadness.

“please, (y/n) is fine. that name only hurts my heart more.”

unaffected, kento continues to give her a blank stare, waiting for her answer.

“you’re suspicious of me, why?”

leaning against his desk, kento quickly looks you up and down, analyzing your body language.

“your husband is dead and you’re my only witness, how do you explain that?”

you shift a bit in your big fur coat, avoiding his tense gaze. truly, you didn’t think you’d get this far but now wasn’t the time for any hesitation.

“i didn’t kill my husband, honest, mr. nanami.”

“yet you were so quick with his funeral.”

“he was a good man, detective!”

you might’ve gotten too defensive, noticing kento’s slight brow raise.

“you weren’t upset with him at all?”

you frown, faux offense written on your face.

“I loved him, he treated me goo—“

“then how do you explain this, miss.”

dipping his finger in his cup, he approaches you and wipes your under eye makeup, revealing a nasty bruise. he noticed it when you first showed up with the cops two days ago, but decided to look past it that day, not wanting to put you through more grief. you gulp nervously, not sure how you were going to get yourself out of this.

“seems like he pushed you past your limit that day. finally had enough?”

“h-how did you—“

“your husband was a prominent figure, so of course i did extensive research. gossip, articles, you name it. your neighbors are quite chatty.”

kento steps back to his spot on his desk.

“well, what’s a girl like me supposed to do stuck with a man like that?” you plead, voice dripping with desperation.

“i don’t know miss, but at the end of the day you killed a man.”

your eyes begin to prickle with tears.

“please, sir, i won’t survive in jail!”

you look into his eyes to find some type of sympathy, but he avoids your gaze. suddenly an idea pops into your head.

slowly, you open up your coat, clearing your throat to get his attention once again.

“you seem like you know how to treat a woman right.”

once your coat falls to the floor you make the short trip to the man. in nothing but a red lace panty set, you push your body against kento’s.

“ma’am this is in—“

you gently press your pointer finger to his lips as your other hand starts palming at his bulge.

“i bet you can take care of me real nice. let me take care of you and we can forget this whole exchange, yeah?”

kento gulped, his cock growing harder every second. yes, he wouldn’t mind cracking you right over his desk, but this was unprofessional. he was better than this. he looks down at you and his resolve instantly crumbles at your doe eyes looking up at him. a ghost of a smirk appears on your face once you notice his demeanor fall slightly.

kento’s hands travel up from your ass to your waist, giving you ass a slight squeeze on their way up.

“is that a yes big boy?”

your voice was dripping with seduction. nanami closed his eyes, letting out a quiet ‘damn’ before leaning down to kiss you. his kiss was hungry but gentle. nothing but the quiet smack of your lips filled his office. the hand still on his bulge started to work on his zipper until you hear the door open.

“mr. nanami i’m heading out for the—oh!”

you instantly jump off the man, scrambling to cover yourself up with your coat. the secret gasped at the scene before her. the victim’s wife and suspect mackin it with the lead detective was not a good look. you quickly rush your way to the door where the secretary was still standing in shock.

“i should get going now, thank you for the meeting mr. nanami!” you hurriedly walk out of the office, leaving a disheveled kento and his secretary to stare at each other.

“i’m sorry you had to see that,” kento clears his throat, adjusting himself to look more presentable.

“see what? i’m heading out, calling in sick tomorrow too. don’t overwork yourself mr. nanami.”

the secretary also hurries out the room, leaving nanami alone with his thoughts.

what the hell did i just do?

MASTERLIST

[offt0wonderland]

The Runaways

Imagine: You're a Soc, enjoying a movie at the drive-in with your friend, when the same Greasers you ran into earlier barge inside the automobile.

The Outsiders x fem OC

Word count: 2.5k

Summary: A young Soc finds herself thrown into a loop once she befriends Pony and his family.

“What did I miss in History?”

Deborah strengthened her fingers around the condensing cup, the two of us pressed closely together while the temperature gradually dropped outside the passion pit. “A load of Crock – I don’t think Mr. Jones knows what he’s talking about,” The corners of her mouth pursed, a bland giveaway that she was transported back in thought from my missed lecture. “I remember he said something about the Battle of Midway and how we were lucky to have won … but when I talked to my dad, he said that the reason we defeated the other ships was because of willpower and strength.”

“Wait, so how does that make Mr. Jones the one full of Crock?” I shifted my head closer to my friend, allowing the temple of my forehead to press against the bone of her shoulder.

Deborah soon readjusted to my movements; her head now stuck against the headrest of the driver seat to keep her eyes on the motion picture that began to play in front of our eyes. “I’m trusting my dad – who fought in the war – as opposed to the teacher who didn’t.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” The both of us briskly fell quiet after my agreement, letting the noise from Sound of Music fill the silence that lingered between us. It was a movie we’d both seen a few weeks prior, but we didn’t mind the repetition, the drive-in was something we both seemed to enjoy on our off time.

Honestly, I don’t think we’d ever get old of this place.

Well, except for the backseat bingo. Now that was revolting. It was like every automobile around us showcased couples engulfed by each other’s mouths, the film of their windows fogged up to display the sweat that radiated off their movements. I tried my best to ignore them, combine Razzles and Popcorn into my mouth as I observed Julie Andrews on screen, but the hathos was too compelling: they were sickeningly captivating.

It was like every time my irises fell onto the giant screen in front, they somehow found their way to the car next to me. In the span of three minutes, I found myself watching the older couple in nothing but a button-down and a bra. From the looks of it, they seemed to be in their mid-twenties, but by their hormones, they appeared closer to teenagers. Frankly, I wouldn’t have been surprised if one of them ripped the other’s skin off with how aggressive they tugged on each other’s bodies.

It was nauseating – or more accurately, it reminded me of Charles and his consistently grabby hands. One of the many reasons we broke our steady off.

I continued to observe the people around us, noting every time they disappeared in the cushions of their seats; But for some reason, the one thing that redirected my attention was three boys coming into view. The middle Greaser had the same leather jacket I saw before, his arms wrapped around both of his friends as if he was ready to guide them to mischief. The other two seemed to follow that minuscule action, willing to put themselves in trouble to keep their delinquent acquaintance.

“Get out of the way!” And it appeared that disturbance wasn’t too far behind.

Dally pressed the end of the cancer stick between his teeth; the outline of his middle finger raised in front of the illuminated backdrop. Pony chuckled at his friend’s insult, making eye contact with the battered boy across from him in glee. And in all honesty, I probably would’ve laughed too, only all that commotion made them closer to our car. My eyes widened at that revelation, my body involuntarily shifting downwards in hopes they wouldn’t notice. But with all the other windows coated with steam, we were bound to be noticed.

Dally was the first of the group to make a reaction; his lips tugged into a smirk, the pads of his fingertips yanking the poor boys behind him in the new direction he was set in. It was the response I feared the most – he was coming over. So, I made a countermove; I bent over the edge of my seat, tugging on the locks of the automobile to create a barrier.

“Val, what are you doing?” Deborah questioned.

���Lock the doors on your side.” I said.

“What?”

“Lock the doors on your side!” But before she even had a chance, the three Greasers had found themselves inside the same confinement we were in. And I was pissed.

“Ohh, this is nice,” Dally straightened his legs, leaning his body back against the cushion of the seats as if he was already welcomed into the Socs car. “Didn’t know girls could own such nice autos.”

I turned around to face the lot of them. “What are y’all doin’?”

“Needed a place to sit, the chairs outside are somehow all taken.” Ugh, his arrogance was worse than the couple making out next to us.

“Get out of my car,” Deborah was firm. “I don’t want any grease on these girly leather seats.”

“Dal’ let’s just go.” The anxious boy who was drowned in denim finally spoke up, pulling on his friend’s arm to get him to budge – but it appeared he wasn’t going to oblige to his buddy like last time.

“Dally, I swear, I’ll grab …” The slur of words were quick to come to a halt once my eyes fell upon the boy on the right. It was like I was staring at him for the first time, witnessing the fresh scar that aligned symmetrically on his cheek and temple. And by the rounds of his black irises, I could tell he feared my statement … he feared a Soc. “Just get lost.”

Dally, of course, ignored my blatant pleas and focused on the bag of candies that glowed against the console. “Razzles, my favorite.” The Greaser reached forward, stuffing his dirty hands into the freshly opened bag of Blaze’n Blueberry.

Yup, not touching those anymore.

“Val, you know these guys?” Deborah was mortified that I even knew a name out of the bunch.

I shook my head. “Just Pony, he’s in my English class.”

Now that statement earned a gasp. My friend spun around; her eyes glazed over as she peered at the young Greaser on the left side of her automobile. “You’re in Mr. Syme’s class too?! I love that guy – like in love with that guy … Does he ever mention me? Val here won’t tell me a thing.”

“That’s because you’re going steady with Gerald.”

She waved that comment off, a sense of betrayal looming off of her – which, if I had to guess, was probably due to Gerald’s constant gawking at Cherry Valence. Pony uncomfortably shifted against the leather; unsure what words were the right ones in this situation. “Uh, I don’t think so, but maybe once.”

Deborah couldn’t help but let out a squeal from Pony’s response, the back of her hand now sharply pressed to her forehead as if she was going to faint. Dally grinned at the dramatics, finding humor in the odd conversation that was stricken up. “Y’know what, I’ll make a deal,” I swiveled my head in her direction, widening my eyes in horror. She wouldn’t dare. “If you press Mr. Syme about me, y’all can stay … but only if y’all don’t go ape.”

And she did.

Two of them nodded in unison, shuffling their weight to get comfortable in the small car they deemed necessary to infiltrate. I rolled my eyes at her ultimatum, appalled that she’d be so willing to let a group of Greasers stay in the backseat of her Mustang: But it wasn’t my auto, meaning I had no say. The five of us quickly went back to quietude, watching the flick in front of us; at least until the smell of smoke permeated the air. “Look, if y’all are going to stay, no smoking.”  

“You don’t like smoke?” Dally smirked at my statement, almost as if he had found his new weapon of choice.

“I don’t – so quit it.”

Dally grunted, leaning forward to release a cloud of smoke near my jawline. I immediately balled up my fist, ready to thrust all my power into the crook of his nose, except I held back. All I did was wave away the pollution, turning my head slightly until my skin hovered near the tip of the cigarette. “You stay, our rules.”

“I’m sick of rules,” I dragged my tongue across my lower lip, fighting every urge in me to jump the boy in the backseat. “It seems as though you are too, though.”

“What does that mean?” I spat.

“You went to the wrong side of town, and not many Socs are caught dead on our street.” Deborah gasped at Dally’s retaliation, her head snapping in my direction.

“That’s why you cut class? You were at the Grease Lot?” Her voice was raised, almost loud enough for the rest of the parked cars to hear.

I shot her a look. “If you’re going to act this way – dense – then get out of the car.”

“I’m liking this anger, maybe we can ball like the two over there.” Dally nodded over at the couple who had found themselves fully naked, the movements of their car forming a grotesque image in my brain.

“Oh bug out.”

Dally was about to retort something back, but the boy in denim put his arm out to silence him. “Dal’ leave it be.” His voice wavered slightly, like he wasn’t used to standing up to the man in the middle.

Yet, the coldness of his eyes never disappeared.

I turned my body, peering over at the tan boy who stared back. “Y’know, I like you. What’s your name?”

“Johnny Cade.”

Read the first two chapters here: The Runaways | Quotev

[lulublack90]

Prompt 21 - Ancient Greece

@wolfstarmicrofic August 21, word count 940

This is the last part of the Apple Core Series from a Wolfstar POV. There will be a part three starting next month where I am going to write my first Rosekiller. Hope you've all enjoyed the story so far.

Previous part First Jegulus part

Everyone was in on Monday. Effie had insisted and, as usual, she got her way. But Regulus had called in a few friends for the occasion as well. 

“Who are they and why are they in my kitchen?” Sirius asked his brother with a sceptical look on his face as he took in the two men and the tiny elf-like woman with a ridiculous amount of floaty hair, standing just inside the door. 

“These insane people are your personal protection unit. The second Wormtail steps foot in the café, they will be on him. Have you ever seen a lion lake down a wilder beast? That’s them.” Regulus smiled proudly as he gestured to his friends. 

“That’s really kind of you to volunteer them, Reggie, but you do know that we’re just going to ban him and not kill him, right?”

“Aw, take all the fun out of it, why don’t you,” The one he thought was Barty sulked. 

“Don’t worry, babe, you can stab me in bed tonight,” Evan purred in his ear loud enough for them all to hear. 

“I think I’m about to have a stroke,” Sirius groaned, dropping his head into his hand. 

“I can smell burning toast,” Pandora piped up, sniffing the surrounding air.

“Shit!” Sirius spun around, pulled the burnt toasties from the machines and tossed them straight into the bin.  

“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine,” Regulus patted Sirius’s arm. “They’ll scare him just enough so that he never comes back.”

“Fine. Now get out of my kitchen, I have toasties to create!”

 ***

It didn’t take long for Wormtail to turn up. He waltzed in as though nothing was amiss, not that he knew it was, and sat at his usual table. He opened the menu, blocking his view in front of him, and began reading. That’s when Barty and Evan pounced. 

“Hello,” Evan said, his voice smooth as velvet. Wormtail jumped and dropped his menu. 

“Oh, er, hi. Erm, I don’t really like sharing a table, if, if you don’t mind,” He squeaked nervously as Barty picked up the fork from in front of him and twirled it in his fingers. 

“Well, we don’t like little rats who film our friends,” Barty said in an over-calm way. His smile was just a bit too toothy. Even Sirius felt unnerved from his viewpoint. 

Two chairs dragged across the floor and stopped beside the table. Effie and Monty sat down, looking all polite. 

