#I need a name for this verse but uh POSES

[ramblingoak]

Shooting His Shot

Terzo x Omega ~ This takes place in the Butt Sparkle Verse along with Copia on ICE! It's the Winter Olympics and Omega gets distracted hearing his favorite ABBA song playing nearby...

This was directly inspired by this amazing work by @ghuleh-recs!

Warnings: everyone is younger than canon in this verse, love struck Omega, grumpy older brother Secondo and a Terzo that knows exactly what (and who) he wants, nsfw due to a brief daydream by Omega, 870 words

It was the ABBA blaring over the speakers that got his attention. 

There’s probably a joke there about ABBA and being Swedish but whatever.  Omega’s heard them all.  It helped that “Voulez-Vous” was his favorite song.  Well technically his mom’s favorite song but after hearing it so many times as a kid growing up it had wormed its way into his heart.  He always thought of dancing around the kitchen with her whenever he heard it.  So initially he was just curious why it was being played, although he wasn’t surprised to see it was due to a figure skater. 

He was surprised by the skull paint though.  

Of course that was only the first thing that caught his eye.  His outfit was next, an elaborate costume that was sheer enough to see nipples and dark hair.  It had to be borderline regulation and knowing how the officials at the Olympics could be he bet they still bitched about it.  The man’s entire body seemed to sparkle as he sped around the rink.  Countless spins and jumps being executed at a speed that made even Omega tired.  

“Can I help you?”

All the blood in Omega’s body froze at the sound of the voice at his back.  Omega would know that voice anywhere.  Deep and accented, he had heard it many times in his life and each time it always managed to strike a note of fear into him.  You couldn't be a hockey player anywhere without knowing who that voice belonged to. Slowly, like he was a creature trying not to upset a predator, he turned around to face another man in skull paint.

“Secondo.  Hey.”

Jesus, great first impression.  Secondo raised an eyebrow and impatiently crossed his arms.

“I’m waiting.”

“Uh, I don’t need any help.”  He winced at the raised eyebrow that got.  “Was just watching.”

“Watching my brother.”

“Yeah.  I like this song.”  Of course that was when the song stopped and Omega turned to see the man out on the ice striking a pose and breathing heavily. 

“Well the song is done so it’s time to go.”

Omega sighed, dragging his eyes from the ice right as the man relaxed and looked his way.  He took a few steps towards Secondo before stopping and taking a quick breath. 

“It’s Terzo right?  Your brother.”

“Sì!”  Omega turned back towards the rink and was immediately met with a shining set of eyes, one green and one as white as the ice he was standing on.  “It’s Terzo.  And what’s your name, bello?”

“He’s leaving, it doesn’t matter.”  Secondo brushed past him as he addressed his younger brother.  “Get dressed so we can meet Copia and Primo.”

“It’s Omega.”  Fuck it, he wouldn’t be a good hockey player if he didn’t know when to shoot his shot.  “Nice to meet you.”

He chose to focus on Terzo’s amazing smile rather than Secondo’s glare.  

“Omega.”  Terzo dragged out the ‘a’ sound far longer than necessary.  He had a brief vision in his head of Terzo also doing that while Omega pounded into him and holy fuck he was in so much trouble.  “Judging by my fratello’s hostility I’m assuming you play hockey, sì?”

“Yep.”  He dared to walk closer to the ice, really not sure where all this bravery was coming from but also knowing it had everything to do with how Terzo was looking at him.  “Sweden.”

“Ah, well that’s a pity.”  Terzo set his elbows on the short wall around the rink and rested his chin in his hands.  “Here I was hoping you were Italian and I’d see you more.”

“You can see me whenever you like.”  He hazarded a glance at Secondo and immediately regretted it.  The glare enough to tamp down the brief moment of suave bravery he was feeling.  “I mean, if you want?”

“Oh I definitely want, in fact why don’t we do lun—“

A burst of Italian from Secondo had Omega flinching and Terzo glaring at his brother.  He straightened up from his lean and spat something back at him.  The two went back and forth for a moment before Secondo threw his hands up in the air with an irritated shout.  He directed one last glare Omega’s way before storming off.  

“He ok?” 

“Sì, he’s just tense.  Lots of pressure.  You know how it is.” 

Omega nodded because he did know how it was.  And with this being the Winter Olympics all that pressure was amplified exponentially.  He had no doubt there would be an even larger target on his back if Sweden and Italy met on the ice this year.  But with Secondo gone he felt the spark of bravery returning and knew this was as good a chance as he’d get.  

“So.  Lunch?”  

Terzo smirked and started skating backwards along the wall.  Omega followed him like a duckling, watching as his muscles moved under his costume.  

“Lunch to start with.”  Terzo exited the rink, grabbing his blade covers and easily slipping them on.  “I’m sure we can find something to do after.”  

Omega grinned, ducking his head for a moment to hide his blush.  When he looked up Terzo had moved closer and Omega was definitely in trouble here.  Talk about love at first sight.  

Although the ABBA definitely helped too.

And thus the Butt Sparkle Verse begins...

Read Copia on ICE! part one

My Masterlist ~ My Archive of our Own ~ My Ko-Fi Tip Jar

[splatooshy]

okay, so i’ve got my ‘Eternal Teenager’ verse, right — yk, the one where enzo and damon escape in the 50s and then pose as stefan’s legal guardians in 2009, that one?

well, i forgot about it until a moment ago, when i came across the file for it and saw some of the gems in there.

and boy, oh boy, are there some gems.

- damon gets enzo to steal thierry’s hat each time hes in nola (‘cause damon’s banned n all). has a collection of them (maybe a whole cupboard of them? idk something wacky like that. a display cabinet? each hat on a little stand with an engraved label below).

- kol turned enzo. idgaf about canon, this is a true story.

in 1888, kol’s moseying ‘round london, a-whistling and a-ripper-ing when a dying enzo turns up, sees kol dismantling a woman like a grotesque puzzle, and goes “huh. could you spare any change?” and kol thinks it would be a catastrophe to deprive the world of a man that unphased by the sight of innards becoming outtards, so, deciding he’s found a new best friend with benefits, kol turns enzo, declaring him the world’s most level headed vampire. enzo goes along with it because, well, he doesn’t really have anything better to do.

1914 - damon’s living it up in nola and so is kol. enzo signs up for the great war as an american, because kol says he has a top secret mission he needs enzo for. (“hey mate, while you’re over there, think you could shoot at marcellus with wooden bullets for me?” “we’re on the same side…” “please 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺” “if i see him, sure. not gonna hunt him down though.) enzo leaves kol at the bar less than a minute before damon walks in (they pass eachother at the threshold.) damon is meeting freya because they’re bffs, kol sees them sitting at their table and thinks to himself ‘wow look at that lovely lass on a date over there. i should go over and ask her out.’ and struts on over to hit on freya. freya just looks at damon, then at her brother, going ‘yeah, um, i’m not really interested, sorry.’ and kol instantly grins and waggles his eyebrows knowingly like ‘ah, i see. you’re one for the ladies then, aren’t you? no matter.’ and then turns to damon and starts flirting with him. (on the extremely rare occasion that someone may not want to have sex with him, kol instantly decides they’re most definitely a lesbian. because even the straightest male would jump him in an instant.)

oh and once kol decides that freyas a lesbian, he won’t hear otherwise, not even 96 years later when he’s undaggered (“damon, what happened to the clever witch you befriended?” “i’ve known lots of clever witches, kol, you’re gonna have to be more specific” “the lesbian, from new orleans” damon blinks “freya? she wasn’t a lesbian…” “uh, yeah she was, she told me so herself” “no, she just didn’t want to sleep with you,” “exactly, because she was a lesbian!”) OH OH OH and finn’s in the background being all… well, finn, and he perks up like a little dog when he overhears freya’s name. fun bit irrelevant to the plot.

ANYWAYS back to 1914. so enzos at war, kols up to nefarious acts with mary alice and astrid, damon and freya are best friends and have comfort sex bc theyre both tragically touch starved. damon and kol have a sneaky little thing on the side, but then one day kol disappears #daggered and then freya tells damon to meet her outside dowager fauline cottage in 99 years before disappearing. damon’s sad and thinks ‘well at least i’ve learned to be patient’ (thinking of katherine).

[seeabout-afterdark09]

Signs

Signs

Drake (June 23, 2017)

This song was born out a collaboration between Drake and Louis Vuitton for their 2018 Spring/Summer Collection during Paris Fashion Week. This song details Drake trying to keep his emotions under control around a woman that just feels perfect for him in every way. It's the "signs of the times" because all of this tension between the both of them seems to be leading up to something that could cause a huge change in their dynamic.

In the pre-chorus Drake sings about having champagne just after waking up in the morning and then lamenting about how he can't "take things slowly." Drinking in the morning is a bad habit to set and could be a sign of someone who is on their way or already is an alcoholic. He's discussing his compulsive overindulgence when it comes to things and with people as something he wants to try to stop, but it's a bad habit. "She tryna take it all off for me/Tryna stay real close to me (Close)/I gotta catch myself." Like with the champagne, Drake finds it hard to keep himself under control when he's just dancing really close to a woman that turns him on. He doesn't want to "play himself" by looking like a fool if she isn't as into him as he is into her, so he tries to cool down by "taking it easy".