“And we don’t appreciate our son’s being used for your entertainment,” Effie hissed. Barty looked at her impressed. Sirius felt like there’d be another handful of strays added to their family by the end of this. 

“What she said,” Monty said cheerfully as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving Wormtail. 

“Peter?” Pandora appeared out of nowhere. “Peter Pettigrew, is that you?” She gasped. “Oh, haven’t you been naughty? I’ve a good mind to tell your mother on you. Using my dear friend Sirius to get views online. That’s not very nice, you know,” She chastised him. 

Two more chairs joined the group. 

“The only one who can torture my brother is me,” Regulus sneered. "The fact you think you have the right to film him at all is beyond me." 

“Dickhead,” James shot at him. 

“James Fleamont Potter, language,” Effie gasped. 

“Sorry, Mum,” James flushed and tried again. “You hurt my friend, prepare to di—” Monty elbowed his son in the ribs, “Have a good telling off,” He huffed. 

Remus took Sirius’s hand and led him over to the table. 

"It gives me great pleasure, Mr Pettigrew, to inform you--” Remus said too sweetly. 

“Sling your hook, you're barred!” Sirius shouted at the cowering man. Wormtail jumped to his feet and ran for the door.   

Then, like some film about Ancient Greece, they all charged down the giant rat, yelling and screaming after him. Sirius brandishing his toastie tongs and Remus throwing coffee cup lids like discuses, as Peter Pettigrew scurried down the road as fast as his short legs could carry him and disappeared around the corner out of sight. 

“I got it all on film! I got it all on film!” Effie cried out excitedly. 

“So did I,” Monty grinned wildly. “Oh, wait,” His face fell. “I had it on the wrong camera. It’s just my face.”

“So who’s watching the café?” James asked once they were done cheering and laughing at Monty. 

“Oh shit!” Sirius yelled and raced back to the unmanned café.

They went back to serving their customers as if nothing had happened. Sirius couldn't believe how lucky he was to have so many people who cared about him like his chosen family did. Remus came up behind him and wrapped him in a hug. Sirius turned his face so he could kiss Remus on the lips. "I love these guys so much," He said, sighing happily as he watched them all chatting and laughing. 

"I love you," Remus whispered in his ear, making Sirius's knees go weak. 

"I love you too," He said, capturing Remus's lips with his own again. "Think Reggie would mind if we snuck off into his flat for a bit?" He asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

"Yes he bloody would!" Regulus glared at them. "Mine." 

"Want a bet?" Sirius asked, but didn't wait for an answer as he dragged Remus out of the staff door with Regulus screaming bloody murder behind them.

He spun Remus around and kissed him properly. "Chinese for tea?"

"Yeah, go on then," Remus laughed, kissing him one more time before going back to his counter to take the orders of their waiting customers. 

[simplyholl]

The Sex Tape

Summary: President Loki makes a sex tape with you, but uses it to threaten you.

Pairing: President Loki x F Reader

Warnings: Smut. Minors DNI. 18+ ONLY. Rough Sex. Coercion. 

W/C: 1.1K

See my Masterlist here

Your panties were soaked the moment President Loki called you into his office. The door creaked shut behind you. He sits behind the large desk. “Took you long enough. I hate waiting.” You press your back firmly to the door. “I’m so sorry, Mr. President. I came as soon as you called.”

He stands placing a slender finger under his chin. “That wasn’t soon enough was it?” Chills cover your body. As much as you would hate to admit it, you love it when he’s like this. All riled up, almost menacing. He walks over to you running his large hand up your skirt. He quickly swipes between your folds.

He smiles approvingly. “No panties. Good girl. It seems you can follow orders after all.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket, walking over to the side of the room. “We are going to film this as a reminder. If you ever stray from me, disappoint me, or betray me I will have this recording sent to your closest friends and family. Let them see what a slut you are for your President. You will never work in this town again, if it’s not for me. Do you understand?”

The contents of your stomach feel like they are going to come back up. You have always been loyal to him. But he is so mercurial. You could wear the wrong shoes tomorrow, and he could post it. If you don’t agree, he would fire you and make your life hell. “Yes Mr President, I understand.” He sets his phone up on the tripod used for recording his messages to the country.

He stalks over to you, roughly grabbing the back of your neck. His other hand holds your shoulder. He shoves you on your knees. The old carpet scratches against your legs. You keep your eyes on the ground. You know he thrives off his control over you. “You may look upon your master.”

You slowly lift your head up, taking in how tall he is. He towers over your slumped frame in the floor. He gestures to his dress pants. “It’s not going to suck itself, pet” you reach for the button quickly unfastening and bringing the zipper down. He never takes his pants off. You’re sure it’s because he doesn’t want to appear vulnerable.

He never wore underwear, and everyone could always spot the huge bulge poorly contained by his pants. His erection springs free. You slither your tongue around the head of his cock slowly taking him inside your mouth. You hollow your cheeks and begin to suck. Loki thrusts powerfully, shoving his full length between your tight lips.

You gag, tears forming in your eyes from the brutal intrusion. “You’re a pathetic excuse for a whore. You can’t even pleasure me correctly. I’ll show you how.” He places one hand on the back of your head, the other cups your cheek. You can’t do anything but try not to choke as he uses you. You place a hand on his thigh in an attempt to steady yourself. He looks down disgusted at your offending appendage. He roughly grabs it throwing it off him.

“I didn’t say you could put your filthy hands on me. Be still, and swallow. You better not choke. You’ll regret it if you do.” He quickens his pace before going still, his hot cum shooting down your throat. You swallow it all, your tears staining your cheeks.

He’s always rough with you, but never like this. Probably putting a show on for the camera. He grabs your hair at the base of your neck, roughly jerking you to your feet. You bite your tongue to keep from shouting. You didn’t want to be punished when he was acting like such a brute.

He rips open your blouse, buttons clinking to the floor. He pulls the cups of your bra down exposing your breasts. He lowers his head to the curve of your neck. His teeth lock down on the sensitive area. You yelp, digging your fingernails into the palm of your hand to keep from touching him. His long tongue licks from your jaw to under your eye lapping up the salty tears.

“I do love seeing you cry, pet. It suits you.” You sniffle wiping the fallen tears off your other cheek. Loki spins you around slinging you against his desk. You wince when your body comes in contact with the all the contents in his work space. The cool surface makes your nipples harden. He turns your head to face the camera. “Just making sure everyone can see your face clearly.” he explains.

He swings his arm, his hand hits your ass. You moan feeling yourself grow wetter. He smirks behind you, bringing his hand down again and again, hitting harder each time. You squirm, your moans growing louder. “That’s it, let every one know how much my toy loves it when I play with her.”

He plunges between your slick folds holding your head down against his desk. He drives into you setting a brutal pace. He doesn’t give you time to adjust to him before ramming back inside you. He reaches around you, circling your clit as your body jerks with each thrust.

He only slows down for a brief moment when someone pounds on the door. “President Laufeyson, open up. It’s urgent.” He ignores them, spreading your legs further apart. “Mr. President, please. It is of the upmost importance.” Loki pulls your ass flush against him spilling inside you.

He pulls out, stuffing himself back into his pants. He collects his phone from the tripod ending the recording. He walks to the door before you have a chance to adjust yourself. You keep your back turned to them swiftly tucking your breasts back in your bra. You awkwardly pull on your tattered blouse in an attempt to cover up.

You feel his warm cum seeping down your legs. You start walking toward the men trying to discover what was so important. “I have bad news, you were accidentally live streaming the whole time you were erm… intimate with Miss Y/L/N. We have started damage control, but we need to release a statement immediately.”

Your heart races. You wouldn’t be able to go in public for a long time. He had angled your face directly in front of the camera. Everyone will recognize you. You shove your way past the secret service agent when you hear President Loki say “It was no accident, David. I knew I was live streaming the whole time. Nothing like a scandal to get the people talking. You know what they say, there’s no such thing as bad press.”

Your heart sinks. He had done it on purpose. You lock eyes with him feeling embarrassed and betrayed. He smirks at you, shrugging his shoulders. “What did you expect?”

Tags

@fictive-sl0th @lokisgoodgirl @lokidbadguy @ozymdias @cindylynn @potter-puff007 @cakesandtom @eleniblue @marygoddessofmischief @coldnique @mochie85 @goblingirlsarah

[heyhihellosworld]

𝗢𝗳𝗳𝗶𝗰𝗲 𝘀𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗲𝘁

Rúben Dias x reader

Word count: 2.3k

Summary: You and Ruben where adamant to keep your relationship out of work but things don't always go according to plan.

Warnings: Smut, fluff, angst

Notes: First one I post about Ruben but kinda liked it even though it's kinda messy and all over the place.

"Is Y/N in today?"

Lucy shook her head with a crooked grin, trying to bite in a smug smile "She will come in an hour or so" she proceeded to tell the Portuguese who nodded.

"Don't make things up Lucy" he muttered but a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Oh I am surely not Mr Dias" she smiled back, sitting back on her desk chair as he straightened up "Well, have a good day" he mumbled before hurrying up the stairs.

You knew you were late as you rushed through the entrance of the building, out of breath and stressed out.

"A certain someone asked for you this morning" Lucy grinned as you stopped at her reception desk. Hands full of your working bag, gym bag and files that you needed to go through after failed attempts at doing it during the weekend.

"Who?" you questioned, putting the bags down on the ground as you breathed heavily, being late to work was a bad habit but it did make your fitness better.

"Who do you think?" Lucy chuckled, folding her arms over her chest like it was the most obvious answer.

"Uh-uh Ruben?"

"Ding ding ding" she grinned, tapping her finger on the desk in tact with the sounds she did.

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the little smile that tugged at your mouth. "Don't give me that look"

"I'm not giving you anything I am just asking you a question and pointing out something obvious"

You shook your head, warning her to continue. "I'm gonna go work, see you for lunch?" you hummed, picking up your bags and starting of to the stairs while she laughed at you "Don't try to hide the truth!" she shouted tempting you to flick her off behind your back but you held back and settled in your office. Putting the bags on the small chair by the door before settling in the spacey room which you proudly called your office.

Working as a PR manager for Manchester City had been a dream so far. Only being on the post for a month short you still had a lot to adjust to and a lot to learn but it had all been going great so far. Finding new friends by the staff and also befriending a few of the players. It was your dream job and landing it at your age was a dream in itself.

You spent the morning working through files of different events and matches. Writing player profiles and interview-templates.

The clock was about eleven when a knock made you stop and welcome the person inside.

"It's open" The door shot open and Ruben appeared, his small smile and two coffee cups in his hands making you smile widely.

"Hi, I know it's pretty late but thought you might want some coffee" You couldn't help but smile foolishly big as the Portuguese sat down the coffee at your desk. "Thank you Ruben, it's very nice" "So.... what are you doing?" he questioned, peeking over your shoulder to get a look at your files.

"Well, right now I am writing some files for Nick to pass on to Lucy and Pep regarding the Christmas event and this is your player profile template" "Wow okay, didn't really get that.. wait, that's mine?"

"Mhm"

"What does it say?" he questioned and you chuckled at him, turning to look at him briefly before opening the file up to full screen, showing him the template.

"It's basically empty. I'm gonna have to go around and fill in this information later on, some of it will probably be filmed and all but I have just filled in the basics so far, like your name, birthday, birthplace and so on"

"Mhm" he hued as his eyes scanned the document. He looked ridicolously good regardless what he was doing, it was beginning to become almost a little bit annoying, like how could someone be so beutidul only doing something so simple as reading.

"Are you supposed to know my favorite movie?" he grinned at you, meeting your eyes. "Well I don't know Mr Diaz, are you supposed to know how I look naked? I don't think so but still you do" you mused back, grinning at him as he huffed. His hands rested on the desk, next to you as he leant forward, head tiling to the left to watch you.

"Don't put those images in my head" "You are not getting anything here, it's workspace" you muttered, turning back to your computer and continuing filling in some information in his profile.

"Favorite snack?

"Isn't this supposed to be filmed?" he questioned, "Well maybe but I should start posting this before we can even proceed with the filming so I need to get a few done before, well most of them plus these are not great interview questions"

Ruben hummed, reading through the page now open on your screen as you were thinking.

"Is Jack still here?"

Ruben tilted his head and tutted in disapproval "why would you want him?" You couldn't help but to chuckle at him "Because I want to post his profile?" "Why not mine?"

"Well because I think it would be better to post his first. He is a very popular player and his transfer was a really big publicity thing so I feel like it would get attention to the series of profiles that will occur"

"Post mine first" he grumbled, shaking his head at you while you chuckled "Come on, let me do my work and go find Jack for me"

"I will not"

"Okay, fine. Then I will go myself" you said, standing up from the chair and walking around the table, looking over your shoulder to smirk at his grumpy expression.

"Stop" he grunted as you reached the door, you stopped and turned to him with a smirk. "What? Can't I do my job?" you teased but he only shook his head at you, beckoning you over to him. "You can but right now you can not go and look for Jack" "Why not?" You laughed but still walking to him until you stood chest to chest.

His eyes had that fire they always held when he was in the mood but you had been strict in your rule that no sexual acts where gonna take place at work.

You had already broken that rule twice, once in the changing room after a red-card and another time in the media room after a dinner party.

But you were still adamant on trying to keep it as much as possible. "You shouldn't be so bratty" he murmured. You looked up at him with a chuckle "I am not bratty Ruben, I am trying to do my work and I think Jack is a great player to start with for the profiles and people love him. He is hot, strong and a great player" you teased.

He grunted at that, pushing you against the desk. "Don't stand here and say Jack is hot or you will have a problem"

"Hmm" you hummed as response, feigning thinking. "He is" "Stop"

You couldn't help but to chuckle at him as you patted his chest reassuringly.