"Railiza, you need a… money and visa." In the first line of his first verse, Drake references a woman named Railiza Cepeda that he may (or may not) have been briefly involved with after she appeared in French Montana's No Shopping music video. "Howisha, you need a… baby with me, uh/And I'm takin' my time, just wait, don't leave." In this next line he shifts gears, going from talking about splurging on models to wanting to have a baby with someone he can't say no to. A girl that drinks like she's Bajan (his ex Rihanna) and dances like a Trinidadian (Nicki Minaj). "You want a supermodel pose like mi real friend Winnie." This bit is interesting because Winnie Harlow and Nicki Minaj are actually really good friends, and were great friends in 2017. Specifically, around February and March Nicki spent a lot of time in Europe to prepare for fashion week; she was with a lot of models. "I stay to myself, I'll explain myself, I can't play myself/Oh, first night, holy night, five in the morning, yeah-yeah (Yeah)/And it feels like you're mine, signs of the times, oh, what a time." Taking thigs back a little (trust me it will make sense), in an interview on Big Boys Neighborhood Drake was asked if he would save Wayne or Nicki if both of them were drowning in the ocean. Drake picked Nicki, his reasoning being that he wanted to have one last "magical experience" (sex) with her. With this I can fairly say that Drake sees having intercourse with Nicki as something incredibly special….."holy" even. Nicki was essentially moving pretty casually in 2017, and there were rumors that perhaps Nicki and Drake had sex for the first time that year. Not to spoil any future analysis down the line, but due to a "certain song" I'm inclined to believe that they did have sex in 2017. They were both in London for No Frauds early in the year, and then Nicki made a few special appearances with him in Paris in March. In February, a few days after linking up with Drake for the first time since 2014 she tweeted: "If you ask me I'm ready." Sound familiar? They're from that song Unthinkable. You know, the one Drake wrote about Nicki way back in 2010.

[gifsbysimplysonia]

"Grief never ends. But it changes. It is passage, not a place to stay. Grief is not a sign of weakness, nor a lack of faith. It's the price of love."

HOW has it been 19 years already?? Almost 2 entire decades?? Me, who has Dory (Finding Nemo) brain and can't remember what I had for breakfast or my name most days, I still remember meeting him SO VIVIDLY. Maybe because it was my own Homer's Odyssey and basically a DISASTER ... until it wasn't.

Whatever the case, I got my moment; it was perhaps the ONE TIME in my life that I actually told someone I held in high regard what they meant to me. It was messy cuz I was a mess and it was probably too rushed and too loud for that little trailer we were in but he gave me that moment....

Eff it, if you want the story, it's behind the cut.

I’m so very blessed that the ‘Verse gave me an opportunity to meet this man, and because of the circumstances under which I met him (7 hour drive, like 12 hours in the sun at an amusement park, being told we couldn’t meet him cuz we weren’t fanclub members, getting caught in the rain which is why I look like a fat drowned rat, and then finally being let into his tiny trailer to meet him), I was in SUCH A STATE by the time I came face to face with him that for the first (and I think only) time in my life, I actually told someone how much they meant to me. 

“I just wanna say something,” I announced, no doubt more loudly than I needed to in that tiny space. Eddy says sure, and just STANDS there and is LOOKING at me, as is his rather buff looking bodyguard/security. Oh shit, I better NOT f*ck up now!  “My dad drove us…7 hours down here…” and Eddy can’t help but say, “Oh my God!” in response, “…we’ve been here since 10:30 in the morning, we braved the heat, the sun, the rain just so we could be here to say Thank You for being an inspiration, Thank You for showing us what 'raza’ is really capable of, and for us (I gestured to myself and Raf) and my brother who made this 'cause he couldn’t be here today…” and I put the poor melted sign down on the table and unroll it. EDDY says something like, “Oh gosh, it’s all wet” before I just ramble on, “…for all of us, you’re our Hogan. So…and uh…we’re just really proud of you and thank you for everything,” I FINALLY finish up as I choke up. Eddy looks at me right in my eyes as he says, “Thank you. Thank you…those words…MEAN a lot, they really do. Muchas gracias (thank you very much).” So then I ask if I can have a hug, and apologize for being all wet, but he doesn’t seem to care one bit as he says, “Como no (of course)!” He comes around the tiny table, he wraps his arms around me, and this man that I love and adore and admire and respect and will for eternity…he HELD me. He didn’t hug me like he HAD to, just patting me on the back and pulling away as quickly as possible. No. He hugged me and HELD me, and as he was holding me, he asked me my name. I told him, “Sonia."  "Sonia,” he says to me, “Mucho gusto. Un placer. (Nice to meet you. It’s a pleasure).” And I thanked him through threatening tears. It was…unforgettable and amazing and SO much more than I ever dreamt of.

Thank God I have this little speech on video, cuz I started recording on one of my cameras then PROMPTLY FORGOT ABOUT IT *headdesk* So I got mine and Raf's whole encounters with him on video, mostly just audio and video of the tip of Eddy's boot cuz it was pointed downwards as I went on and on. But somewhere in the middle of Raf's encounter I remembered it and I brought it up and was able to get video of her hugging Eddy and posing for their photo. Grateful grateful grateful.

Not a day goes by that his in ring talent and personality are not missed, as well as the example he set by showing people that comebacks CAN happen. Not just storyline comebacks, but real life comebacks. Cuz Eddy, he fell. But y'know what? To paraphrase my favorite drag queen …. he got up, he looked sick'ning and he made everybody EAT IT!!!!

But he really did. He was someone who fought against his demons, every day, fought to gain back his family and respect, and fought to do what he loved. That was the life he was living every day…and he was doing well….and then he was gone. 

Do me a favor today: go find someone you love, give 'em a good, long squeeze and tell them EXACTLY how you feel about them because you really never know when the blink of an eye is gonna take you from the life you know to a life you never could have imagined. 

Thank you for everything you gave to your fans and the business of pro-wrestling, Eddy. Thank you for being MY role model and standard of excellent, and for showing me what a Latinx person could achieve in pro-wrestling on their own terms. And thank you for fighting, for never giving up on yourself, for being an inspiration and a hero who took the time to listen to me and make me feel like you actually HEARD me. 

Te quiero mucho, descanse en paz, Eddy <3

[snackingart]

@snowchained

After finding out the truth of Madarame’s corruption, Yusuke had been disheartened. Even with the change of heart, he knew this was no longer an environment that he could reside in. That is when he discovered an interesting truth -- Madarame had contact information for relatives of his. It seems that Yusuke has an aunt and cousin that live in Inaba. Naturally Yusuke had many questions, but he figured it would be better to assume that Madarame had his reasons for withholding this information from him. As long as he knew now, but he wondered what it would be like to visit them.

While Yusuke was extremely nervous to go and visit his relatives, he knew it had to be done. This was the only other connection to his mother that he had left other than the Sayuri painting. He could only hope that his relatives would be able to welcome him. It seemed that the Amagi’s owned a historic Inn in Inaba. The train ride felt longer than necessary as he continued to glance at the piece of paper in his hand that had the names of his relatives written down. Ah-- this was an exhilarating feeling! The feeling of nervousness and excitement wrapped into one. 

Once he arrived in Inaba it hadn’t taken Yusuke very long to find the Inn. Taking a deep breath he entered and headed towards the reception desk.

“Excuse me...May I please speak to the manager of this inn?”

[crazycookiecrumbles]

Hi there! I got around to reading everything you have for tasm peter parker and for johnny storm, and then I got to thinking…how would these two act around each other and having a crush on the same person (aka one of your stark readers)?? And would reader just be amused?? Would she struggle with choosing between them two??? 😱

Something for the Crumble!Verse. Oh, how I love this one.

For this, we'll be using The Stark!Reader from my Frank Castle Series: A Terrible Taste in Pizza. I think she'd be a real treat for this; Johnny Storm; and we'll use TaSM! Parker:

A Trio of Terror

Johnny Storm x Stark!Reader x Tasm!Peter Parker

Johnny wants what he wants and Johnny gets what he wants.

When he sets his eyes on our Stark!Reader, said eyes basically turn into two giant saucers and he's on a fastlane directly towards her.

The competition comes when one Peter Parker also sets his sights on you, and he's just as smitten.

The two find you at the same time, on the same day, at the same Avenger's Day celebration in Midtown Manhattan.

Peter's taking pictures for a little extra side cash, Johnny's there to have pictures taken of him, and get a few numbers of the Ironettes.

It all changes when they both see you.

Johnny is hot on your trail. He knows who you are, but he's never actually seen you in person, and he likes what he sees.

"Y/N Stark, pleasure to meet you. Name's Johnny Storm, you can call me Torch."

"Ew," you grimaced. "I thought the whole 'stupid playboy' thing was an act. This....this is disappointing."

You left with a pat on his shoulder and a remark to step up his game. Johnny spun around in surprise to watch you walk away. He liked a challenge.

Meanwhile, Peter slammed into you and was a stuttering mess of an apology, blushes, and struggling between taking your picture or leaving you alone.

"That's okay," you stared at his press badge, "Parker. Peter Parker? I like your work. You take great pictures of Spider-Man."

"T-thank you, Ms. Stark," Peter swallowed the lump in his throat. "Id' love to take a great picture of you, actually, for the uh, the press. You know, the uh, the, the paper."

Your smirk resembled a cheshire cat and Peter could feel himself falling through different realities as he stared at you and wondered what level of sour patch kid you were: sour or sweet?

"I bet you would, pretty boy." You spun around quickly and struck a pose, "Eat your heart out."

"I am," he squeaked as he took your photo.

"See you around, Parker," you winked. "And tell Spider-Man I said hi."

Oh, he would. He definitely, truly would.

Johnny would see the interaction between you and this random dweeb, and he knew he had it in the bag. He was the Human Torch, what was some little dork with a camera going to have that he didn't have?

"Hey, Stark," Johnny caught up to you and walked backwards in front of you as you kept it moving. "You, me, Cipriani -- "

"Cipriani is overrated."

"Lady's choice, then."

"Jacob's Pickles, Tuesday, 7:00. You need a reservation."

"Done," Johnny said. "Then after, you can be the dessert."

You laughed loudly, "Hey, I doubt it."

Johnny did not feel threatened by the prospects of some camera boy now that he had secured a date.

What he didn't expect was just days after his date with Stark, that Spider-Man would be hanging around her too.

The two were spotted when Spider-Man saved her from being crushed by a car that had flipped down Broadway because of a particularly angry mechanical Rhino.

Spider-Man saved the day, and the girl, and was casually leaning on the wall beside you, who was clearly smitten by the spandex-clad hero.

It was worse for Johnny when people started to post Twitter photos of you casually ordering dumplings standing next to Spider-Man, who was soon becoming distracted by bending down to take photos with kids.

Johnny was so angry.

Spider-Man, our boy Peter, was so happy. He was happy that his hypothesis of getting close to you by using Spider-Man seemed to be working.

But now Human Torch was starting to get in the way.

If Spider-Man was spotted anywhere near Stark Tower or you, Human Torch was flying in and crashing it by being a third wheel.

If Johnny Storm was seen on a date with Y/N Stark, Spider-Man was coincidentally stopping a crime nearby and dropping in on their dates.

It was a back and forth between the two of trying to ruin the other's date with you caught in the middle. They were always trying to outdo the other one.

To be honest, you didn't hate it.

I mean, really, you got so much food out of it.

But they were growing tiresome, it was a constant back and forth and now you weren't even getting to finish these meals because they kept interrupting each other!

Their fighting over you took a turn one day when they nearly started to physically fight each other in the middle of the street.

"Enough! God, this was so fun until you had to be such men about it," you snapped. "Johnny, you need to learn I'm not just a conquest for you. Spider-Man, I," you sighed. "I don't even know you, really, and I'm being very respectful by not doing my research and figuring out who you are in ten minutes, but this shit we've all got going on? Has to stop. The fun is over and now it's just exhausting."

It did nothing to stop Spider-Man and Johnny Storm from being at odds with each other. Their quips were something fierce, and the two made sure to emasculate the other at any moment.

You, however, sat back and watched the show. These two were absolute idiots.

In the back of your mind, however, you did wonder how that photographer you met was doing.

A/N: Hope that was okay!

[cherryyharryy]

angst to fluff where y/n finds out she was originally just supposed to be a rebound type thing after he broke up with someone like idk something like he broke up with someone on the european leg of tour and she was supposed just be with him until he went on another leg but then he started to love her and brings her on the rest of tour with him and she finds out abt the rebound thing after the last show of tour where everyones drunk and celebrating and one person lets it slip

I tweaked it just a bit...hope that's ok:)

WC: 3.5K

****

“You look beautiful.”

I skim my nose across Harry’s cheek, his chin resting on my shoulder, and hum against stubble that wasn’t there this morning. “You’ve said that five times tonight.”

“And?” He slips around to face me.

His suit is a deep maroon, probably black if you’re far away, probably purple if you’ve had too much champagne. His chest expands when I slide my hand down.

“Love this dress.” He takes my hand off and pulls me closer, pressing a kiss to my head.

“You two forget where you’re at?” Another foreign voice surrounds us, well, foreign to me.

“Fucker,” Harry says to the man. They pat each other’s backs as the guy walks away. “Tyler Johnson.”

“Oh.”

“He worked with me on the last album.”

“Okay.”

It’s like the fifteenth person that I’ve been introduced to tonight, all of whom pass by with quick hellos, inside jokes with Harry, and little interest in me. The fast paced world of the rich and famous doesn’t slow down, even for charity.

“Harry, so glad you could make it.” Another voice, another man. This one lingers, long enough to receive my name, and offer a cliche compliment about my patience to put up with this beautiful bastard on my arm.

I thank him with the smile I’ve learned to speak through. These celebrities never stop smiling. Never stop posing. Never stop.

Then he’s gone too, and Harry’s whispering yet another name in my ear, of which I’ll forget seconds later because these people ultimately mean nothing to me. They all seem to pass through each other’s lives whenever convenience allows, playing house and acting like grown ups who get the privilege of not truly growing up.

I feel like the Gucci dress Harry had tailored to my body doesn’t fit. My posture sucks. I’m too scared to eat any of the finger foods being carried on silver platters through the hall. I haven’t learned how to smile through food I don’t like or not make a mess or take small enough bites. I swear, not one glass of champagne has any lipstick on it. They’re like magic.

I look at Harry. He’s stepped away to converse with a face that I do know. He and Jeff speak animatedly, Harry’s arms gesturing to whatever story he’s telling. I step over to one of the dressed tables and place what little weight I can onto the chair, needing to cling to something. When I look back up I smile, the two of them now laughing, and probably a little too loud for this charity auction.

“Y/n...right?”

I whip around, a man I’ve seen in pictures on Harry’s phone holds out his hand.

I straighten my back and accept his greeting. “Yes.”

“Finally we meet!” He catches my confusion and chuckles. “I produced Harry’s last album.”

Something clicks in my head, and he’s suddenly more familiar. “Oh! I knew that.”

Tom Hull...Kid Harpoon I process just as he introduces his name.

“I—”

An arm slipping around my waist stunts my question, Harry tipping back a red drink with his free hand while the other squeezes my hip. “Just tell this one to leave you alone,” he jabs.

Tom rolls his eyes, patting the breast of his green suit to look for something, only to show off his middle finger.

“Can’t believe the two of you haven’t met,” Harry says.

“I know, I guess we just missed each other.” Tom nods to me. “Heard you went to quite a few shows.”

“As many as I could.”

An uneasy sting travels down my spine. I did go to many shows, practically following Harry around his entire tour...all on his dime. Lord knows the man can afford it, but I still felt weird about him dishing out thousands of dollars to add me to each plane ride.

“Well I’m happy to see you two kids together,” Tom jokes, patting Harry on his back. “I’ve told him he needs to date women who will fuck him up. That’s where the songs are.”

He saunters off like he did not just say that. No. Absolutely not.

My face burns and it hurts to turn my head, but I still manage to narrow my eyes at Harry.

“Do you want another drink?”

I wait. I give him more than enough seconds to explain what the hell that was. But he’s clueless—ignorant.

“No. I do not.”

***

I do not bother taking my heels off in the car. My plan is to storm into our hotel room the second we park. Possibly locking Harry out...haven’t decided on that part yet.

The vague chit chat he makes with the driver stirs my nerves. It shouldn’t make me angry, and it’s not so much the act as it is his demeanor. He’s too cheery right now and it’s pissing me off.

“Okay,” he grabs my attention from Los Angeles flying past my window, the partition rolling up to leave us completely alone in the back seat. “What’s wrong?”

I bite my tongue, literally. “Nothing.”

“You seemed...irritated.”

“Did I?”

“Y/n.”

I turn to face him, inhaling sharply to calm my coming words. “Why are you with me?”

His face pales, and not a muscle moves. He just stares at me until he finally blinks and starts jerking his jaw around. “What are you talkin’ about?”

I roll my eyes. “The fact that you don’t know, bothers me even more.” I sigh, fighting back tears because I am determined not to cry in front of him. “Tom said that you should date people that fuck you up.”

“O—oh. That’s all?”

I squint, curling my lip. “What do you mean, that’s all? Is that not enough for you? Because that was a lot for me to hear tonight.”

“Baby, he was just messing around.”

I don’t budge.

“Really, it’s nothin’ to think about.” He tucks my hair behind my ear, trailing his hand down to cup my jaw. “Promise. It’s just like when people told you that you could do better than me, or insult me to compliment you.” He shrugs. “It’s just party talk.”

I process his words, supposing he’s not wrong. He did receive quite a few insults in lieu of my praise tonight. Maybe I was just on edge because of the setting; being surrounded by the rich and famous while I struggle to pay my rent each month isn’t exactly grounds for positive thinking.

“Okay, I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for.” He leans over to kiss me, stroking my face as his lips skim over mine. “Did I tell you how stunning you look tonight?”

***

It’s funny how your brain works. How emotions swoop in and corral your thoughts, like a salesman who pretends to care about you so they can get what they want. My mind was desperate for relief, from hearing Tom’s nervy comment, and I naively allowed Harry to take what he needed in that moment.

Something’s not quite right. I don’t know what it is, but I can feel it.

I’ve been mulling over Harry’s words in my head all weekend, playing them on repeat, hoping they’ll start to make sense, but if anything their value keeps dropping. What worries me the most, is that I don’t know whether he’s trying to protect me or himself. I don’t know if one is any better than the other.

It’s golden hour when we pull up to the beach. I can hear the music before I even open the car door; a volleyball shoots up over the rows of bushes hiding the party, disappearing and popping back up a moment later.

I don’t really want to be here, but I also don’t want to be the girlfriend who won’t support their boyfriend.

“Ready?” Harry asks, and I nod.

The closer we walk, the clearer the music becomes. Harry’s voice takes over the private beach, and I wonder if they’re playing his entire album or just Golden on repeat.

A good bit of the people drinking and chatting I recognize form the event the other night, but there are still plenty of new faces. I take some fruity drink that was offered to me and down half of it before my feet hit sand.

And so the routine continues. I’m introduced to someone, they compliment me, laugh with Harry, congratulate him on pretty much everything he’s ever done, and then repeat with a new face. I do manage to find Sarah at one point after I’ve detached myself from Harry, and the two of us head for the water.

“Are you feeling okay?” Sarah asks once our toes are wet.

I hold my breath and count to five, finishing whatever the hell I’m drinking before I can answer her. “I’m great.”

“Harry said you weren’t doing too well after the auction?”

“Yes, Harry does a lot of talking with people when I’m not around.”

“Alright, spill it,” Sarah says.

I trace the rim of my glass, flicking my eyes over my shoulder to make sure we’re far away from the party. “It’s stupid, really, I’m just a little...I don’t know...Tom said something the other night that rubbed me the wrong way. And Harry doesn’t seem to care.”

“What did he say?”

“Just something about how Harry needs to have relationships with people who will fuck him up.”

“Ooh,” she nods, seemingly well versed in the statement. “Yeah that’s an Iggy Pop quote. Tom mentioned it in Rolling Stone when he was interviewed.” She sips her drink, eyes growing small over the rim. “It was just a cheap line of advice he gave Harry after he was torn up after his last breakup.”

“Wait, so he actually did say that before? Like before the other night?”

Sarah drifts her eyes up in thought, nodding. “Um hm. After him and Camille broke things off.” She shrugs, and gestures to the party exploding on the beach behind us. “Fine Line.”

I have no idea what I’m feeling. No clue what is coursing through my veins, but it’s not blood anymore. The corners of my jaw tingle until my face starts going numb, my breathing shallow and chest tight.