Ruben didn't find it funny though. Grabbing your thighs and hoisting you up on the table, standing in-between your thighs and pressing up against you.

"You say one more thing and you will be in trouble" he hissed, pressing his fingers into your thighs. You hummed slightly mockingly, sticking your tongue out from the corner of your lips with a smirk on your face.

"You're just such a brat sometimes" he muttered, pushing your skirt up until it pooled around your waist. He roughly pulled your legs apart and pushed his hand into your panties. You let out a gasp at the rough treatment but you loved it.

Ruben stood with his back against the door, blocking what he was doing with his fingers from any intruders.

"Gonna make you cum in your office and then maybe you will stop being such a brat and maybe stop talking about fucking Jack" His fingers started to rub at your clit. You bit your lip tightly, trying to conceal any sounds that threatened to come out.

Two of his fingers plunged into you starting to pump furiously and making it impossible to stay quiet.

"Ruben" you whined, begging him to slow down. Pressing your face into his chest to try to conceal your moans and whines when he didn't. "Please stop. I can't keep quite" you whined, rocking against his hand.

"Try harder Gathina" he murmured against the shell of your ear, his hot breath trailing down your neck.

He switched between slamming them in and out of you and hooking them against your spot, his thumb never leaving your clit. It felt electric and you knew you would be close within minutes.

Your legs started to shake as you neared your orgasm, the sounds being louder and louder and in the end even Ruben decided it was too much, trying to muffle them with kisses. Swallowing all of your sounds. "You're so close aren't you" he smirked at you chuckling as all you could do was nod.

Just as you were right there a knock echoed through the room before the door swung open. Ruben detached his mouth from yours in shock making you let out a loud moan as you were so so so close to orgasm. Desperately trying to move away from his fingers as you heard the door open.

"Oi! What the fuck!" Jack screeched out quickly exiting the office and closing the door, standing outside the door, waiting until you were ready.

"Ruben stop!" you whined but he continued, only a few more pumps of his fingers was all you needed to release biting your lips so hard they almost bled to not moan too loud for Jack's ears.

You tried to calm down, get your breathing under control and when you did you panicked. "Ruben what the fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck" You whined, watching as he licked his fingers clean before placing his hands on your shoulders to calm you down.

"Calm down y/n it was only Jack it's okay" "It's not okay! You are not gonna fired for this but I am!" You argued, gathering your bag and computer before hurrying out of the door. ignoring Rubens call of your name.

You opened the door to find Jack scratching his neck but a grin plastered on his face. You turned to him, pointing a finger at him "One word about this Grealish, and i'm talking about anything. One fucking word and you are dead"

Jack's eyes wiedened as you stormed off down the halls.

He whistled as he walked into the office where Ruben still stood, closing the door behind him.

"Soooo" Jack chuckled, pursing his lips at his teammate who mirrored his smile and chuckle. "What did I interrupt" "Nothing" Ruben hummed, shaking his head. "Nothing pft, that's bullshit you were fingering her on her office desk!" Jack burst, eyes wide and voice high.

"Okay okay, but seriously. You cannot say anything to anybody. If you do she can honestly loose her job"

"Hey, I won't but if you wanna keep it a secret ya know, maybe don't finger her in the office" he advised, walking towards the door. "Tell her I will meet her tomorrow and talk about the module she have done" he tilled, grinning as he walked out of the door.

Ruben sighed, taking the spare key from the drawer and locking the door behind him as he made his way down the stair. He was done for the morning, having a break until three when training was taking place again. "Hey Lucy have you seen y/n?" he questioned as he walked down the stairs.

Lucy looked up at the man, a slightly nervous look on her face "Uh, she, I"

"Lucy" Ruben deadpanned, knowing she knew exactly where you were.

"She just left home but she didn't want me to tell you that"

Ruben sighed "Thank you Lucy, I won't tell on you"

She nodded in appreciation as he quickly walked towards his car.

--

When Ruben unlocked the door to your apartment you were sitting on the sofa, lazy watching tv as you worked with your files. You knew who it was the second you heard the lock rustle.

"I don't want any visitors" You shouted towards the hallway but you couldn't help the small smile that tugged at your mouth. The time on your sofa had made you calm down slightly, knowing Jack would never tell on you.

"Shut up" Ruben chuckled, stopping in the doorway to look at you, his arm resting against the frame and a crooked grin on his face. "Sorry for running" you hummed, settling your computer aside as he approached you. Leaning down to kiss your lips softly.

"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't risk your job like that"

"Well I appreciate that but it's not like I didn't willingly spread my legs for you" you hummed jokingly. "Well no but still" Ruben smiled, settling down next to you on the sofa.

"It's all okay, we just need to talk about a solution. I don't wanna have to hide us forever"

"We will find a solution" he nodded in agreement, kissing your lips again, just as soft and loving.

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝕬𝖚𝖗𝖎𝖋𝖊𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖘 IV

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: The Custodes just watching the cat get more attention than him.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams , @egrets-not-regrets.

𝕬𝖚𝖗𝖎𝖋𝖊𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖘 V

TW // Stalking.

Sitting outside in Marie’s backyard. I tested my shoulder out, taking it out of the cast, and moved my arms slowly around in circles. My nose scrunching up in the sting of soreness. Heating up my shoulder every time I moved my arm upwards. I even had to wait a few seconds to continue and fully complete the rotation.

If only that damned ceiling didn’t crumble beneath my feet, I wouldn’t have fallen on that rusty, steel pole. I wouldn’t be having this problem either.

That Journalist can have a bad day too for making me throw him around while wounded, but he also took an ungodly amount of pictures of me from when I crossed a road to end up in Marie’s backyard. No doubt, going to try and publish that somewhere for some big money for whatever “my story” is worth.

“It looks like you’re doing better.” The wobbly voice of Marie observed, an orange cat meowing at her feet.

Turing my head to look at her. She had a cup of tea in her hand, occasionally taking sips out of it. The smell of dried fruit wafting from the cup. Another tea that I recognized as hibiscus tea.

I bowed my head to her in a ‘good morning,’ relaxing my shoulder for a moment. Picking up my own drink with my other arm from the small, circular glass table off to my side that was full of tiny, potted plants.

“If you like, I would need some help repotting some plants.” Marie offered a daily task, taking another sip from her tea cup. The cat jumping up onto my lap.

I nodded again, sipping my own drink, taking that task because it would mean free cookies. Most of the time anyway. If she didn’t make cookies, or any desert she baked, I was repaying her kindness with anything she needed to get done for the day. Which wasn’t much, honestly.

The daily things she mostly does is tend to her hoard of cats, and her jungle rooms of plants. Both feeding them, and giving them water. Then she goes and puts a tea kettle on the stove so she could have her morning tea.

Her afternoons consisted of a lunch break, and a well deserved nap with the cats in the sunroom with some more tea afterwards, and her nights are tame as she usually just watches an old black, and white film, or reads her old books.

It’s been what? Only three days, and I already know what her daily routine is.

“Hello there, Miss. Garner!” An older man yelled out a greeting. Looking over he had to be in his 60s? 70s? Brown, frizzled hair turning gray with a big, nicely trimmed beard. He was on the more heavyset side of a man with an oval body shape, his body leaning over the white fence Marie had put up to keep the neighbors, and critters out of her “garden palace.” She had named her garden.

“Mr. Benton, good morning.” Marie greeted back, not sounding very thrilled by his appearance.

Looking between the two. They clearly had their differences. Marie was the gardener that loved her fresh fruits, and vegetables, floral smell, and a lover of cats. While Mr. Benton was the mechanic type, lover of tinkering, fixing things, smelling like grease, and oil, and the owner of a wiener dog.

“Daw, don’t be like that Miss. Garner! I was only trying to be nice.” He replied, taking off his blue cap that showed a bald spot on his head. “Say, is your little lady willing to help me for a moment?”

I could-

“Absolutely not! Not with all that filth!” Marie exclaimed, surprising me on how fast she moved to put her tea cup down on the glass table, her hands now on her hips.

“Now, hold on there. It ain’t all filth.” Mr. Benton responded, putting his cap back on his head. Shaking a finger at Marie.

“You got old, rusting cars in your backyard, you make these god awful noises at night when you're in your garage, tools laying about everywhere, don’t make me list any more mister!” Marie listed off, pointing her finger at the man who just looked dazed?

I sipped on my drink, petting the orange cat in my lap as I watched the two argue with each other. Marie spitting details to complain about while Mr. Benton spoke of anything that would get her riled up, purposely.

“Oh! Bugger off will yeah?!” Marie yelled, waving off the old man, turning back to her much needed tea.

“Oh, you love it Miss. Garner!” Mr. Benton laughed, belly shaking with him.

“Just- shoo! Go away!” Marie waved him off again. A tint of pink on her cheeks as she took another sip of her tea to cover it up.

“Alright, alright. I’ll leave you be.” He sighed, finger coming up to his face to get rid of a tear, then waved. “Till next time lady’s!”

Giving him my own little wave, cat mowing in disapproval of the act of waving. I quickly nudged my foot at Marie.

“What?” She asked, still using the tea cup to cover her blush. I gave her an ‘really’ look, eyebrow raising up at her.

“Don’t give me that look!” She groaned, turning her head away. New cherry red blush coating her cheeks.

I see what’s going on here; don’t think I don’t.

“Stop giving me that look!” Marie exclaimed again, desperately trying to hide away from my gaze.

I shook my head at her, scratching the cat behind its ear as I bumped her ankle softly with my shoe again.

“Are you planning to go somewhere?” She suddenly asked, switching the topic. Avoiding the previous topic, for now.

I nodded, my eye trailing over the tree line at the back of the yard. The same heavy, tingling coming back; feeling stronger with each second I stared.

“Do you need anything?” She questioned, finally putting the cup down from her lips. Most likely have drank all of the tea, and calmed down her burning cheeks.

I shook my head ‘no.’ Spotting a flash of gold before it stilled. A blue visor glowing from a darkened area of the tree line. A slight gold shining off of the armored being.

I knew it. The Custodes had followed me here, and this means they must know, that I know. Though, didn’t it have a red visor before? Not blue? Less gold too?

Oh, I was definitely planning on going somewhere now. I wasn’t going to be in the presence of an Custodes. Much less of an Astartes.

[lokidokieokie]

Love's Debut

Summary: In an actor AU, Loki Laufeyson is a world-famous actor; and you, his humble assistant. What happens when years of unreleased feelings rise to the surface...during the middle of his movie’s première.  

Pairing: Actor!Loki x Assistant!Reader

Warning(s): Kinda fluffy, kinda angsty, large crowds, declarations of love, Loki is definitely OOC (but it’s my AU, so deal with it 😊)

Note: italics is a flashback

Loki Laufeyson was at the height of his career as a world-famous actor. He had starred in countless blockbuster hits, had legions of adoring fans, and was constantly on the go. It was no surprise that he was in need of an assistant to keep his life organised.

That's where you came in.

"Excuse me, Mr. Laufeyson?"

He looked up from his desk to see a woman standing in his doorway. It was safe to say that he was entirely gobsmacked. There she stood in a lilac blouse and a black skirt, her h/c hair sitting in a tight bun on the side of her head.

"I'm sorry to bother you," she said, her voice slightly hesitant. "I'm your new assistant."

He smiled warmly at her, feeling a sense of relief wash over him as her honeyed voice clouded his senses. He had been without an assistant for weeks, and the workload was continuing to pile up.

"Of course, please, come in." He said, gesturing to the empty chair in front of his desk.

She sat down, pulling a notebook out of her bag.

"My name is Y/n, as I'm sure you read in the email," she said, introducing herself. "I'm so excited to be working with you."

"I'm glad to have you on board," he said, smiling at her. "Is there anything that you require from me at the moment?"

Y/n shook her head, her eyes bright.

"No, I'm all set. I've read up on your current projects and I've got everything organised."

He raised an eyebrow, impressed.

"That's quite efficient," he said, feeling a weight being lifted from his shoulders. "I'm glad to hear it."

For the next few weeks, Y/n proved herself to be an invaluable asset. She was organised, efficient, and always one step ahead of him. But as he spent more time with her, he couldn't help but feel that there was something more there--a connection that went beyond just professional admiration.

Ever since the beginning you had kept him grounded. When we was stressed out over a tight schedule for a particular film, you were there waiting for him with a cup of tea and soothing words. When he was freaking out over forgetting to buy his brother's birthday gift, you surprised with him with a present of his own--the item that he was looking to get Thor.

And as the weeks turned to months which turned into years, that feeling of admiration never left him. They continued to grow as every day flew by.

It wasn't until the night of his latest movie premiere, as he stood on the red carpet with you by his side, that he realised what it was.

So Loki turned to face you, his eyes filled with emotion, "I can't do this," he whispered. "I can't pretend anymore."

He saw you look at him with confusion, "What do you mean?"

"I mean this," he said, taking your hand in his. "I mean us. I've been in love with you for years now, and I can't keep it inside any longer."

As quickly as Loki declared those words, he pulled away from you. The realisation of what he had just done hitting him like a 3am wake-up call.

"I'm sorry," his voice barely a whisper. "I- I shouldn't have said anything. I just... I had to tell you."