“You okay?”

“I uh, I gotta go.”

Sarah calls after me but I let my name die in the breeze as I march back to the crowd. It’s nearly dark now, and finding Harry among all his people will take forever. I try to look for him, but I’m so distraught I can’t concentrate long enough to make out faces. I give up and head back to his car, only to find it’s locked. The asphalt is warm on my legs as I lower down to the ground, careless to the dirt I’m getting on my clothes and the scratches on my skin.

I’m not in this position for long. Not long enough, at least. Harry rounds the corner of the bushes, speeding up when he sees me.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

He moves to sit down beside me, but I jump up before he can.

“You’re a fucking liar.”

“Whoa! What!? What’s gotten into you lately?”

“I told you! What Tom said the other night!” I’m yelling, too loud for public, I know. But a small part of me wants someone to hear. I want to disrupt the bubble Harry lives in.

“And I told you that it was just nonsense.”

“And that’s why you’re a liar! Sarah just told me, that he said that to you after you and Camille broke up.”

“Okay...and?”

I inhale as deep as I can. It makes me dizzy, adds to my headache. “And, what the fuck am I supposed to do with that? With the knowledge that the only reason you’re even with me, is because I’m gonna fuck you up so bad you’ll get songs out of it?

“Y/n,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “you’re taking this waaay too literally. Trust me.”

“You’re not in a position right now where I even want to trust you.”

“This has gotten completely out of control. I cannot believe you’re this upset over something so stupid.”

“Right there, Harry!” I point at him. “You keep dismissing how I feel! You don’t even care that this upsets me! That I feel like I need to reevaluate our entire relationship!”

“What is there to evaluate!? I haven’t even done anything! You’re blowing up about something that someone else said!”

“But you listened to him!”

“What,” he shrugs, “what do you want?”

“I don’t know what I want, Harry. I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Do what?” He pauses, swallowing. “Us?”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, us. I can’t be with you if—if you’re just waiting around for me to ruin you emotionally.”

“You’re seriously gonna let someone else’s words do this to us? You’d break up with me because of something another person said?”

“Harry, if I break up with you it’s gonna be because of what you’ve done. I don’t care that he said it, I care that you agree to it. And quite frankly, it’s pretty insulting to Camille. You spent a part of your life with that girl, and you just capitalize off of it. I’m not gonna let you do that to me.”

“I’m not capitalizing off of anyone! What the hell am I supposed to write my songs about? I’m just supposed to not date then?”

“It’s the fact that you sought out a relationship in order to fuel your writing.”

“No, y/n, that’s not what I did.” He narrows his eyes at me, and even in the dark I can see his anger. “I sought you out because I was devastated after me and her broke up. You were only supposed to be a rebound.”

I feel like the wind’s been knocked out of me. The music overhead blurs into noise scraping my eardrum, my vision grows weak and foggy. He wanted to hurt me, and he did.

“I expect a thank you when you release your next album.” I spin on my heel and head towards the main road, yanking my phone from my pocket to call an uber. For the second time tonight, my name trails behind me in the wind. I can hear Harry’s steps pick up, and as fast as I walk, he still catches me.

“Y/n, please, let’s go back to the hotel. You can hate me and not talk to me, but please don’t leave.”

I ignore him, trying to set up my ride. “Where the hell are we?”

He glances at my phone, and I can tell he considers keeping the answer to himself, so he can keep me to himself. He drops his voice, much weaker than before. “Carbon Beach. Canyon road.”

Ten minutes.

“Y/n—”

“I am not interested in discussing this with you.”

“I’m so sorry. I—I was mad and was just trying to win the argument. Whichever way I could.”

“Congratulations on your win.”

“Y/n, please, honey. I don’t want to lose you.” He drags his hands down his face, keeping his palms dug into his eyes. When he lets them drop, there are tears spilling down his cheeks. “I can’t lie and say you weren’t, but yes you were a rebound for me, but that went away. Literally weeks after we started dating. I care about you so much. I wouldn’t drag you to every show and event I have if I didn’t. I’m so proud to call you mine. The last thing you are to me is—is just grounds for my writing.”

I stare out across the road. A jeep speeds by and the gush of wind it brings sends chills down my arms.

“Harry, I just...it’s a lot. You’re a lot. Your life is a lot.” I sigh and slowly turn to face him. “It feels like the significance of us being in each other’s lives are so different.”

He kicks a rock across the road, dust flying up around us. “Fuck. Y/n I’m begging—”

“They’re here.” I nod to the headlights approaching us.

“Baby, please.”

“I think I need to be alone right now.” I get in the backseat. “Enjoy your party.”

***

I text him when I’m back at the hotel, having nowhere else to go. I didn’t think my plan of leaving through, because he’ll come back here before the night’s over. But I’m hoping he’ll stay away for a bit, long enough for me to process everything at least.

Deep down I know there’s not as much to the comment as I thought. And Harry’s not that type of guy. But the lack of concern over my feelings...the fact that I was just used as a warm body while he got over Camille...that’s what hurts the most.

There’s a fine line between being sorry because you’ve been called out, and truly being sorry. How sorry can he be when he got what he wanted? Even if I’m not what he envisioned past a few quick fucks, he still comes out on top happy.

I feel like the lifestyle these people live is embedded with secret codes, all of which I’m not wired to pick up on. The money, the mistakes, the adoration... Everything is a lot, and playing catch up is nearly impossible.

I don’t get the alone time I’d wished for. There are curses and clicks of the doorknob right before Harry comes in. He stands at the entrance, staring at me on the lounge chair like he’s unsure if I’m real.

“Wasn’t sure you’d come back here.”

“Where else can I go?” I nod to his phone in his hand. “I texted you.”

“I was driving.”

I sigh, flinching when he turns the lights on. “I know you wanna talk, but I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to,” he says, dropping his keys on a table to come sit beside me. “I’ll talk though.” He inhales, holding his breath for a second before forcing the air out. “I know that me saying I’m sorry means shit to you right now. And to be honest, it probably is coming from me...in a way. You’re right about everything. And whatever you’re feeling, once you figure that out, you’re valid about that too.”

“How would you feel if you were only meant to be temporary in my life? You never mentioned why you were interested in me in the beginning. And no, I never would have gone out with you had I known. I would never want to be someone’s rebound. There’s just something sneaky about that.”

His head drops into his hands, and his shoulders shake right before I hear him cry. “I know, I—I get so caught up in myself sometimes. I’m such a fucking prick.” When he looks up, his eyes are burnt red, glassy and defeated. “I don’t deserve you, and I really don’t deserve anyone.”

“Harry,” I chastise, not expecting the downward spiral he’s ventured onto.

“I swear I care about you. I want you to be happy, and I want to make you happy. I don’t want to be the one to treat you this way. Ever.”

I inhale as deep as I can, holding my breath until it hurts. “I know.” I take his hand in mine. “And I know your heart, and I know you care about me. I—” I sigh, “I’m not comfortable with...just forgetting all of this though. I can forgive you, but I think we need to take a couple steps back. I’ve gotten so swept up in your life and your world, I’m losing my own.”

He nods slowly, accepting my words with a pained face.

“I care about you too.”

He looks up for the first time, catching the last few tears with the back of his hand. “I know you do.”

I offer a small smile and lean in to kiss his cheek. His eyes fall closed, and blindly he turns to press his lips to mine. Our kiss is salty and urgent.

“What did you say to everyone when you left?”

He frowns in thought, like the memory is too far away. “Nothing. Jumped in my car and prayed this is where you’d be.”

I take his hand and pull us both to our feet. “We should go to bed. It’s been a long night. Too long.”

We’re quiet and slow as we shed our clothes and brush our teeth, slipping into bed around two a.m.. Harry doesn’t waste a second in pulling me into his warm chest, wrapping his arms around me in a tight hug that has me burying my face into his neck.

We lay there, silent, but when I know I don’t have much longer before sleep overcomes me, I kiss his shoulder, whispering how much I love him before I close my eyes.

[auroracalisto]

twenty first century type

summary: the reader is from 2020 and somehow sent back to the Witcher’s time.  they are well-versed in... pop-culture memes, much to their companion’s dismay.  

word count: 438 words

warnings: uh legit i don’t think there is any.

author’s notes: ok so i saw a headcanon on this and i cannot for the life of me find who did it.  please, please, if you know, send me a message so i can credit them for inspiring this.  

One of the first times the Witcher truly believed you weren't from his world was when the two of you were fighting a woodland monster.  He looked over at you as your sword had been knocked out of your hands.  You gained a defensive stance and the look on your face was quite worrisome, but the only words that came out of your mouth were, "Don't kill me, you're so sexy."  An awkward laugh left you and Geralt couldn't help but just stare at you with furrowed eyebrows for the longest moment.  

For Jaskier, the two of you were sitting around the campfire.  It was one of the first couple of days that you had traveled with him and the Witcher.  You looked Jaskier dead in the eyes and said, "I am once again asking for your financial support."

Jaskier just stared at you before he tilted his head.  "What?"

"You heard me."

Jaskier looked over at Geralt, blinking a couple of times.  "What?"

Geralt just shrugged, returning back to his food for the evening.

[]

One cold morning, you were shook awake by Geralt who scoffed when you finally peeled open your eyes.  

"Come on.  We must go."

Before you said anything, you held up your hand and sent him a peace sign, throwing your head back onto your bedroll.  

"What the fuck?"  Geralt looked back at Jaskier, who hesitantly tried to imitate the hand motion.  He shrugged in response—something the two often did when you did something weird like that.  

[]

"Mentally, I am there."

Jaskier blinked a couple of times.  "Excuse me?"

You pointed towards a drunken man at the corner of the inn, looking over at him with a frown.  "Mentally, I am there."

"Drunk?" Geralt asked as he took his seat beside you.  

"Sure," you shook your head as you said that.  You grabbed a piece of bread, tearing a portion off as you looked at your companions.  "Sure."