And with that, he turned and walked away; leaving the woman he loved in the middle of the red carpet, with cameras flashing all around her.

~~~

He didn't return to the theatre, nor did he make an appearance at the after party. He was disappointed with himself; declaring his feeling for you in the middle of a public event was not the right way to approach this.

So there he was, sitting on his couch, a glass of whiskey in hand; trying to drink his sorrows away.

And then someone knocked at the door.

Reluctantly, he made his way to the door and opened it, only to be greeted by you.

You had a frown on your face, and your eyes were red-rimmed. This is it, he thought, she's here to give in her two weeks notice.

"I'm sorry," he said, refusing to look at her any longer. "I shouldn't have said anything."

He heard her heels clink on the wooden floorboards as she made her way closer.

"You don't have to apologise for anything, Loki."

His red eyes shifted to look at her, "I've ruined everything. I've made everything awkward, you're here to give me your two weeks notice. What don't I have to apologise for?"

As he turned away, he felt her grab his hand, "There's nothing to apologise for, because I feel the same way."

His head shot up, his eyes wide.

"You what?"

"I've been in love with you for years," you said, a smile gracing your features. "I just never brought it up because there was no way that you felt the same way about me."

He cupped the side of her face, "But I do, Y/n. I love you more than anything this life has to offer."

And with that, all the years of unreleased feelings rose to the surface in the form of a passionate kiss.

It was a moment that the two of you would never forget; a moment that would changes your lives forever.

A/N this has been in my drafts since October, and I finally had the motivation to finish it :)

Taglist! Everything: @thewaithfuckingannoyme @evelyn-kingsley @moonlight-ee  Loki: @dryyoursaltyoceantears 

[ithilwen-lionheart]

Home is where the heart is: Home is where you are - Legolas x Modern Day!Reader

Alternatively:

Ignorance is your new bestfriend

__________

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 (you are here)

[ Part 3. Work Text: ]

There is no downplaying the hatred (Y/N) feels whenever her classmates would make fun of the Legolas that they see in the films.

Not only was it already horribly uncouth of them to brand him -or anyone, for that matter- as effeminate because of the way they looked or acted but they also had to sling “gay” about as if it were a rock meaning to insult instead of one’s sexual orientation. (Y/N) would always find herself muttering on the defensive whenever situations as such would arise, her thoughts simmering a little too hot with indignance and her composure only ever tempered by the winsome pondering that endured alongside it: that if Legolas were gay then he would be an addition to a party of wholly respectable people who followed their hearts and in their wake instead brings love in a cynical world that is already teeming with a troubling surplus of negativity.

It’s an enchanting idea -that dash of sweetness on otherwise stale and acrid coffee- like an exquisite chiffon paired with the cup of tea she indulged in one fine spring afternoon as she perused that slash Fellowship fanfic that featured her resident elf, Aragorn, facial hair, and some razors. It felt like a lifetime ago, she wouldn’t have even entertained the thought then that said elf would just stumble upon her doorstep one stormy night. Granted it was something she may find herself writing about, but more out of the imaginings in her head rather than out of actual experience. 

(Y/N) actually found promise in it -cataloging everyday life with the Woodland Prince. It would make for a good rom-com with a well-balanced lead. Legolas is as naturally romantic and otherwise capable as he is adoringly ditzy around modern technology. With the probability of property damage at an all time low now that he had discovered the magic of WikiHow and search engines, she actually finds herself chuckling at the mere thought of the plethora of reels that could be made out of the blond archer’s previous exploits- multitude of phone replacements notwithstanding.

He’s “beloved protagonist” coded that way. Mr. All Eyes On Me when he enters the room or makes his first appearance on the first panel or chapter, Darling Please Shut Up an entire season after he finally finds a healthier way to process his trauma and ends up letting loose that silly goose that’s been cooped up inside him for far too long. It would be an advantage that Legolas is already built with more empathy than the usual male lead, that he’s already more than just his looks or his poetic words and that his love prevails over what to others would usually be pride and self-preservation before some dramatic loss or divine intervention hard presses them into a much needed system restart- it would almost be too easy to love him-

It would be too easy to love him. It had been for someone as jaded as her, what more for everyone else?

And then she goes to thinking about the fangirls, the fandom, the trolls and the inevitability of negative press and immediately shuts the idea down. (Y/N) is not about to fight fanwars over at twitter, not anytime soon or in the far future if she’s got so much as a say in it. She barely held herself together today and almost went out for blood when one of her blockmates made a “mockery” of Legolas’ name and thought 'Le-gay-las' to be such a splendidly creative attempt to go about it. These are bored university students, she didn’t want to start thinking about what exponentially worse travesties kids who overindulged on questionable YouTube content are capable of.

Thankfully enough, before her overthinking could get even more cataclysmic, she finally reaches the tell-tale porch of her home. The beginning of that chapter in her book- the very stone that Legolas first stepped on before he changed her life forever. It was an image that was so charged with positive emotions it was not unlike a lighthouse to the turbulent seas of her troubled mind- something that grounded her as much as the thought of what life now breathed past her threshold.

A tenacious smile blots out the line of practiced patience that weighed on her lips, her hands a little too giddy and enthusiastic as she retrieved her keys from the pocket of her bag and unlocked the door.

Upon entering, the delectable smell of dinner wafted through the abode. It was a siren’s call to her protesting stomach and yet it was the longing in her chest that championed over the promise of what she knew to be carefully curated food. It is only by sheer good luck that the skilled chef responsible for this also happens to be the only one ever able to sweeten her most sour of moods- today being no more than an everyday foe for one already so adept at putting the worst of her at ease.

(Y/N) padded through the carpeted stairs with the urgency of a child running to their parents after a nasty row with their playground bullies. She wanted to recoil at the comparison -the notion entirely foreign and not at all founded by previous experiences of the sort and yet her chest brimmed with an all too familiar bittersweet ache at the assurance of a nurturing face and comforting words all the same; of warm arms wrapping around her all in a bid to face what demons the world chose to serve her up on an unwanted platter that particular day. She was certain that her hurried footfalls carried the weight of her emotions, that it was amplified even more when she all but flung her bedroom door wide open and off its hinges if she had a little bit more strength.

Then she sees him. In glittering hues she registers the shape of him, the familiar outline drawn with smothering saturation that glows a bit more vividly than per usual- when her eyes aren’t too watery and her ribcage hadn’t been stuffed with a little too much cotton. Legolas sat curled up on her worn bean bag, eyes focused on the horror flick playing on the telly, a bowl of popcorn balanced on his long legs crossed over each other- the paragon of a couch potato. (Y/N) never would've thought that it would be a look anyone would find attractive. Too often had it been stuck on as a warning label for a bottle of crippling indolence but the Elven Prince lounged decked out in modern day clothes and wore it like a badge worthy of admiration. 

He donned a juniper pullover and dove gray sweats and as she walked mindlessly towards him, (Y/N) swore he also had her heart somewhere in his pockets. Swears that he held it a willing hostage there when he subtly presented his cheek for a kiss when she came up behind him, when the corners of his mouth tipped into a languid smile after she did, swears that he tickled it with the sound of the chuckle that bubbled in his throat and the unmistakable scent of strawberries that wafted through the air straight from his mildly damp strands of spun moonlight.

"Legolas,” (Y/N)’s attempt at a careful inquiry proved a futile venture in the face of mirth, “-did you use my shampoo?" she manages with a poor excuse at a raised brow and the galloping echoes of her still missing heart.

A coy little smile and the soft press of thin lips against her own confirmed her suspicion: that he used her shampoo and that her heart was no longer her own.

"My heart lies wherever your feet may take you, en melleth.” he begins as if he shared her thoughts, as if Christmas came early for them and they beat everyone on the entire business of exchanging gifts. He goes on and (Y/N) thinks that it was a fine comparison, “You will have to forgive me for scouring what remnants of you there are if only to keep what little life in me remains in your absence." There was a twinkle in his eyes that belie the theatrical despondence in his words, a playfulness in him that (Y/N) insists warranted the bite on the tip of his sculpted nose.

“That’s what you get for holding mine in a vice grip in your pockets.” She quips and tries not to falter at the mild discomfort on that handsome face.

Soft baby blues look up at her in perplexity. Furrowed brows and genuine confusion making a young boy out of his Elvish immortality, “I do not have anything in my pockets-” he begins and yet his hands find their way into a dutiful search, “As I thought,” he mutters once his foraging concluded and proved fruitless, “Whatever it is you had lost, en melleth. Sadly, it is not with me.” His entire mien was so veritably apologetic, the gears in his head already turning to plot for ways in which he might provide her aid- it was a trait of his that she’d been familiar with. As a sentry to The Fellowship, (Y/N) had always seen Legolas a step ahead of his companions, both in battle of blood and mind. He was only ever second to Gandalf who was a wizard, and on occasions, Aragorn when it came to matters concerning mortals and their ideals. In his pondering, his initial befuddlement had dissipated and had instead been replaced by upset and a very much undue disappointment with himself- (Y/N) didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry at the thought that it was now her incriminating jape that was completely lost at sea, that it was something so abstract that Legolas seemed a bit too obligated at finding. 

She instead settled on helplessly shaking her head all the while dismissing what needless fretting the elf is currently doing, “It’s a metaphor for something else, Legolas. It’s not something that’s truly lost in a physical sense. Don’t lose your pretty little head over it.” (Y/N) gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and hopes that the whimsical smile she tossed along with it would be enough as she took her place to sit on the floor beside the prince.

“A metaphor,” the blond elf muses, “You did mention something of the sort before now. I fear it remains to be a notion I am still yet to fully comprehend.” there was a sheepishness in his smile at what he seemed to consider was a persistent lapse on his knowledge. As much as the look made him youthful, it was something his wisdom didn’t deserve.

And with all things concerning the Elven Prince and his honor, (Y/N) finds herself donning her figurative sword and shield- ever so ready to step into the fray to fight what shadows crept and posed a threat to his tranquility, “It’s not that it’s something you’re yet to comprehend. You have poetry locked and loaded with how you speak, metaphors come as easy to you as breathing does- it’s my choosing to speak in riddles when I shouldn’t that’s the problem.” She was certain that she made no room for self-loathing in the manner by which she spoke because she knew all too well just how equally as easily Legolas would bleed concern for her.

Still, his hand finds hers all the same as he leaned down to give her his full undivided attention, “And what riddle was it that you regaled me with?” he tipped his head in askance, strands of his hair slipping over his shoulder and pinning her down with the lingering scent of her shampoo.

"I swear someday I'm just going to die of diabetes because of your version of clothes-cuddle." (Y/N) lamented off-tangentially as a means of submerging her compromising statement from before back into its watery grave. She adapted the same dramatics the blond elf used on her not too long ago for good measure and it went as seamlessly as the fluid incorporation of his presence in her life. The idea of it wrapped around (Y/N) like a favored quilt.

Legolas on the other hand, he steeped on a wariness that dwelled on her plaint- a jest that unbeknownst to (Y/N), he so gravely misunderstood. He opts to abandon his popped corn kernels and placed it on the floor in front of him in lieu of reaching out to her, “Come,” 

It was (Y/N)'s turn to blink up in confusion, “What for?”

“Will you indulge me?” Pleading, (Y/N) surmises, is a look best left for cats and dogs and should by all means be rendered an actual criminal offense when wielded by Legolas on grounds of what farce it would deem one utterly willing to commit for his name.

“Will I even be able to say no when you’re looking at me with those eyes?” she finds herself saying with no small amount of tenderness, already accepting defeat for a war that was all in her head. Those eyes were worth more than a dozen losing battles fought, she thinks, worth all the white flags she could wave until her arms fell off her shoulders-

Legolas raises his vacant hand to cover his eyes and (Y/N)’s thoughts skids to a halt.

“What are you doing?”

“Giving you the option to refuse. You always have a choice, meleth nîn. If my gaze impairs your judgment like so then on my head be it.” Legolas answers simply and so so factually that irregardless of how comical he may look to some in that very moment -a hand still reaching out to her and another over his eyes- his words were astute and to (Y/N) he was what she’d want the entire world to be, “A lone tap on the palm of my outstretched hand for a refusal and two for acceptance.”

She’d take limbs off corpses if that’s what it took to continue waving those flags to surrender to him. (Y/N) decides he needn’t know that, if only to preserve what little dignity she had left to lose and to keep the elf from looking at her in terror at yet another misunderstanding of a completely harmless metaphor.

Though, she does find herself laying her cheek on the palm of that outstretched hand and holding it in both of hers and she doesn’t know if waving those undead hands still seemed like such a bad idea compared to this.

At the very least not until she witnesses the gesture startle Legolas enough that the hand over his face falls to his lap and she is greeted by an almost childish uncertainty made soft by enduring affection, “Is this a "yes "?" he queries, voice as gentle as the thumb that absent-mindedly caressed her cheekbone.

(Y/N) thinks she could settle with embarrassing herself like this, figures she could go above and beyond by nodding her head wordlessly and failing at hiding a smile that was both dumb and shy in equal measure if Legolas would give her an even dopier one for her efforts- like what he’s doing. Perhaps he can work on putting a damper to his elvish charms because even then his beauty remained, or, (Y/N) thinks she could just shove it where it matters because there are more things far worth considering then than her insecurities as a damned mortal.