[]

"Cancelling plans is okay," you said, tossing a piece of firewood into the dying fire.  "Posing as a tutor for a rich family is okay—"

"—[Your name]," Jaskier blurted, looking over at him.  "I need to ask you a question."

You looked over at him.  

"Yeah?"

"How do you remember these... phrases?"

"I'm a magic man."

"What—are you even—"

"—shhhh," you put a finger up to his lips, frowning.  "Just.  Shhh."

Jaskier parted his lips to say something else, but he nodded.  He watched you closely, the confusion still evident on his features.  He returned to his lute, strumming a soft tune.  

You looked over at him and smiled.  "Keep it up, hot stuff."

"What—hot stuff?"

[lunarliza]

Dirty Little Secret | Chapter One: Blankets

fuckbuddy!JJ x Kook!Reader 

You and JJ are fuck buddies- strictly physical. But what happens when you find yourself falling more and more for everyone’s favorite golden boy even though all he can see you as is a spoiled rich girl? 

You stared at the ticking clock among the sea of giggling preppy girls. Time had to be running in reverse. There was no way you still had an hour left. 

“Alright ladies, let’s now form a single-file line and practice our curtsies,” the cotillion instructor, Linda, ordered. The over-privileged girls hurried to the end of the ballroom, one carelessly stepping over your foot. “Ouch!” 

You glared at their backs and non-existent asses as they scurried, being the last one to sulk to your place behind a tall girl named Caroline. The leggy blonde snickered and leaned back slightly once everyone got into formation. 

“You look like a beat up mule,” she joked. 

You snorted and got on your tip-toes, muttering into her ear. “If I hear the words ‘prim and proper’ one more time, I might actually vomit on the spot.” 

You both peered over to Linda who was busy adjusting some of the girls in the front with her annoying pointer stick. It was only a matter of time before she would eventually get to you and criticize, well, everything. Your posture, clothes, hair, attitude. 

“If you do,” Caroline added, “make sure to get it all on Delilah in the front left. She totally swiped me for runner-up Miss Teen North Carolina last year.” 

You chuckled and shook your head. 

Caroline was probably the only thing getting you through these treacherous debutante lessons. She was your typical tall, thin socialite with a Benz and Prada collection to match. Ironically, you guys had more in common than one would think- hating just about every single girl in the room. It may be for different reasons, but the principle was there. Caroline was as competitive as they come and always had to be the center of attention, not that it was hard given her model height. 

You, on the other hand, couldn’t care less about becoming a high woman in society- evident in your ability to show up 20 minutes late to each lesson and royally screw up the dance number each chance you got. Caroline admired your talent of not giving a fuck and took a liking to you after you posed non-threatening to her spotlight. 

You faked yawned and checked the clock once more. 

“Alright I’ve had enough.” You held out your hand to Linda, causing the pageant girl in front of you to wrinkle her perfectly threaded brows. “Linda, I need to use the restroom,” you announced nonchalantly as everyone’s beetle eyes punctured you. 

“Very well y/n,” the monotonous instructor answered with her thin-framed glasses hanging on her beak nose.  

“See ya next week,” you sneakily whispered to Caroline. You proceeded to hop out of line, snatch your canvas bag at the entrance, and whisk out the door and into the busy street before anyone could see.

It was 3 p.m. on a Thursday afternoon. Your ferry left in an hour, and til then, you were ready to wander around the streets of Chapel Hill. 

                                           -----------------------------

“How were lessons today?” your mother asked, taking a sip of her 1999 Vineyard Merlot before setting the glass on the black marble table.

“Fine,” you answered, picking at the halibut on your plate. 

Her glasses were perched at the bridge of her nose as she scrolled through items on an iPad. You silently glanced over to your little sister, Macy, who slid her green beans onto your plate and threw you a thankful grin. 

“What did you go over?” your stepdad, Ted, asked half-heartedly as he scrolled through his phone. 

“Uh, we did some curtsies and practiced the dance,” was all you cared to mention as you munched on your sister’s veggies. 

“That’s funny,” your mother lifted her eyes from the screen, “because Linda called and said you went to the restroom and mysteriously disappeared. And you were late.” Her tone was much more adamant at the second part, but your face stayed cool as you took another bite of the awful fish. 

“There was backup when I left the ferry,” you lied and your mother rolled her eyes, tossing the iPad onto the table. 

“Y/n, you need to take this seriously. Ted spent weeks trying to get you into those debutante lessons and we’re paying a fortune for Linda alone!” 

“It’s not my fault she has a stick up her ass just like everyone else there,” you countered. Your mom was seconds away from fuming, so you decided to add a little extra fuel. “Also someone stepped on my foot with their heel so I had to rest it or else I wouldn’t be able to properly do the dance.” 

“Enough of this, y/n,” your mother snapped at your terrible sarcasm. Macy and Ted stopped eating and watched you both with hints of concern. You didn’t understand why it was so startling to them. It was just any other Thursday evening with your mom if you were being honest. 

“If I get another call from Linda, we’re taking away your keys.” 

“Take them,” you said, stepping up from your chair and towards the kitchen. You tossed the half-eaten food into the trash and stuffed the plate into the dishwasher. “Not like I have anywhere better to be on this God-awful island.” 

You rushed to your room upstairs and kicked the door shut behind you. You sank into your bed, face first, and let out the longest, dreadful groan into the comforter. 

This was your life now. After almost a year, you would think that you’d adjust to this pretentious Kook life, but it only made you feel more stranded than ever. It started when your real parents announced their divorce a few years back. Both yours and Macy’s hearts shattered at the news. Your family lived perfectly in a tiny home until you turned thirteen. Your dad- the one who taught you how to ride a bike, swim, fish, and play poker- got a new job where he would go overseas for months on end. You hated not being able to see him and your mom hated it even more- enough to leave him. Your mom ended up taking full custody of you and Macy. Soon after, she met money-bags Ted, and, before you knew it, your bags were sealed packed as you sailed away to a fancy new home along Figure Eight complete with housekeepers, a pool, and etiquette lessons. It was supposed to be this “better lifestyle” your mother tried to paint into your head- but you saw right through it. No matter how green the grass or white the fence, you still felt like you were being locked up on an island you had no interest in exploring. 

Making new friends was also a hassle- first coming in as a high school sophomore, and then not knowing how to engage in Kook-speak with the others. It’s not your fault you weren’t well-versed in luxury cars and handbags. You had one or two friends, but spent most of your days alone. It was well past midnight when you caught yourself drowning in your own self-loathing thoughts. A sudden tap on your window startled you as you turned to find a familiar blonde boy struggling to lift the glass. You watched, unimpressed, as he finally got it open enough to slide his lean body in and land straight onto your window seat. 

“You’re late again, JJ,” you said, getting up to lock your door. 

“Phone died and there’s a guard on duty, so I had to come in through the long way,” JJ stated, plopping himself comfortably on your bed. 

He wore his usual fit- dark cargo shorts and a navy button-up with hardly anything buttoned. He reeked of weed and seawater, wearing a sleazy grin on his face. You wanted to swipe it off. Cocky bastard. 

“For the last time,” you retorted, kicking his feet off your white blankets, “no shoes on my fucking bed.” 

“I love when you talk dirty to me,” JJ snarkily replied as he slipped off his boots.   

This was JJ: your fuck buddy. You couldn’t pinpoint exactly why you were involved with this delinquent of a boy, but he was enough piss off your mom and Ted- not that you would ever tell them. You didn’t know what it was about him, but causally sleeping with JJ made you feel more in control of your life. So, once or twice a week, you two would meet up, do the deed, and go your separate ways without a word. No strings, no feelings, hell, not even a friendship. And not a single soul knew. You both understood the terms of your agreement and will stand by it until the day you both die. “Are you just gonna stand there and stare or are we gonna get to clapping cheeks? I don’t have all night dude,” JJ nagged, interrupting you from your thoughts. 

You flipped him off. “If someone showed up during their regularly scheduled time, I would have had a lot more energy.” You peeled off your cropped tee to reveal a lacy black bralette and climbed into his lap. His hands cupped the globes of your ass before sliding them into your shorts, mouth connecting with your neck. 

“Let’s make this quick,” he added between short breaths, “I have to meet some friends in an hour.” 

-----------------------------

chapter two

[remmushound]

Curse of the Clan part 6! @scentedcandlecryptid @selfindulgenz @digitl-art-monstr @brightlotusmoon

As Bishop guided the Clan through the cold, sterile halls of white, none of the brothers felt comfortable enough to say much of anything. Bishop’s footsteps echoed with each sharp strike of his formal black shoes, the only sound in the facility aside from the mechanical murmuring of machines and employees at work. When the silence became too much to handle, the brothers began to try and bully each other into saying something to break the cold tension. They nudged and shoved and whispered hush whispers to each other before Leonardo finally spoke up.

“Hey Bishop!” He called, “can I have a sip of your water?” He pointed to bishops flask on his waist.

Bishop stopped walking and snapped to look back at Leonardo, though his smile never faltered. “It’s not water.”

Leonardo’s nostrils flared to bring in more of the acrid smell. “Seriously? Drinking on the job?”

“It doesn’t at all affect what I do here, trust me.” Bishop laughed.

“And what exactly is it that you do?”

With a sharp turn, Bishop went right back to walking. The Hamatos huddled around each other, hesitant to follow until Bishop called back to them without stopping his stride.

“Come along then, Hamatos, we have a lot to discuss.”

One by one, the brothers continued to follow Bishop down the hall until it opened into what seemed almost like an underground warehouse, though Bishop and the family were on a higher deck looking down upon the expansive room.

“What’s this place, mister Bishop?” April asked, walking over in an attempt to peer over the barrier.

Bishop grabbed a hold of April’s arm with a vice-like grip and yanked her back hard. “Don’t go near the barrier, little girl.”

Raphael was upon Bishop in an instant, snatching Bishop’s arm and twisting it slowly. Bishop resisted for a moment, but ultimately relented with a laugh and relinquished. When Raphael let him go, Bishop brought his arm back to his chest and rubbed it gently.

“You okay April?” Raphael asked, looking to April.