Like how this painstakingly beautiful Elven Prince gently pulled her in by the waist so that she was sitting on his lap, for instance. Or how he wrapped his slender arms around her stomach and rested his head on top of hers with so much tenderness she ironically felt like she was just a breath away from shattering into a million pieces-

And then he buries his nose into her tresses and breathes in and (Y/N) swears he greedily took those pieces of her in and put them back together again with an exhale and that little shimmy he did to settle them snugly into the confines of her protesting bean bag.

No words were exchanged as they resorted to watching what cheesy horror movie it was that Legolas had on. Adept hands that once wielded bows and arrows with killer precision put hard at work massaging (Y/N)’s aching muscles, wise and quiet lips almost childish as he showered her with an unprecedented kiss here and there.

Three movies in and it became nothing short of an indulgent habitude for Legolas and more than once (Y/N) fails to reign in a giggle at the most inappropriate of times. First was during a particularly gruesome death scene from a slasher movie that Legolas looked at her in absolute horror for; second was at a nasty exorcism that had gone so horribly wrong she wouldn’t have blamed The Elven Prince if in that moment he honestly thought she had been off her rocker as he looked at her in alarm once more; and third was that literally bloody elevator scene from The Shining- though it was also then that she had caught up to something and stepped her foot down because the terror-stricken expression on Legolas’ face remained the same as it had been the first two times. She looked at him long enough that she saw the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Looked at him long and hard with narrowed eyes until his resolution faltered and a side of his lips quirked ever so slightly heavenwards- (Y/N) was certain that if she hadn’t loved him as much as she did, she’d have sent him back to his maker along with it when the realization dawned upon her that the entire time, the entire bloody time, he had actually been playing her.

Legolas Greenleaf, son of The Elvenking Thranduil, Prince of the Woodland Realm and the stalwart sentry to The Fellowship had been messing around with her. She thought it to be too scandalous an improbability to even entertain- at the very least previously when she was a little too drunk on love and comfort and how Legolas smelled exactly like her that he could never -would never- drop so low as to pull such an elementary prank as making faces. Now that she was a little bit sober, she scours the catalog her mind subconsciously took of Legolas’ fears and inspects them with keener eyes. A part of her thinks she might be overanalyzing it, that it might just be her looking for problems where there is none, but all of that was clubbed down when she recalls that scene with the Balrog from the Mines of Moria, she places it beside the memory she had of the Elven Prince the first night he flooded the bathroom, that one time she accidentally walked in on him naked and he ripped her shower curtains in an attempt to preserve his modesty- his fear was something that took its time crawling into his eyes, something that could only ever pull so slowly and subtly at his features as he always fought so valiantly against it. 

It was all those and most certainly not raised brows, glittering widened eyes, and parted lips that hosted a gasp.

A godforsaken gasp.

(Y/N) inwardly banged her head against the walls of her mind on account of her stupidity. She should have known it from the damned gasp. Legolas was never one to make such a clear-cut sound of his discomfiture. Even in the direst of situations it was his face that would tell the entire story, whatever it is that will leave his lips would be actual words strung with a purpose.

Three movies in and Legolas frolicked enough to feign three startled gasps that (Y/N) actually believed in and felt sorry for. Three movies in and (Y/N) could actually commiserate with cross girlfriends and what need they felt to throw silly little punches at their guffawing boyfriends’ arms- embarrassment at the blatant comparison to an actual labeled relationship be damned. Three movies in and (Y/N) gets to thinking that she might actually have to cut Legolas’ screen time if he’s going to start making a habit out of pantomiming goddamn teenagers from cheeky television series.

She’d call it when he actually starts showing fascination towards jerseys and convertibles. The telly would have to find a home in the dumpster then.

“Having the time of our life are we, giggles?” she deadpanned, trying her damndest to remain unamused as velvety chuckles assaulted her eardrums, strong arms winding securely around her waist as Legolas pulled her even closer to him and nuzzled against the crook of her neck as if she were a treasured plush toy at every attempt of hers to pull away. It was once again a losing battle -as with everything else that concerned him. (Y/N) didn’t need those figurative swords and shields, not when they were as good as balloons fashioned by clowns at a children’s party in the face of the elf’s almost puppy-like clinginess.

A golden retriever puppy named “Giggles”- it wasn’t a far-fetched idea. If anything, it made a little bit more sense than the words Legolas spoke next.

"For what joy you bring me,” he states solemnly, chin perched on the plane of her shoulder as he looks up at her with serene determination in his gaze as if a gallant knight declaring the decimation of a most fearsome foe for his lady’s honor, “I shall protect you from 'diabetes'.” and before (Y/N) could even process the absurdity of his statement and crack at it, Legolas goes on- almost ludicrous in his earnesty, “Let all those who attempt to so much as lay a single threatening touch on you be dead before their stroke fell." and he was kissing the top of her head as if she were something so precious that she lost all heart to explain to him that diabetes wasn’t exactly something he could shoot or stab at to be rid of. Instead, she joins this little circus and offers her condolences to it in advance because if by some odd stroke of misfortune it takes on a concrete form, she’s certain that the Prince of Greenwood -otherwise known as the retriever puppy Giggles- would certainly be nipping at its tail in no time.

His lady’s tinkling laughter pierced through the foreboding silence of the magical box before them and Legolas allowed himself a slow smile as he too, fixed his attention on the movie.What pride and joy he had for the success of his pretense at obliviousness may have rubbed the Valars the wrong way because no sooner than he relaxed, a monstrous phantom flashed into the screen and the screech that left with what part of his soul was ripped out of him from shock had been a little too genuine.

-----

[ FIN. End of Chapter 1, Part 3 ]

———-

A/N:

As promised!

Also, as per the disclaimer I had put out on my notice, you will find that this part is written as a lighthearted and speedy almost-crack fic. This is due to the entirety of Chapter 1 initially having been written as a whole instead of in segments with this bit in particular having been cut off from Part 2 due to its derailment from the course I ended up taking with its re-written ending.

Additionally, it had been quite some time since I had last worked on a written piece- even longer still since I had last worked on this particular fic- so I apologize for whatever failure in consistency there may have been in my writing.

I find that I should also let you wonderful readers know that I have read, immensely appreciated, and loved each and every one of your comments and reblogs. I cannot thank you enough for your words of encouragement and investment in this story as it had played a significant role in bolstering my previously dwindling passion with this particular craft of mine.

If time and drive permit, this part may end up with an update containing a visual of some sorts. I had been working a bit more on illustrations when I'm not writing so we shall see~

Taglist: @siriuslydestiny, @elysianluv, @daddy-long-legolas, @foxchild-v

[choccy-zefirka]

Six of Swords

Hello, I was possessed to write some V/Takemura this afternoon! Note that I am playing the game for the first time, mostly blind, so the fic is based on the events that have happened to my V so far (she just met Panam and is in the middle of investigating Evelyn's employers), and was an outpouring of my love for the ship that I had to get out of my system before I properly finished the game. Hence, it may not be quite accurate/in-character!

I also planned to continue the story further, to the point where V and Takemura have their adult choom-choom time, and then their pillow talk involves 1. The talents they would have pursued in another, more peaceful life (cooking for Takemura and art for V); and 2. What Anders Hellman revealed to V regarding her condition. However, given that I have immersed myself in pretty harrowing irl news tonight, that extinguished my inspiration spark for the time being, so I kindly ask you to enjoy the story for what it is!

As usual, my writing contains certain undesirable traits (repetitions, tangents, purple prose etc.) but I had fun with it, and so might you!

Also, this is the V in this story! Idc what CD Projekt says, her full name is Vita XD She belongs to the same character archetype as Una Cadash, Naali Adaar and Cinder the Tav.

"Greetings, V. I do not intend to offend, but it appears that you are forming a behavioral pattern."

The dulcet robotic voice — so familiar — sends ripples across the sea of hissing, crackling, acidic turquoise stripes and squares that have been biting at V's eyes, until she felt like her burning, veins eyeballs were dripping blood.

She blinks, once, twice. The blood turns out to have been tears. Just tears. Once a beast she thought she'd conquered triumphantly at the age of twelve; and now, a more annoying recurring guest than a celebrity on Stan's show.

She wipes them off, in a swift, almost violent motion. Gotta destroy those fuckers.

The ringing in her ears subsides, and the floating turquoise shapes shift and condense into a face. A very distinct, plasticky white face, speaking to her from an overhanging monitor. Her tear-damp fingers twitch, and she spreads them out, still half-blind, feeling the creaky leather. She is on the back seat of a taxi. The taxi, she should say.

"Hey, Del..." she croaks weakly. "How... How did you get here?"

Seriously, though. How?

Her thoughts and memories set in like a broken nose. The last thing she can recollect is the muted orange blur of the desert highway, beyond the Sunset Motel, and a biting-sharp stench as she slumped over the upper-floor railing, heaving her guts out.

"Mr. Takemura hailed me with instructions to take you home," Delamain explains, courteous as ever. "I made certain to send out a reliable cab, whose AI is completely in line with the Delamain Corporation standards."

Through the last dregs of her wooziness, V cannot help but snort (a mistake, as it makes her inhale the lingering aftertaste of her own vomit). Yeah, reliable cab. Unlike those rogue ones. Ugh, she still has to finish chasing them down.

"You were in poor condition — though thankfully, not as poor as when I previously did this for you. Still, this was already happened twice. Hence my remark about the pattern."

"Mhm. If you had an eddie for each time, you'd have two eddies, which is not much, yada yada..."

V sighs.

"Man. Sorry, Del, I... I had a shitty couple of days."

The words scarcely leave her flaky, terribly dry lips — which she just barely saved from splitting into bloody cracks by taking a huge swig from a branded water bottle, graciously provided in the cup holder by her seat — when all of these days' shittiness hits her. At once. Hard, fast. Like crashing your motorbike into a septic tank.

She's seen so much. Way too much for one lifetime,even if hers is supposed to be jam packed into a few weeks.

The dark green mire of the snuff film brain dances, contrasted against the explosion of the searing thermal orange — that fucking ripperdoc chair where some unlucky gonk was melted into a sticky, none-beef-all-soot carcass, for sickos to get off to his final agony.

Evelyn's limp body against her chest, so small, so bare, all that glitz and sass and mystique gone, like she was a little girl V was tucking lovingly into bed. And dark, dark smears everywhere: blood in the bath, smudged makeup on Judy's ashen, hardened face.

Then, the desert, just today. Blood-red through the lens of a drone, no signs of life among the dust and brittle grass. Just the scattered bodies of the nomads — Panam's people, good people, who had nothing to do with this mess, who only wanted to help, to rescue survivors from a downed AMV. The AMV *she* was hunting; the AMV *she* roped Panam into helping her with.

V presses her hand against her eyes. Johnny is quiet for now; she must have taken the Omega blockers back there, at the motel, without knowing. One small blessing, at least. His voice chiming in with her own is the last thing she needs right now.

Shit, shit, shit! She's supposed to be better than this. She was always the tough, competent one. The one to pull her chooms back from the brink, whether it's a younger street kid, years ago, wanting to swim in a canal supposedly infested with brain-eating amoeba (so this is what it feels like), or Judy staring into nothing, with a cigarette weeping ash in her shaking hand, or Panam clutching her wound, screaming the name of the man who offered her to run away together. She — V — was supposed to hold them, to tell them it's gonna be okay. We did preem, fellas, we lived to see another sunrise. Look sharp, look ahead, look at V.

...Who would look at her now and be inspired to push on?

When she lifts her hand again, her face is wet. A-fucking-gain.

And deep inside her — a quivering cable line pulled taut from her gut to the back of her throat — there is a strong, overpowering longing for... For something terribly stupid. And right now, with her legs still numb and sick still drying up on the front of her shirt, she is too weak to stop and make sense of it, much less resist. So she just goes with it, and says what it wants her to say.

"Del... Can you call Takemura for me?"

Delamain obliges,  blue lips sculpted into an impeccably professional smile. The glowing white monitor turns bright orange, and another face emerges from the static. Making the sensation within V cut into her insides even deeper.

"V! I was just finished with Hellman."

V exhales a short laugh. She is still drenched in all that metaphorical shit, but there is no better distraction from it than her favorite pastime. Testing the limits of this old man's stoicism.

"Did not kill him, did you? Or is he still walking around like in those ancient samurai movies — you know, where a guy slices another guy up and he feels just fine, and then suddenly falls apart into neat chunks of meat?"

Takemura holds her gaze, very unimpressed. But she has come to recognize that little tug at the corners of his mouth. She won't go as far as to say that this is also his favorite pastime... But he is not *not* enjoying this.

"You certainly flatter my technique, but... No. Hellman is still alive. I simply obtained all the information I needed from him."

He pauses, and suddenly, his face softens even further. By about 0.01℅, but still.

"I am glad you are awake, V. I heard you screaming in pain on the balcony of that so-called... motel," his lips curl, and he spits the word out like moldy food. "But I could not attend to you for long. You understand."

"The interrogation, yeah."

The conversation lulls, and in the silence, the longing takes over once more.

"Listen, Goro..."

She catches a moment to savor the feel of his first name in her mouth. Since she's started doing stupid things, might as well go all in.

"Can we meet? I'll ask Del here to redirect the car to the marina. It should be deserted at this time of night; I wanna talk in person."

Takemura nods. Somehow, his lack of hesitation sends heat rushing up her windpipe.

"Once, I would have wondered if you were going to waste my time, but now I know better. No meeting with you is ever a waste of time, V."

"Even if we are just eating horrible street food?"

She can swear she's never seen the corners of his lips tilt up this much.

"Even then. Is that why you wish to seek me out on the marina?"

"No, not exactly..." for a fraction of a second, V feels rather sheepish, sobering up from the longing. But Takemura himself does not allow her to backpedal.

"Very well. I will see you there," he says — and disconnects.

By the time Delamain glides onto the marina — smooth as a drifting cloud compared to the mad race across unpaved rocky hillocks and through dingy Raffer tunnels with Panam — it starts to rain. Or, well, drizzle. The wet mist hangs in the air, scented with something fresh for once, and the city lights color it with a peculiar mix of emerald and purple. The palm trees sway quietly, slender silhouettes against the almost trippy watercolor swirls. Deep down, at the same hidden core of her heart that's being pierced by her stupid longing, V wishes she had her drawing tablet with her.

Useless gonk, that. Such a pointless thing to have bought with the eddies from one of her very first gigs. Only really good for designing bike decals for your chooms, and even those would probably have come off just fine if you'd asked one of Del's artist cousins to generate them for you. But sometimes, V cannot help but notice how blue the sky looks when the smog clears, or how vivid orange the rocks by the dam are when the sun hits them, or right now, how those palms look.

And hey, some drawing tutorials on the net are free, and you can't spend every single evening between heists knocking down shots or diddling joy toys. Sometimes you just wanna... meditate.

Jackie had his dumbbells, Misty has her crystals and shit, and V has her silly little tablet. Not enough to turn her into anything more than a Heywood thug, not enough to make her stand out here or in Atlanta... But just right to capture the little splashes of color she spots here and there, so that they leave her head and stop fucking bothering her.

"V. You have no umbrella."

She's been so lost in thought, staring up at the dancing palms, that Takemura's voice makes her jump. Yeah, she has no umbrella — she has no shirt underneath her trusty leather jacket either. Left it crumpled up in the back seat of the taxi, next to the empty bottle she'd gargled to clean her mouth. Kind of felt awkward wearing that vomit-soiled mess to meet Takemura. Especially with what she's about to do.

She freezes in front of him, filling her lungs with the damp seaside air, and filling her mind with the sight of him — a solid, dignified figure amid the rainy blur, worthy of an artwork of its very own... And next, without warning, she takes off: dashes forward and wraps herself around him in the tightest embrace she can muster.

This is the closest she's been to him since he hauled her unconscious mess of limbs to Vik's... Aside from a few brushes of her hand against his: over the condiment bottles on a stained diner table, arranged to represent whatever shit they were making plans about; over shared binoculars at a stakeout; or over a slice of quickly cooling pizza that she playfully shoved at him and he rejected, in utter disdain. All brief, all fleeting, all signifying nothing — as each of them insisted inside their own mind, even as she slanted her eyes covertly to watch him watching her, when they both were supposed to get the lay of the land.

Fuck, he smells so good. He has no right to smell so good for a man on the run, slumming it among cockroaches in some hidden basement. She thinks she can hear a crisp, starchy crunch when she presses against his shirt. Last time she felt something like this was when she and Jackie got dressed up in corpo fits for that fucking mess of a heist.

That reminder adds another droplet to the overpouring tank of shit, and she instinctively clings to Takemura even tighter, a noiseless sob, her third in what, an hour, racking through her.

Of course, it is at this moment that Johnny decides to blink into existence again.

"The fuck?!" he calls out, parting the streams of rain like a bead curtain as he struts up to her. "Did you shut me up so you could get high without me?"

Takemura, ironically, echoes the sentiment.

"V? What is this? Are you still delirious... or perhaps intoxicated? Once more?"

He is not aggressive when he pries her away from him; but still firm. V staggers back, wincing at this painful reminder of their very first rendezvous. She stumbled off to meet Takemura straight from Jackie's ofrenda, who knows how many shots in, head swimming with far too many feelings all at once, and straight up called him "heeey gorgeous". Which he was. Which he *is*. But like... Time and place.

"I am sorry," she blurts out. "I should have asked if you were okay with me getting into your space like that. No, I am sober, it's just... Goro. Listen."

She clenches her fists, chipped-up nails cutting deep into her callused palms. Here it comes. The talk she wanted to have with him.

"I'm no stranger to losing people. Comes with the territory. But ever since that chip mess, it's been happening at a breakneck speed. I meet someone, we choom up, I get them to see that I'm someone they can trust, depend on — that's my whole thing, always has been — and the next time they call me, someone has died. Brutally. Even by Night City standards. It just keeps piling up and up, till I can barely take it... But the one constant in all of this, has been you."

"No fucking way you are saying this to a Saka goon!" Johnny throws his arms up in anguish. "What did I tell you: he's not your friend! He can't be your friend! I don't think the word is in his fucking vocabulary!"

V knits her eyebrows as tightly as she can, as if that will keep him under lock and key, and forces her focus back onto Takemura. He, too, is frowning... But not in anger, she doesn't think. He is giving her his full attention.

"Whenever I call you, I trust that you will answer. Alive. Annoyed with me, but alive. Your texts, your weird parables, even that one time you like... confused the messenger with the search bar and sent me all that WHERE TO FIND GOOD RAMEN stuff in all caps... It's a wonderful pick-me-up when I'm wading through... whatever sludge the city dumps of me. I just wanted to.. I guess... Thank you for that. And to let you know that I'm... I'm still thinking about everything we said to each other on that roof. It meant a lot. You were right; we may butt heads, and argue our different philosophies, but... It makes each of us a bit less lonely."

"It does," Takemura says softly. His voice has dropped a few octaves, and flows more... freely, in a way? As he goes on speaking, the sentences sound less measured, less pre-calculated... It takes a couple of confused blinks for V to realize that what she still perceiving in her head as English is actually Japanese. He has switched to his native language, and her translator implant has kicked into gear.

She mentioned having that implant to him once, even back before Judy had updated it with the Haitian Creole language pack.

"You can speak to me in Japanese if you'd like," she said.

That offended him, as he assumed his English was not good enough for the ignorant American merc. And to be fair, compared to his near-fluency in a second language, and how knows, maybe a third and fourth, all she can boast parroting without a translator are a few curses in Spanish.

But what she meant — and what she hurried to explain to him — was, "You say sometimes that you are homesick. I figured... Using Japanese might ease that feeling."

At the time, he acknowledged her intentions with a polite nod, but insisted on English — perhaps as a sign of respect. And now, here he is. Stepping forward to close the gap that had formed between them. And also, stepping over the language barrier.

"At first, you were an asset to me. A thief that could be of use in avenging Arasaka-sama merely because she was at the right place and at the right time. But then you asked me, again and again, how I felt. Whether I was well. I told you before it was a question I am not accustomed to in my line of work; but it was far from unwelcome. This city is like a stone box filled from within with heavy black smoke, yet with your simple, genuine question, you gave me a lamp. And it lit up brighter and brighter with every new text message, every new call, even with every outrageous joke. You actually coaxed confessions about my childhood, my foolish visions of another life, out of me. These are secrets I grant to very few people. No-one in the past decade. Yet you..."

Slowly, rather clumsily, as if he were replicating the motion after observing other people do it — a silent guardian, a soldier of steel, not allowed such expressions of tenderness himself — he reaches forward and cups the side of V's face with his hand.

"You gave me an all new reason to be grateful that you did not die."

"Oh shit, are you gonna — " Johnny chokes somewhere out there, in the damp haze.

V is not sure if she intended to; she's been too lost in taking in Takemura's quietly sincere expression... But now, of course, she has to.

She tugs at the front of that pristine shirt to make him bend down slightly. She is pretty confident that this low cut collar is precisely where the cybernetics end and the soft, warm, human skin begins. His lips, too, are soft and warm when she meets them with her own. It almost feels too much, too far, tasting him like this — Arasaka's most fearsome enforcer, who is *supposed* to work with her on a very professional, very dangerous mission... But he is the first to slip in his tongue, and the moan that he makes sounds like a sigh of relief.

Now he is the one pulling her in, merging their personal spaces into a single whole. The hand that was resting on her cheek drops to her waist to keep her close. His fingers — a delicate masterwork, whether implants or not, so mesmerizingly beautiful compared to her clumsy, always bloody-knuckled mitts — travel over her jacket... and then pause, when he realizes that this is her only outer wear.

She breaks the kiss and opens her eyes just in time to spot the exact moment when his astonishment gives way to a wicked smirk. Much like the face of the fox from all his parables. He peels the jacket back a little, revealing the muscles and the scars on her abdomen...

"Oh, this corpo fucker thinks he can treat my host — my host! — like a fucking Jig Jig doll!"

If Johnny were corporeal, V would surely have felt angry spittle flying into her face.

"Stop it!" she hisses... Out loud.

Takemura's features instantly set into the mask he wore so beautifully when he was trying to detect the intruders inside his master's walls.

"Of course," he says, returning to English. "We should know our limits. Our partnership has already become all that more complicated."

"No!" V gasps, desperate to outrace the broken-elevator plummet of her own heart. "It's the engram acting up again! I... I can handle this kind of complicated. I *want* this kind of complicated."

The mask begins to crack.

"You are very open about what you want," Takemura muses, eyebrows half-raised. "I am not certain if I can... relate to that, as my wants are the wants of the Arasaka lineage, but it is oddly admirable. Still — "

His hand is on her waist again, but this time it's to steer her to the taxi.

"If you are unwell, it is best that you return home. I will remember this, V. Most warmly."

"Wait!"

She weaves their fingers together, the refined elegance of Tokyo and the rough edges of Heywood becoming one.

"Come with me. We still have so much time to while away before the parade. I have to meet this guy for deets on the Voodoo Boys, but that's not until the day after tomorrow. And at least I have running water at my place. And no cockroaches. That I know of."

He shakes his head, but does not let go of her hand.

"You know I am a marked man, V. Losing ourselves in crowds together is one thing, but..."

"Come on!"

She beams at him, and the wider the grin, the clearer the realization: her pain and guilt have subsided. For the time being.

"This is a Delamain cab. And I have, well, inherited the Excelsior package from Dex. Top notch security, isn't that right, Del?"

She pokes her head through the car door to ask the question, and the AI responds affirmatively.

"Indeed. Delamain guests are guaranteed full privacy aboard this premium vehicle. No security specialists, even those as formidable as the employees of Arasaka Corporation, will be able to breach inside throughout the entire route from here to your garage."

"And the building itself?" Takemura persists — even as the tip of his thumb begins to unconsciously run over V's cracked knuckles. She thinks he finds the motion soothing.

"The elevator cameras?"

She beams again.

"I have these neat little optics that turn my face into a blur in any security footage. I believe..."

She plants another kiss at the corner of his mouth, inciting a blissful little sigh.

"If our faces are pressed close enough, the effect might extend to you."

With that, she yanks at his arm, ever so slightly, teasing as always.

He follows readily, finally convinced.

They unlock their hands and duck through their respective passenger doors. V finds the back seat thoroughly cleaned of the dirty shirt and the water bottle. She would not be surprised if Delamain had a whole recycling station somewhere underneath. Great for corpse disposal too — no, better not think of it now.

Takemura leans back, rolling his tired shoulders.

"This thing is quite nice to ride in when you are not bleeding to death, isn't it?" V chuckles, and Takemura hums contentedly in agreement.

"Thank you for the feedback," says Delamain. "I shall now turn my attention strictly to traffic, to allow my guests the promised privacy."

"Much appreciated, choom."

The upholstered back of the front car seat carves itself into luridly textured blocks before V's eyes. Next thing she knows, Johnny is lounging next the non-existent driver — not buckled in, obviously.

"Don't do this," he warns her through his teeth. "You are getting your perspective skewed. And turning yourself into a loose end that this fucker and his big mommy Hanako will cut just like that..." He is crammed between seats now, right in front of her, snapping his fingers. "The moment you are no longer useful."

V remembers to keep her voice inside her skull, this time around.

"I am not taking relationship advice from a dead guy who keeps calling one of his closest associates a cold bitch every five seconds."

"You don't know fuck about my relationships!" Johnny seethes, but V is no longer humoring him. Takemura has pulled her into his lap and is kissing her again. And again. And again. On her lips, her jaw, along the side of her neck.

Now, there is a deep, ravenous force brewing behind every stroke of his tongue, every half-bite of his teeth. He locked eyes with her briefly when she straddled his leg, asking for permission ("Like the loyal dog that he is," Johnny would have sneered, but honestly, fuck Johnny). And when she granted that permission with a gleeful nod, the force was fully unleashed. How long has this been building up? How long ago did he let himself go last, if ever?

He answers at least one of her unsaid questions the next time he surfaces for air.

"I have a confession," he murmurs in Japanese, gazing at her half-lidded through a silky veil of salt and pepper.

V has, once or twice, seen his hair in a "shamefully disheveled" state (which is Takemura-speak for one strand being slightly loose because he had no time for a full morning routine in his hideout). Now, though, it is almost completely undone, a messy dark frame for his fine-cut face. V laces her fingers through it, nigh reverently, and it is with the same reverence that he kisses the inside of her wrist, before continuing.

"Do you remember how I asked you to hack a camera for me, and as you sneaked towards it, you forced a back door open with your bare hands?"

Just as it mysteriously vanished, V's shirt has been mysteriously returned by Delamain. It lies neatly folded next to her on the back seat, but she couldn't be further from trying to put it on. On the contrary, her leather jacket has now slid down her shoulders, and her torso is on full display, every marking, every groove of embedded cybernetics, every bump and curve of her musculature.

She is no Jackie, of course. She will never be Jackie, for all her attempts to clumsily rest her hand on top of Mama Welles' and do her duty of comfort and protection... No, not now, please not now!