“I’m fine.” April huffed, rubbing her arm where Bishop had grabbed her as she pressed herself deeper into the group so she wasn’t so readily exposed.

“Sorry to frighten you.” For the first time, Bishop smiled in April’s direction. “Just didn't want you to fall.”

“Would ‘please step back before you fall’ not have worked?” Leonardo asked with crossed arms.

“Yeah!” Michelangelo added, “You didn't have to put your hand on her!”

“My apologies.” Bishop gave a laugh that shook his whole body and removed his hat to give a bow. “It’s just dangerous here in the holding area. Wouldn’t want you getting hurt…”

“Wait wait, holding area…?” Donatello prompted with a deepening frown. “That’s deeply concerning.”

“What exactly are you holding?”

“Yes. Here at TCRI, we isolate and incapacitate dangerous mutants, yokai, and other cryptids that might pose a threat to human safety and put our work here at risk. You understand that don’t you?” Bishop was almost like a snake, cold and constricting as he circled the family with his eyes trained on April. “Wouldn’t want you getting hurt.”

“You said that already.” April huffed, glad to be able to hide her full body behind the bulk of Raphael.

“Did I? Sorry.” Bishop laughed, finally stopping circling the brothers and starting to walk along the length of the balcony. “What exactly I do here isn’t much your concern, you know. I protect people, and that’s all you need to know.”

“But why the whole conspiracy?” Leonardo wasn’t going to stop questioning everything here, no matter the fact that each of Bishop’s words seemed to cut deeper and deeper and made Leonardo almost sick. “Why is it so important to keep humans blissfully aware of the creatures they share earth with?”

“Silly boy. Humans barely accept other humans of different skin and beliefs…” Bishop looked back at Leonardo without completely turning around, “Do you really think they’d accept a whole other sapient race…?”

***

The tour took far longer than any of the family was comfortable with, so when Bishop finally brought them into the elevator to take them to the roof, it was a great relief. But soon it turned quickly as awkward when they saw just how many floors they had to pass.

“Dude, how tall is this building?” Leonardo scoffed, motioning to the wall of seemingly endless buttons.

“Just 56 floors above ground. But there are five floors below.” Bishop answered helpfully.

“Sounds… great!”

Five floors up and already the silence was stretching before them. Michelangelo looked around at each of his family, watching the nervously anxious expressions on their faces that only served to further his own upset until, quite suddenly, he piped up with,

“There once was a ship that was put to sea and the name of the ship was the Billy of Tea~ The winds blew up, her bow dipped down, oh blow my bully boys blow.”

A heartbeat of silence before Leonardo’s musically inclined voice sounded. “Soon may the Wellermen come to bring us sugar and tea and rum~.”

Not to be outdone, Donatello took the second half of the verse with great enthusiasm. “One day when the tonguing is done, we’ll take our leave and go!”

April broke in before Michelangelo could say the next verse, but Michelangelo didn't care; especially not when he got to hear April’s angel-like voice. “She'd not been two weeks from shore when down on her a right whale bore! The captain called all hands and swore he'd take that whale in tow!”

Everyone, sans Bishop, joined in the next verse. “Soon may the Wellermen come to bring us sugar and tea and rum! One day when the tonguing is done, we’ll take our leave and go!”

They kept singing, much to Bishop’s increasing frustration, until they reached the top floor and Bishop gladly ran out. He motioned them to quickly follow. Their song was drowned out by the loud whirl of metal as a helicopter awaited them on the roof, its blade spinning and ready for takeoff. Bishop had to talk extra loudly to be heard over the rumble.

“This is the helicopter that will take you to the drop-off point.” Bishop practically yelled, “You will be provided with enough food and supplies to last the fortnight!”

“Wait—just like that?” Leonardo asked, “Shouldn’t we get more details or something? You’ve hardly told us anything!”

“I don’t have any bags packed!” Michelangelo whimpered.

“I need at least a two day notice before doing any traveling!” Donatello scoffed.

“You will be provided with more information on the way.”

“I’d like to be provided with it now.” Leonardo called, then turned to his brothers, “I think we can all agree this is highly sus, right?”

His family nodded their agreement.

“There is no time to waste, Hamatos.” Bishop called, “You must hurry.”

“It— it’s fine Leo.” Raphael tried to comfort with a nod of his head. “We’ll be together, right? We’ll be okay. Come on Mad Dogz!”

Raphael smiled and stood up straighter as he went to lead his family onto the helicopter. Bishop stopped Raphael before he could get far.

“What are you doing?” Bishop asked.

“Uh. Going on the helicopter…?” Raphael pointed.

“No. Not you.” Bishop shook his head, “Or you or you.” He pointed to Leonardo and Michelangelo.

“What?”

Bishop pointed at Donatello. “HIM!”

“Me?” Donatello gawked, pointing at himself.

“What? Wait—wait! Why does only Donnie go?” Raphael demanded. He and the rest of his family formed a protective circle around their brother.

“Because unlike you three, he was competent enough to not break his mystic weapon.”

“But… Donnie doesn’t have a mystic weapon?” Michelangelo frowned.

With a wave of his hand, a guard came over and offered Bishop what could have been mistaken for a bo staff, with a spike at one end joined with what looked like a sickle claw and on its other end was a spiked mace. Bishop accepted the weapon, and then presented it to Donatello. It took the softshell a moment to realize he was supposed to take it, and when he did take it, his movements were slow and hesitant.

“Ain’t that the weapon we saw when we all got our mystic weapons?” Raphael asked, rubbing his head.

“Yeah!” April agreed, “And Donnie didn't want it, so he left it on the shelf!”

“Talk about luck.” Leonardo whistled.

“Wait wait wait!” Raphael shook his head and put a hand on Donatello’s shoulder, pulling him back protectively. “You can’t take Donnie!”

“Why not?” Bishop asked, tilting his head, and widening his grin.

“Because he’s our brother!” Raphael declared, “And you ain’t taking him without us going along!”

“There’s only enough provisions for one.” Bishop laughed.

“Then we got a problem, don’t we?” Raphael crossed his arms and stood strong and stubborn. His family followed his stance and stood as solid as a brick wall.

“You all will be too busy with your own missions to miss your brother, don’t worry.”

“What missions?” Leonardo demanded. “You’ve told us literally nothing!”

With another motion, three more guards came forward and presented Michelangelo, Leonardo, and Raphael with weapons of their own; a set of tonfa, an odachi, and a kusari fundo.

“Ohhhh!” Michelangelo’s eyes shimmered like gold in the earth.

“Nice!” Raphael felt the weight of his weapons approvingly.

Leonardo accepted his weapon, looking down at it a moment before looking back up at Bishop. “We already have weapons.”

“Oh? Do you?” Bishop’s head tilted to the point of almost snapping.

“Yeah. Katana and sai and nunchaku, like we had before we got the mystic weapons. Our nimpo weapons? Thought you were up to date?”

Bishop’s entire body trembled with each laugh. “Oh, no no no. Those won’t do. The mystic weapons have to be the same. Otherwise you can’t seal the barrier!”

“WHAT BARRIER?!” They all cried out as one.

“We don’t like to mix things up when it comes to mystic weapons.” Bishop said. “You understand don’t you?”

The brothers all looked around at each other. Each of them could read the other like a book, their mixture of emotions collected into one shared feeling of anxiety as they fed off of each other's fear and distrust of the man in front of them.

“You have every right not to trust me.” Bishop nodded as he spoke, “You do not know me. It is only natural to be nervous. But please do allow me to tell you what you will be spending the next two weeks of your life doing. Unless you want the evil to escape?”

“Nobody wants that...” Raphael grumbled softly

Bishop clasped his hands together and looked expectantly between the brothers and their father, overlooking April pointedly. Raphael put his hands on his hips and gave a long, heavy sigh.

“Fine.”

“Oh, wonderful.” Bishop’s eyes gleamed, “I shall start with you then, Raphael. With your Tonfa, you must find the blessing of a king. How fun.”

Raphael looked down at the tonfa in each hand. “I get to meet royalty? Sweet!”

“Your journey will take place in the western wing of the hidden city!”

“Isn’t that the bad side of town?” Leonardo asked.

“Exactly.” Bishop turned to Leonardo. “And you, Leonardo, must get the blessing of a ronin’s ronin.”

“What does that even mean?” Leonardo scoffed.

“You tell me.” Bishop laughed and closed his eyes a moment. Then he handed Leonardo a small medallion. “This will help you get back home! Your journey is taking you somewhere far, far away, where Yokai thrive and humans do not.”

“What about me?” Michelangelo squeaked.

Bishop looked to the smallest. “You must get the blessing of a Seamer of Time!”

“What does that mean?” Michelangelo frowned, bringing a finger to his lips in concentration.

“It is not me to tell you. You must figure that out yourself. But you may find your answer somewhere in the hidden city.”

“What? I don’t even get a specific part of the Hidden City?! That’s so... Vague!”

“And uh… where do I fit into this picture?” Donatello raised a hand.

“You are a very special case, Donatello.” Bishop walked close to Donatello. Uncomfortably close. “The closer the mystic weapon is to the barrier, the longer it can hold. And you will be the one who brings it there.”

“And then?”

“And then keep it there!” Bishop laughed. “And Japan will be your hime while you wait for your brothers.”

Donatello frowned. “I’m just gonna sit around and wait for my brothers to do all the fun work? Don’t I get a mystic prophecy or something?”

“Well you are rather soft.” Bishop whistled through his teeth. “You should be glad. You won’t be in any physical danger!”

“And how do you know all this?” Leonardo asked, motioning vaguely.

Bishop gave a low, growling hiss. “You ask a lot of questions boy.”

“And you don’t give a lot of answers.” Leonardo met evenly.

Bishop and Leonardo remained staring at each other until Splinter decided to break it up, tugging his sons and April aside for a family chat.

“You can’t seriously be considering this, dad!” Leonardo growled.

“Blue…” Splinter didn't seem to know what to do, shaking his head. “This is something we can’t risk! We… we have to do this.”

“I don’t trust Bishop, dad.”