She is no Jackie — but she could easily do pull-ups hanging off a metal beam at an abandoned construction site, twenty feet off the ground and with badges swarming underneath, sirens blaring. In fact, she just might. Especially if Takemura were watching.

"Suppose I do."

"You were in a short tank top; I could see your back move, your arms strain. Your strength was brute and raw, untrained... But so beautiful. At that moment, I wanted you so much that I almost forgot myself. A..."

His chest heaves. Through the loosened hair cascade, V watches the glaze of desire clear from his eyes. If it were not for the state of his hair, the flush on his face, the nanometers separating him from her, and the fact that she could slide her hand down his pants at any moment to check if he had an extra gun or... If it were not for all of that, he could almost have been the ruthless, efficient, unshakable Goro Takemura she first started working for.

"A lapse in sanity that I am repeating now."

Fuck. Forget the extra gun then.

She has not realized, until now, how cold it is without her jacket, despite Delamain best attempt at the most agreeable climate control. How the air prickles at her exposed skin.

"When you thought I was telling you to stop, it really was just the engram..." she says, her voice deliberately, carefully slow. "But if you are done now, then no problem."

"Thank fuck!" Johnny cheers, his voice muffled but full of what V believes is called schadenfreude.

"It would have been a good decision, but..." Takemura shakes his head. "But I still want you. I never stopped wanting you, from that moment since. Despite my obligations, despite the burdens we both carry. I just..."

"You are not used to having wants of your own. Outside of Arasaka."

V whispers her guess with a gentleness that almost makes her shudder — to herself, she sounds too much, *way* too much like that fucking doll in the Clouds.

"It's all right. I won't tell anyone. Honor among thieves, remember?"

She rests her forehead against his and smiles to mirror his own smile — which is quivering and uncertain; but still there. Still back on his lips.

"I am sure Hanako-sama will be too busy thanking you for bringing her brother's crimes to light, to notice that you've been going around getting horny for random mercs. Now come here. We're almost at my place."

Her next kiss is more of a breath, a fleeting promise than an actual touching of the lips. But Takemura's eyes darken again. Heavy. Ravenous.

She feels a bump against her thigh that is certainly not acting the way extra guns do.

"Anything for you, V."

[shiralol101hehe]

Beatles Monthly — 6/01/64

TRANSCRIPT OF:

I VISITED THE BEATLES ON THE SET - Elizabeth SACKS

“I was lucky enough to be invited by Mr. Shenson, the film producer, to come and watch some scenes for the Beatlefilm being completed in a London theatre. Of course I was thrilled and excited beyond all comprehension. The interior of the theatre had been changed slightly, to give it the appearance of a television studio. On both sides of the stage, large glass booths had been erected, there were several monitor sets at the front of the stage, and the floor was a mass of tangled wires from the cameras, guitars and other electrical equipment. The only people that were on the stage were connected with the film, but, even even so it appeared to be crowded with technicians, electricians, continuity girls, clapper boys, make-up men, stand-ins, hairdressers and the like, not to mention the producer and director! One would never have guessed that the Beatles were in the building from the air of relaxation and friendliness which pervaded the theatre. I, however, felt at a point of near-hysteria, and I struggled to control my nerves with a very "put-on" smile!

"All of suddy", I noticed Paul, standing in the aisle, giggling quietly to him-self. I hastily put my hand over my mouth to stifle a scream and I fairly goggled at the sight of darling PAUL! so near that I could have reached out and touched him. He saw me, suddenly and waved cheerily, calling out "H'lo, Juv!". As I started to sink through the ground, birs. Shenson called him over to meet me. Well, what can I say? Just that he is about twice as goodlooking as the photos make out, and extremely easy to get on with. To my surprise, I found my nerves starting to calm down in his company and I was soon perfectly relaxed. I was able to talk to Paul for several minutes, and then I went along to the canteen to meet George and have a cup of tea.

George was in the thick of an interview with a reporter from a musical paper, and I could not interrupt it, but when it was over I was introduced to him. Mrs. Shenson told him that he is my fave Beatle, and he pretended to go all shy, and hid his face in his jacket! George is a lot quieter than Paul, and he also looks better "in the flesh" than on paper. He is, in addition, fab, gear, great, and...oooooooooooooooooo!!! (CENSORED)!

After tea with George, I went back to the stalls to watch a scene being shot.John had to lie still on the ground at the side of the stage while Lionel Blair and his dancers went through a short routine. This took, in fact, HALF AN HOUR to film, during which time John did not BUDGE! He lay as if in a coma on the stage. After this, he got up, pensively rubbed his head, walked across the stage, and casually began combing his hair, apparently none the worse for his long "kip"! As John walked up the aisle (l) to the canteen, Mrs. Shenson stopped him to show him that he had been quoted in yet another American magazine, which he read with some interest. Then he was introduced to me, and he said that he liked me for reading his book, which he autographed with a funny little cartoon: a head on two legs to be exact (any suggestions!).

John is a very entertaining person, and a completely lovable character. Unfortunately, I was unable to meet Ringo, for he was playing cards with some engineers in the canteen. I think he must have been losing, as Mr. Shenson walked up to him and said; "Snap, Ringo!", to which he replied: "You must be joking".

The Beatles then prepared to shoot a number for the film. Stand-ins were used before the Beatles were called, to make sure that lighting, focus, "and that were just so. Then a man walked up and down, calling "Ringo. Ringo please", through a megaphone, but how was he to know that Ringo was still playing cards! The true wit and idiocy of the Beatles was well portrayed in their goonery on stage between takes. For instance, John would bawl: “HeeeeellIlIppppp!!!" to the accompaniment of Mr. Starr on drums while George quietly strummed a Spanish-type guitar solo to himself and Paul fiddled with a camera. No-one, however, paid much attention to the Beatles fooling around (I expect they're all used to it) but I watched the Beatles like a hawk!

When, at last the Beatles decided to get down to shooting the number, I was more than ready to hear it. I heard it about five times I) and though I am not allowed to give any details like its title or anything, I can tell you that it's really great, and, if it's anything to go by, the film will be a SMASH!!! My day at "Beatlestudio" was a day that I shall remember forever, due to the kindness of Mr. and Mrs. Shenson, who are really kind, helpful people, and also to the surprising sweetness and patience with which I was treated by the Beatles. This I particularly appreciate, because they are always very pushed for time, and it was really fab of them to make time like that to talk to me.

Bless you, Beatles. You're the gear.”

[palioom]

I’ll take a crumb about either Prey Joel or Mrs. Flores or Murder Dave 👀👀👀👀👀 !!!!!!!!!!!

i haven't done much on the joel one yet but i'll give you a crumb of our Mrs Flores 🤭

“What is my angelito thinking about?” You heard her voice appear behind you, almost dropping the cup you had just taken out of the sink. She had been so quiet that you genuinely hadn’t heard her, startling you when she spoke so close behind you.

“Nothing.”

It was the truth, kind of. With all these touches there had been a film rolling in the back of your head with images from the last time she had bent you over the kitchen table.

She didn’t need to know, however.

“Are you sure, cariño?” Claudia asked, both of her big hands grabbing at your upper arms, her body pressing against yours, in turn pressing you against the edge of the sink. “Should I give you something to think about?”

Her hips rolled into yours and your hands stilled in the soapy water, a gasp crawling up your throat when you felt something rub against your lower back.

Something long and hard.

[loveaetingkids]

Can I please have some facts about Coraline?

Wow,I never thought someone would be interested! I gathered a few fun facts,and while I’m sure they’re easy to spot, these are fun to tell to the new viewers:

•To start it off,the movers who were unpacking Coralines family furniture were modeled and named after Joe and Jerome Ranft,who worked on Nightmare Before Christmas:

•The dollar that was handled over to them has the image of Henry Selick on it,director of Coraline:

•Wybie Lovat is not part of Neil Gaiman’s novel-he was created so that Coraline won’t talk to herself( in the book we read about her thoughts,but  it’s much harder to do so in film).

•The medal of Mr Bobynsky is real one: it was awarded to the Chornobyl disaster liquidators(fun fact:the power plant is called ChOrnobyl, not ChErnobyl since it was built in Ukraine,so Ukrainian spelling style applies). His exposure to radiation explains Bobynsky’s blue skin and unwell mind:

•The “jumping mice” are also real.They are native to the south of United States:

•During Coralines first encounter with Other Mother,when she asks Beldam what rain is she talking about,we see a quick appearance of lightning which looks suspiciously like a hand. This is not a coincidence, as the hand is closely associated with the witch (this sign appears in the cup during the foreshadowing of Spink and Forcible; her severed hand chases the heroine at the end of the movie):

•It’s a pretty well known fact,but on the cake itself we see that “home” in “Welcome home” has an “o” written with a double loop,which according to pseudoscience called graphology means that the person who wrote it is lying.Thus,Coraline is welcomed but it isn’t her home:

•Here’s my own little theory: each time Coraline crawls through the tunnel to another world, it dims,until all the colors disappear and the true essence of the pathway is revealed - a cobweb with children’s toys in it(a trap for kids).Now it might be just a trick of light,but it’s interesting to think about nevertheless:

•The audience gets hints of Beldams fairy/witch nature throughout the film; the first time is when Coraline finds a well surrounded by a circle of mushrooms, which in the beliefs of many people was associated with fairies who lured people into them(sounds familiar?).The second time is when she was given a stone with a hole in it by Spink and Forcible.This rock is often called Hag stone,and is believed to serve as a protection against evil spirits.It is also believed that you can see through the guise of a witch by looking through the hole(exactly what Coraline did to find the eyes of missing children):

•Now,the bug theme in Coraline is really prevalent,and later in the movie we can see that Other Mother is heavily associated with spiders.Meanwhile Coraline has similar thing going on-she wears hairpin resembling dragonfly,who are known for eating spiders.Because of this,the game of predator and prey is turned on its head:

That’s it for now,hope these were interesting for you!

[jmkho]

The One Where They Forgot Sam

Summary: Movie night doesn't go to plan when a tornado is about to hit the house

Words: 1,407 ish lol

Warnings: swearing, margaritas, mention of tornadoes - please excuse any errors at the moment I'm running on 0 sleep and feeling like shit

Sam stood at the island counter, leaning on it, his chin resting in his palm, as he watched the back of his older brother, Jake, cooking something. He soon forgot what his brother had just said other than, 

"Don't worry, I'll make sure yours is veggie."

A family film night was currently planned. Food, drinks, and a shitty movie.

One of the thousands of vinyls spun away, filling the background with soft jazz, while Sam kept berating Jake about cooking.

"Make sure you make loads; Daniel's coming over." And Josh will try to eat more than he can actually stomach."

At the mention of the other twin, Josh appeared suddenly in the kitchen doorway, axe in hand.

Sam's hand that he was leaning on dropped from his chin. He leaned against the island with a stoic expression as his eyes looked over his older brother. 

Josh stood there with the axe, his curls a little more messy than usual, kahki shorts, a white vest, a pair of big brown boots that looked way too big for him, and a massive jacket. 

"Look, I get it. You fucking love Stanley Kubrick. But don't you think THIS is taking it too far? What is this? Are you role-playing?" Sam waved his hand out, gesturing at him. 

Jake merely looked up from the meal he was making to his twin, then back down to it without paying him any mind.

Josh let out a giggle. 

"HERE'S JOSHY!" He let out a gruff voice before breaking into a melodic laugh, which made Sam roll his eyes.

"We need wood, and since YOU never offer to chop any and Jakey is busy cooking dinner for us, that means Mr. Muscle here will have to do the dirty work."

"Hey, I do offer; it's just that I'm not allowed after what happened." Sam defended.

The axe once flew out of Sam's hands as he flung it behind his head once, which nearly took out Danny as they both offered to go chop some wood. In Sam's defense, he swore the handle was 'slippy'.

Josh snorted and walked up to Jake. Sam's eyes narrowed as he watched them, Josh said something, then did something with his hand that made Jake nod in agreement, and then he trudged off to go chop wood.

"It will never amaze me that you two communicate in the most bizarre fucking way." And with that, he downed the rest of his drink and walked around the island.

Jake turned from the dish as he let it simmer and looked up at his brother. "Did you want to help?"

"You I will, him I won't." The taller man admitted.

Jake laughed.  "Okay, get all the drink shit ready and you can be like the barten-" he stopped, remembering that his little brother's drink-making skills weren't that great.

"Just get everything on the island, drinks, cups, you know the drill, and ice. Lots of ice"

"I'll be the master of cups and fucking ice." He let out before walking over to the fridge.

Jake laughed. "Stop rewatching Friends."

10 minutes later, Danny arrived. He bought a few drink options along with some deserts he picked up.

"Hello!" He smiled at the two brothers in the kitchen as he placed his things down and looked around at them and what they were doing.

"Josh is out chopping wood." Sam called over his shoulder as he finished his margarita pitcher. 

"Oh." Danny simply replied. 

"Jakes is cooking us a new dish he came up with." Sam called over his shoulder again.

"Oh?!" Danny smiled and replied in a more cheerful tone. 

"And I have just finished the first margarita pitcher!" Sammy turned around and grinned widely at his friend.

"Oh..." he let out, sounding disappointed. If Sam noticed, he didn't let him see, but Jake snorted out a laugh, "Ha."

Josh returned with wood, which turned out to be 2 pieces of very thin logs. 

The rest of the group looked at the wood and then back at him. "Chopping wood, were we?" Sam used air quotes for chopping, which got a laugh from Danny.

"I could kick a tree and get a better result," he added, earning a bigger laugh from Danny.

Josh broke out in a smile. "Okay, I got distracted. A squirrel came, and it kept trying to get in the way of my axe. It wouldn't leave me alone, so I followed it and kinda got lost in the dark."

Sam called him something along the lines of 'Snow White' and told him to be ready for "the best margaritas of your mother fucking life!"

"Ooooh, did Danny make a batch?" Josh asked as he approached the island, ready to grab a glass.

"No!  I did.  It's my pitcher."

Josh's hand grabbed anything but the cup that was filled on the island. His hand happened to land on a lime, which he pretended to be very interested in as his younger brother's mouth dropped open a little as he watched him.