“Neither do I!” Splinter almost snarled, “But we don’t have many other options. Bishop has information and technology that we do not! You don’t have to trust him, Leonardo, but I ask you trust me…” Splinter put his paws to his chest in a pleading motion.

Leonardo looked around at his brothers and April. “What do you guys think?”

“I mean… if it’s important enough that grandma comes back from the dead to warn us, then we should probably at least look into it.” Donatello said.

“But— Donnie! You’d be a whole country away!” Leonardo said desperately, “And— and I don’t have my odachi to reach you! I can’t use my nimpo weapon without the nimpo state!”

“We have Draxum…” Michelangelo suggested softly. “He can make gateways...”

“Raph?” Leonardo looked to Raphael.

Raphael gave a nervous whine, his face practically melting with anxiety as his eyes darted back and forth as if looking for the right thing to say. When he finally decided, it was like a lightbulb blipped to life in his eyes.

“Donnie’s right! We at least gotta give this a shot!” Raphael decided with a nod, “I mean, it’s only two weeks right? We can handle ourselves for two weeks!”

“I trust your judgement, Raph.” Leonardo had to bite his tongue to force back the doubtful anxiety that tried to escape him. Raphael was the leader, and Leonardo had to trust in that. He just hoped Raphael knew what he was getting them into.

[consumedkings-archive]

ii. damage done & damage made ✤ roman sionis/varya astakhova

words: 2.2k

summary: thanks to @starcrier​ for entertaining my daydreams about my favorite murder duo, we now have a oneshot that literally no one asked for: roman and varya, and their babies, in a tea shop. living their perfect crime lives. that’s all.

rating: m for Adult Language and threats of face-tearing

warnings: the aforementioned face-tearing, roman’s mouth (per usual), domestic murder family. babies being cute.

Mark liked his job, a lot. Working a tea shop felt like a step up from the typical entry-level customer service job, and he got a huge discount on all of the products—not to mention, flexible hours while he was balancing school and needing to pay rent, and premium people-watching. Some days, like today, the card machine acted up and he had to ask customers to put their card numbers in manually, but most of them were understanding. All-in-all: he felt pretty lucky.

So when a young couple wandered into the shop one afternoon, it felt like any other kind of afternoon for him. They matched the usual demographic that liked to stop there; well-dressed, usually a little more upper class given the neighborhood. The woman—small and slender, balancing a stylishly dressed infant on her hip—smiled at him charmingly while the man redirected a two-seat stroller to an area less clustered by shelves, slowly rocking it back and forth.

“Good afternoon!” Mark greeted as the woman approached, keeping his voice softer in case the man was trying to rock another infant to sleep. “Can I help you find anything today?”

“Hello! Yes, well—admittedly, I am not as well-versed in teas as I would like to be,” the brunette said sweetly, a little sheepish. The infant babbled happily and clutched the pendant of her necklace in his fingers.

Mark offered her a smile. “No worries. What kinds of flavors do you like? I have quite a few—”

“Varya,” the man said from where he had been pushing the stroller back and forth, “do you have my phone? I need to make a call.”

“Oh, yes. One moment.” She fished a sleek, dark phone from her purse, passing it to the man before turning her eyes back to Mark. The man, presumably her husband, dialed a number and balanced the phone between his ear and shoulder before the call connected and he started talking—his voice low so that Mark could barely hear him over Varya’s attentions. He had gloves on; black, leather, embossed with something in gold; maybe his initials?

Varya said lightly, “Flavors?”

He flushed, quickly diverting his eyes. “Yes, right. Your favorite flavors?”

“Hm. I prefer spiced teas,” she began, eyes scanning the shelves. “My mother used to make a tea with cloves and cinnamon, do you have anything like that?”

“Certainly,” Mark replied brightly. He turned back to the shelves, humming for a moment. She had had a bit of an accent; it sounded Russian, but it was so slight he couldn’t quite be sure. There were plenty of tourists and sightseers coming in and out of the shop that he’d gotten used to skimming for quick details, like accents or nice clothes or expensive jewelry. And if the gigantic rock on the woman’s finger was any indication, they were hitting all of the boxes for the people that usually walked into a boutique tea shop.

Pulling one of the jars off of the shelf, Mark pulled the cap and offered it to her to smell. “This one’s got cinnamon and cloves, but ginger and cardamom, too. I really like to make it with—”

“No, no, no, no,” her husband bit out into the phone, the stroller rolling to a stop as he stilled his attempts at keeping the baby asleep, “you listen to me, you pint-sized fuckhead, when I tell—”

Varya, completely unbothered by her husband’s vicious tone, shifted the infant to her other hip, smelling the looseleaf mixture again. “It smells so good. I think it is the ginger that makes it good. What did you say you like to make it with?”

“Um,” Mark said, trying not to stare at the man in the velvet suit saying, and I’m going to cut your fucking face off, you piece of shit, did you know that? Do you know who I am? That’s right, and I can do whatever I fucking want, and that means cutting your dumb fucking face off and putting it on display in my loft for my dinner guests, “cream?”

“Oh, that’s interesting,” she murmured idly, reading through the list of ingredients again. “Do you have those little—” She gestured with her free hand. “—to steep the mixture with?”

“Y—” Mark swallowed. His gaze flickered back to the glossy brunette, her lips pouted and the baby nestled against her neck, seemingly putting himself to sleep despite the noise. “Yes, of course. Do you prefer the, um...”

“In English, you fucker,” Roman seethed into the phone, “your—yeah, well, your boss is American, I don’t care where you were born. So tell me in English how many fucking guns are being held up in bumfuck-nowhere-Russia, you—”

“This one is nice,” Varya interjected gently, picking up one of the steel ones. “I like the ones that have a finer mesh. Less chance of getting the debris in there, you know?”

He was trying to remember when the last time he’d taken a breath was. It very suddenly all made too much sense—well-dressed couple, twins, the embossed gloves and the accent and oh my God, oh fuck, oh fucking God oh shit oh fuck I have Roman Fucking Sionis and his Russian gun lord wife in the tea shop I’m going to fucking die—

“Mark?” she prompted. The dulcet tone of her voice broke him out of the panic running through his brain. Unfortunately, the sound of her saying his first name only firmly cemented in his brain the fact that he was now assisting the wife of Gotham’s biggest crime lord in picking out a looseleaf tea.

He swallowed thickly. “H—How, um, did you know my name?”

Varya tilted her head inquisitively. “Your nametag, my love.”

“Oh,” he replied, letting out a nervous laugh. “Of course. Um. Right, those do have a finer mesh. I like them better too. It’s similar t-to the um—the kind of mesh you would—you would have in the teapot. You know. If you were going to do it by the pot. And not the cup. Like for more than one cup of tea.”

A smile ticked the corner of her lips upward. If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought she was enjoying his apparent discomfort. “I do like to make more than one cup of tea, on occasion. Do you sell teapots? Can I see those?”

Mark opened his mouth to say that of course, she could see the teapots—did she want his? His personal teapot? He could run home and grab it if she wanted, please don’t shoot me in the face—when the stilling of the stroller’s movements seemed to have distressed the other twin. As soon as she started fussing, Roman threw his free hand up in exasperation.

“Do you hear that, Maxim?” he demanded. “That’s my daughter, crying, because I was so fucking fed up with your idiocy that I stopped rocking her to sleep. What? Do I want to—no, I don’t want your mother’s fucking aromatic recipe for putting infants to sleep, I’m already in a fucking tea shop!”

Varya let out a little sigh. “Excuse me one moment, Mark.”

“Sure,” Mark replied, scratching his forehead. “Sure, no worries, take—um, take your time.”

She swept away from him, returning the happy infant to the stroller and pulling from it the fussy one, bouncing the baby a few times before she said, “Romy, you know Yuli only likes when you bounce her. Trade me.”

Mark watched as Roman’s mouth downturned in a firm frown; he eventually acquiesced, taking the crying baby and offering the phone to Varya, who planted the phone against her ear and pushed the double stroller outside and into fresh air, taking with her the conversation which quickly shifted into a foreign language. For what it was worth, as soon as the little girl was in Roman’s arms, she almost immediately stopped fussing—though he did bounce her and make his way over to Mark, brows furrowed despite his daughter’s happy babbling.

“What one did she like?” he asked, less silken than his better half.

“What?”

“The tea,” Roman answered, squinting. “What tea did she like?”

“Uh,” Mark said, “the—uh, this one. Sir.” He held out the jar, but Roman waved his hand in dismissal.

“Pack some of that up. And the—whatever the fuck this is,” he added, gesturing at the steeper. “That too.”

Mark pulled one of the bags out from the drawer, working quickly despite the tremble in his hands. “Just the steeper? Sir?”

Roman had turned his attention back to the curly-haired baby, waving a gloved finger in her vision to keep her occupied, when Mark had posed his question. “What? Speak up, I’ve got a chatty infant here.”

“She—she wanted to look at the teapots, too.” Mark packed the looseleaf tea into the bag. The scale remained untouched. The idea of taking the time to weigh the tea and charge appropriately had completely fled his mind. “S—Sir.”

“Huh.” Roman squinted at the wall of teapots, seeming to deliberate for a moment. “We’ll take that one. The black and gold. And the steeper, and the tea.”

“Sure. For sure. Good choice. That’s my favorite one,” he added, realizing somewhere in his brain that he was babbling but that he couldn’t stop. “It’s hand-made, so it has—um, it has like...Little flaws, that make it worth a lot, because it was made by a famous—”

Varya returned to the shop, phone tucked away and only their doe-eyed son in her arms again. She gave Roman’s shoulder a squeeze with her free hand and then turned her attention to Mark, smiling prettily. “That’s the one he picked out?”

Mark nodded, hesitated midway through packing the pot. “Yes. Do you like it? Did you want a different one? I have some new ones in the back—”

“It’s perfect,” she assured him. She looked at Roman, glowing, and reached up to press a kiss to his cheek. “I love it.”

The blonde looked pleased. “Yes, well, who knows you better than me?” And then: “What did Kuznetsov tell you?”