"Boys, dinner will be ready in 9 minutes." Jake turned around and flung a dish towel on his shoulder as he took a sip from his drink that was long forgotten.

"Well, I'm going to take a quick shower." Sam suddenly declared.

"Sammy, dinner is almost ready..." the long-haired twin sighed a little as he watched the youngest brother walk towards the stairs in the hallway, his bare feet slapping on the wooden floor.

He lifted a hand as he walked. "I won't be long; I just want to freshen up." And with that, he was gone.

Josh let go of the lime, and looked at the pitcher Sammy had made. His eyes went from it to Danny, who did the same thing. 

"Shall I make-" 

"Yes."  The twins said at the same time, which made the drummer laugh.

Jake had called out to Sammy that dinner was ready, and they were all settled with drinks and food ready for the movie. All he got back was a loud, "YEAH, I GOT IT!" 

As he returned back to the living room, he was met with Josh and Danny looking at their phones. "Jake, there's a fucking tornado warning. And it's close."

Jake's brows furrowed before he squinted at the bright light that suddenly assaulted his eyes as Josh thrusted the phone an inch from his face. "LOOK! QUICK! BASEMENT!"

They all grabbed what they needed—phones, flashlights, water, some blankets, and their food—and went down to the basement.

"Some fucking movie night." Jake laughed out loud as he sat on a chair, plate perched on his knees, trying to eat calmly and not think about the goddamn tornado that will hit them. Josh sat on the floor with his food at his side and his hands behind his head, prepared for the worst. Danny sat in a garden lounge chair with a drink in one hand and tried to eat with the other.

"I feel like we forgot something." Jake let out as he chewed.  They got their phones, along with chargers, just in case they needed to call anyone if it got really bad. 

Josh's hands fell as he looked up at the two other men. "Oh my fucking god—" he rushed up from the floor and ran up the stairs.

Jake's body automatically jolted to go after him but stopped when he heard heavy footsteps stomp down the stairs. 

"We forgot Danny's pitcher!" Josh laughed as he held up the pitcher with a toothy grin.

 Jake clapped, "Ah, yes! Bravo!"

MEANWHILE...

Sam's wet feet slapped even louder on the floor as he reached the bottom step of the stairs and walked into the kitchen. One hand held a towel around his waist while the other rubbed one on his head. 

"Sorry, but I nearly went flying in the stupid showe-" he said, but suddenly stopped when he saw the kitchen was empty. He walked into the living room. No one. 

"Where's everybody at?" He loudly called out.

The three men in the basement suddenly all looked at each other as they heard him.

"Oh shit, we forgot Sam." Josh let out before he rushed to his feet to run up the stairs again.

Jake and Danny burst out laughing when they heard Sammy's voice grow louder as he got closer.

"The fuck you mean you forgot about me with a fucking tornado about to hit this damn house?!" 

[boltupbitches]

Crème Brûlée and Sweets - Chapter 2

"Holy shit!" Josie whispered to herself. She was sitting outside the Bengals practice facility, nervously waiting for Joe to meet her at her car. She texted him as soon as she arrive (a few minutes early at that) and was waiting for him now to text back.

Lost in her train of thought, she was startled by her phone binging. She picked it up out of her cup holder and looked to see Joe's text.

Joe Omw out now. see you in two minutes.

Josie ok

Josie immediately reached for her purse, shoving her phone into it and applying some chapstick. She then got out of her car and made sure to grab the pastry box that held the Finnish tiger cake for Joe.

"Hey! So glad you could make it!" A voice called out.

She turned around to see Joe approaching her with a welcoming smile and she could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks, nervous at the site of her celebrity crush. 'Get it together Jo,' she mentally chastised.

"I wouldn't miss this opportunity for the world! Thank you so much for reaching out to me. It's, uh,  it's wow." Josie chuckled, looking down shyly and shuffling her feet. "Sorry, that's not very articulate, but I'm very happy I am there. Thank you so much, Joe." She looked up from underneath her lashes at him, silently cursing herself for not wearing any makeup today. She was almost certain she was as red as a tomato right now and it definitely wasn't from the sun beating down on them.

Joe stared at her with a smile still on his face, his eyes holding a soft look as he took her appearance in. He wouldn't tell her this right away out of fear of making her uncomfortable, but she was beautiful. Even more so bare-faced and not behind a camera on the screen. He took in her blonde locks tied up in a half-hazard bun, the freckle next to her green eyes and her reddened cheeks. She was really here.

When he had sent that DM and retweeted her video while tagging her, he didn't think anything would come of it. A normally confident man, Joe had a brief moment of panic and uncertainty hit him when he realized that many on Twitter would see this and start retweeting it, making it a trending topic. She would see it, and he wasn't sure if he was he should be happy or embarrassed at the possibility of being shut down or worst - completely ignored.

"That's no problem at all, Josie. It's my pleasure." He gestured back towards the sidewalk leading towards the facility. "Let's head inside where it's a bit cooler."

Josie nodded and held out the cake to him. "I brought some cake for you by the way! I wasn't sure if you were serious about wanting it or not, so if not I'm sure there's maybe someone on the team or staff who would like it." She rambled.

'She's cute.' Joe thought to himself, watching as she shifted the cake in her palms. He decided to take the cake and save her some of her nerves. "Nah, the guys get enough stuff given to them. This is all mine for sure. There's a staff fridge I'll ask one of the assistants to put it in for me before we start our tour."

They started walking towards the security doors and Joe swiped his access card to get into the facilities, stepping back to allow Josie in first. "Ladies first." He pretended to do a little bow, the cake box still securely in his arms.

Josie smiled and walked through, turning towards him and pretending to do a curtesy. "And who said chivalry is dead, Mr. Burrow?"

Joe laughed a bit at that. "Sadly I don't have a sword or shield to fight for your honor, Ms. Black. I don't film Tik-Toks though, so I think I get some points towards chivalry."

Josie got the reference and laughed. "No brothers to film them either?"

"Nope. I mean, I have two older brothers and thank god they don't!" He turned towards her as they continued walking. "And you? Any siblings?"

Josie nodded. "Yep. I have two older sisters. My one sister is living back in Pittsburgh, close to my dad's family. My other sister lives in Boston with her wife. I'm the baby of the trio."

"Yeah? Honestly, it's the same with me, being the baby I mean. I'm the youngest of the kids. There's a few years between us, so it's always been interesting. You close in age to your sisters?"

Josie shook her head. "Not really. My oldest sister is 12 years my senior and my other sister is 6 years my senior. So, I was closest with Gabby more than Hannah. We all get along, but Hannah is older so, by the time I was entering 1st grade, she graduated high school and was in college."

Joe stopped near an office and leaned in the doorway. "Hey, Drew. You think you can do me a quick favor?"

A guy with long brown hair looked up. "Yeah, sure. What's up Joe?"

"I'm going to be giving my friend here a tour. Can you put this cake in the break room for me? It already has my name on it. I just don't want it getting smashed up in the locker room."

Drew stood up and reached for the box. "Sure, man."

Joe thanked him and out the door they went. They reached another set of doors and they stopped for a moment. "Alright, JLB. You ready to see where the magic happens?" Joe smiled. 'That sounded way smoother in my head.' He fought the urge to cringe.

Josie didn't seem to think so and nodded. "Aboslutely! And JLB? Aren't you also technically JLB?"

Joe laughed at that. "I swear I only just now realized we have the same initials. Anyways, we'll start the official tour beyond these doors. We'll hit the gym room, film room, PT room, and a few other key points before heading out to the field. I was told that photography is allowed, but definitely not in locker room or of any players practicing. We good?"

Josie nodded at that. "Fair. I wouldn't want someone taking pictures of me looking like a sweaty mess either." Her cheeks flushed read as her mind went south at that. "I mean, post workout of course!"

Joe bit his lip to keep from grinning. His own mind conjuring up some not so PG thoughts of other activities. 'Don't be a creep, man. You can see it in the news now. Bengals rookie QB harasses Youtuber.'

Josie took his silence the wrong way and rubbed a hand down her flushed cheeks. "I swear I just made it worse trying to explain myself. Didn't I?"

Joe tried to keep his face neutral, but she could see the mischievous glint in his eyes. "Maybe."

She groaned at that. "Great. Now I made an ass of myself."

"Nah, you didn't. I'm just teasing you. Just know you can sweat around me all you want and it won't be gross." The second he finished that sentence he felt his own brain shut down. "Well -  I guess you're not the only one making explanations worse?"

Josie giggled at his flushed cheeks. "Maybe."

Joe licked his lips and nodded. "Fair enough. Let's go ahead and start this tour before someone overhears us and I accidentally make us both headlines news for all the wrong things."

He opened the door and made a sweeping gesture with his arm. "After you."

"At least you didn't say m'lady."

Joe took that as a challenge and raised his eyebrow. "My pleasure.." 

"Don't say it."

"M'lady." 

Josie turned back around and pretended to walk back the way they came. "I'm out."

Joe laughed and jogged after her, "Wait - wait." He moved ahead of her and held his hand out. "I won't say it again - but the look on your face? Was worth it, Josie! You really don't like that word?"

Josie shot him a look and answered, "Nah, not really. It gives me incel vibes too much. All you need now is a sideways fedora and some suspenders."

"Well, thanks for the fashion advice, but I think I'll pass." He said sarcastically. 

Josie rolled her eyes and gave his shoulder a shove. "Joey Franchise with a fedora and suspenders. Can you imagine that?"

"I have a pair of hipster glasses but that is as far as I'm going." He admitted. 

Josie went to open her mouth, but someone else shouting down the hallway caught her attention. "Hey Joe! That your new lady with you?"

Joe's face went red a bit as he turned to see C.J. approaching. "Hey man." He avoided the question, "What are you doing here?" They did their manly hand shake which amused Josie.

"Had a PT session. Anyway, who dis?" He turned his eyes on Josie. "Ayy I know you! You're the murder mystery baking girl. Was this the girl you were shooting your shot with last night, Joe?" C.J. teased.

"Dude? Uncool." Joe muttered at C.J., not daring to look at Josie.

"Oh? Oh. Yeah. My bad, dude. Well, I gotta go - water my dog? Yeah, water my dog. Later, man!" C.J. did a speedy exit and it was just the two of them once again.

"So," Josie started, hands on her hips. "Let's do this tour and then, you can tell me all about what that was at lunch."

Joe nodded at that fair. "Yeah, [clears throat], that sounds like a plan."

'Smooth, Joe, smooth.'

[agentnico]

The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar (2023) Review

As the new dawn broke, my eyes fell upon the streaming interface of my Netflix account, and at that moment it was that I noticed it. "What's this?" I cried. "Another Wes Anderson film already?" I drank my cup of water to catch my breath. "But it's only been a month or two since his last one!" I thought. I stood up and slowly applauded Mr Anderson for his dedication to his busy schedule. "Right then, let's get to it." And with that, I sat back down and happily sighed in preparation for the unorthodox piece of storytelling whimsy that awaited me in the next 38 minutes.

Plot: Henry Sugar, a wealthy man, decides to take on an extraordinary challenge - he wants to master an extraordinary skill in order to cheat at gambling games.

I'm in the minority when it comes to my opinion of Wes Anderson's most recent film release - Asteroid City. Even though I enjoy Anderson's uniquely symmetrical and colorfully vibrant directing style, I did find that movie came off a bit too obnoxious and pretentious for my liking. That has not swayed me away from the talented director though, as The Grand Budapest Hotel is still one of my favourite indies to come out this century (if you're a collector such as myself seek out the superb Criterion release of this) and by the way managed to make the colour pink look cool before the Barbie blockbuster came about, and Moonrise Kingdom is an innocent coming-of-age comedy that used humour to deliver its internal message about 'the end of childhood', but presented not as a loss, but more-so a compromise. Wes Anderson is a tour-de-force with his own distinct vision, so individuals such as him should be cherished in modern-day cinema that is saturated with unoriginal mediocrity. So for Asteroid City, I forgive you, kind sir.

With The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar Wes Anderson returns to adapting Roald Dahl's works, and seeing as how in the past he so fantastically brought to life in stop-motion Fantastic Mr. Fox, it seemed like the return is a welcome one. And indeed Henry Sugar is a most delightful little Netflix short film, that very much reinstates the fact that Anderson and Dahl are a match made in heaven. This starts right with the title, as with The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar Anderson sets out to tell a story literally. In the film, all the characters also narrate everything they do and say, as such at times you feel like you're listening to an audiobook. You can literally watch this movie with your eyes closed and you'd still know exactly what happens. Ironically, seeing with your eyes closed is a primary theme of this short. But also you would be doing yourself a disservice keeping your eyes shut. The production design is impeccable with the entire thing feeling almost like a live theatre performance. With the set design and scene transitions, Henry Sugar exudes a distinct theatrical vibe, adding a layer of whimsical charm. And the moving sets are wonderful to look at, with the colors and detail nothing short of superb. The entire thing is simply overflowing with creative charm.

This is Benedict Cumberbatch's first entry into the Wes Anderson verse, yet it is shocking that it took this long to happen, as the Sherlock alumni is known for his fast-talking swift line delivery, and with the amount of dialogue Anderson always gets his actors to churn out in every scene naturally makes Cumberbatch appear right at home. Even at this short's rapid 38-minute runtime, Cumberbatch manages to add layers of depth to the peculiar Henry Sugar, from the small facial expressions as his character processes certain revelations. The rest of the ensemble does their part to add to the whimsy of the whole piece, with Dev Patel shining especially with his delivery of the fourth-wall-breaking narration, fast-talking his lines of dialogue with brisk elegance, and in the same breath managing to throw in the "I said" and the "he cried out loud".

All in all A Wonderful Story is a mesmerizing dance of wit, wonder, and whimsy that is aesthetically pleasing, and the story itself is an enjoyable little bedtime tale that, though not particularly deep. Look, cynically speaking it's a story about a man who reads a book and then learns a technique that allows him to easily make money. That's about it, however, it's the overall presentation and Anderson' touch that makes this the delightful piece of tapestry that it is. If you're a Dahl and Anderson enthusiast, I mean, there's really no excuse then for you to miss this.

Overall score: 7/10