Hurrying through the packing, Mark managed to get everything rang up amidst the couple’s idle chatter—which consisted of Varya explaining that ten thousand guns were held up in Kazakhstan, which was not Russia, but used to be part of Russia, at which point Roman waved his hand and went ‘whatever’—and ran the man’s heavy, black card through the card machine.

The machine beeped three times in alarm, and Mark felt his stomach plummet. The fucking machine’s broken, he remembered, with despair. Oh my God, oh my God, I’m going to fucking—

“What?” Roman barked out. “What is it?”

“The—the um, the machine is—I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “The machine is broken and I h-have to have you—put in the card number manually—”

The man made the most indignant sound, but before he could attempt to get fired up all over again, Varya said, “Romy, why don’t you load the twins up in the car? Armazd already put the stroller away. I’ll finish up here.”

Roman’s mouth pressed into a thin line, and then he said, “Alright, V,” and accepted the second infant into his other arm, toting them both outside. Varya looked at Mark and smiled sympathetically, holding out her hand for the machine; Mark handed it over, absently pulling at a loose thread on his apron as she started carefully inputting the card number.

“Do you have children, Mark?” she asked conversationally. “A partner?”

“Uh,” he replied very intelligently. “N-No. No ma’am. I mean, miss. No, I don’t have either of those, miss.”

“It is definitely a life change,” she said by way of agreement, pocketing the card and waiting for the machine to process. “Suddenly, your hands are full all the time.”

A nervous laugh bubbled up out of him, and he nodded his head; the seconds ticked by, agonizing as Varya hummed and gathered up the bag until it finally beeped its approval of the transaction.

“Thank you, my darling!” she called over her shoulder. “I am sure I will be back.”

“Welcome,” he replied weakly. He watched her make her way to the door, nearly out; it wasn’t until his shoulders slumped in a bit of relief that she stopped and turned to look at him, a sly little smile on her face.

“Before I forget,” Varya began, “perhaps, if you find yourself thinking about any of the conversation you heard today—you know, about business—it is best to keep it to yourself. It is not particularly confidential, you see, but...Well, I would just hate to feel like I could not bring my business back here because I cannot trust you.”

An unpleasant little chill sprinted down his spine. He shifted on his feet, wetting his lips for a moment as he tried to figure out what it was he wanted to say; how many times could he swear up and down that nothing he heard today about guns or Kazakhstan to assure her that she wouldn’t have to worry about it? That he would literally rather put pencil shavings in his eyes than put the Sionis target on his back?

“Mark,” she said, “all you have to say is that you understand.”

“I do,” he blurted out quickly, “I do understand.”

She smiled brightly. “I knew you were a good boy. Have a lovely afternoon!”

Just like that, she swept out of the shop; he was finally alone. Mark slumped into his chair, passing a hand over his face for a moment—long enough for him to sit up, press his face into the palms of his hands, and say:

“I have to quit my job.”

[ducktracy]

184. the woods are full of cuckoos (1937)

release date: december 4th, 1937

series: merrie melodies

director: frank tashlin

starring: mel blanc (owlcott, walter finchell, milton squirrel, wendell howl, fox, raven mcquandry), tedd pierce (ben birdie, tizzie fish, andy bovine), sara berner (polly gillette, canary livingstone)

this cartoon gets the honorable award of possibly being the most dated warner bros. shorts in its vast repertoire of cartoons. not to worry! this will be a fun cartoon to unpack—i love delving into the shorts that involve extensive research. learning something new is something that‘s very rewarding to me, and i hope it is to you, too!

a giant ode to the short lived radio program community sing (lasting from 1936-1937), the short chronicles a woodland radio show hosted by a variety of caricatured animals putting on various acts.

iris in to the ringing of a bell. a pudgy, bespectacled owl rings it as he stands illuminated by the moonlight, preaching to all of the woodland critters, ready to start the show. he introduces himself as “owlcott”, a take on commentator alexander woollcott. he “blandly announces” (his words, not mine) the introduction of the master of ceremonies, ben birdie--a bird caricature of radio personality ben bernie, “the old maestro”.

birdie’s caricature is not new to audience’s eyes. the caricature, along with a handful of others, is reused from friz freleng’s the coocoo nut grove from 1936, a short that is very similar in vein to this one. tedd pierce provides birdie’s suave, velvety vocals as he introduces the program, only to be interrupted by the nasally cries of mel blanc. out pops walter finchell, a caricature of bernie’s faux-enemy walter winchell, both of whom carrying a notorious (and fake) feud in the radio-verse. it was common for winchell to interrupt the smooth-talking bernie, either throwing pranks or remarks his way, to which bernie dismissed every time. indeed, a signature tashlin upshot angle reveals finchell dropping an egg on top of birdie, who blocks it nonchalantly with a handy umbrella.

art loomer’s backgrounds for the cartoon are absolutely gorgeous. they’re vibrant in color, very lush and painterly, but remain playful and sophisticated at the same time. they certainly serve as a highlight to the short. and, as always, carl stalling’s scores are a blast to hear--his sardonic, wah-wah rendition of “cause my baby says it’s so” is a jolly juxtaposition to the prior score of “love is on the air tonight”, the latter being the song’s cartoon debut. it would be reused in cartoons such as the daffy doc, whereas “cause my baby says its so” was heard previously in rover’s rival.

birdie introduces a clever squirrel caricature of milton berle, whose routine gets interrupted by a little parrot named polly. polly is a take on eileen barton’s character, little jolly gillette, who was portrayed as the daughter of the show’s sponsor. polly and milton go through their act together, polly bluntly (yet innocently) announcing “my daddy says ya gotta let me sing ‘cause he’s a sponsor!” you can listen to real recordings of their banter here!

volney white’s animation of milton and polly is lively and jovial, constantly moving. milton energetically introduces us to our next star, pointing in the wrong direction and fixing it last second as he gestures towards a bird caricature of country singer wendell hall.

even if viewers don’t recognize the bird’s counterpart, they will most certainly recognize his voice--mel uses his foghorn leghorn voice for wendell “howl”. of course, foghorn wouldn’t debut for another 9 years, but that’s another story. the animation of the raucous bird is fun to watch as he extends his neck and wraps it around in coils around the microphone stand. random? yes, but fun nevertheless.

perhaps even more commendable is the staggering crowd shot that succeeds wendell’s scenes. the crowd is mirrored horizontally, but that doesn’t lessen the blow from how claustrophobic it is. wendell asks the audience to get out their songbooks and turn to page “22... no, page 44. uh, no, uh, page 28. uh, 42, uh, 36, uh, 45...” 

wendell is transformed from an entertainer to an auctioneer, spitting out numbers at rapid pace as his crowd frantically tears through their songbooks. finally, he concedes. “oh, never mind. we won’t use the books.” off screen, the crowd roars in unison: “OH YES WE WILL!” with that, wendell is generously showered with a barrage of books, buried in the pile of rejected papers. the timing of the scene is comedically sharp and energetic, one of the more entertaining acts of the cartoon.

now, for the real song number, lead by goat and bear caricatures of billy jones and ernie hare (would a rabbit caricature be too on the nose?) respectively, animated by volney white. they march out onto the stage--er, tree trunk--and open the curtains to reveal a sing-along to the eponymous song. thus, the camera pans into the lyrics as everybody bursts into the all-too-earworm-causing song number. 

as the crowd, ben birdie and walter finchell all lend their voices to the song, a fox caricature of fred allen sings “swanee river”, clashing with the unity of everybody else. in a nod to friz freleng’s toy town hall where the same routine was executed, a little bunny excitedly coos “ohhhh, mr. allen! you’re singing the wrong sooooong!” the fox bursts into everybody’s favorite Mel Blanc Yell as he repeats a frequent ‘30s catchphrase: “WHY DON’T SOMEBODY TELL ME THESE THINGS!?”

featured in the song is a seemingly interminable cast of celebrity caricatures, all introduced as the camera pans across the screen, each lending their voice to part of the song. some puns require more effort than others (dick powell as “dick fowl” rolls off the tongue better than al jolson as “al goatson”). caricatures include: 

eddie cantor as eddie gander, sophie tucker as sophie turkey, w.c. fields as w.c. fieldmouse, dick powell as dick fowl, fats waller as fats swallow, deanna durbin as deanna terrapin, irvin s. cobb as irvin s. frog, fred macmurray as fred mcfurry, bing crosby as bing crowsby, al jolson as al goatson, ruby keeler as ruby squealer, lanny ross as lanny hoss, grace moore as grace moose, and finally lily pons as lily swans.

speaking of grace and lily, they’re both highlighted as they fight to out-perform each other, seeing who can sing the highest note. tashlin pulls of a rather intriguing camera move: as the pan settles on the two of them, the background changes. it’s a subtle maneuver, but smart thinking nonetheless--especially since the camera extends into a vertical pan. as both women fight to sing the highest note, their necks extend, both of them scaling high into the night sky, harmonizing on one final shrill note. they both crumple back into the stands, exhausted by their efforts. some fun exaggerated animation for sure--one wonders how much further this would have been pushed had this been tashlin’s second stint at WB rather than his first. his speed often rivaled, if not out-performed, tex avery’s.

birdie and finchell have a brief interstitial together before making way for a raven caricature of haven macquarrie (raven mcquandry). his sequence is almost jarringly short, but full of fun drawings and poses--the pose of him standing curtly with his arms crossed is awfully reminiscent of izzy ellis’ work under tashlin and later bob clampett in the mid ‘40s. mcquandry asks “do YOU wanna be an actor?”, parotting the name of his real life counterpart’s show so do you want to be an actor? the audience shouts “NO!” in unison, causing mcquandry to do a take and shrug dubiously. though the scene is only a few short seconds, the animation brings forth some much needed vitality.

next is a penguin caricature of joe penner, singing a hilariously out-of-tune rendition of “my green fedora”. the animation is reused from the cartoon of the same name (notice how he doesn’t have penguin feet!), which was also used in toy town hall. not a complaint, but more an observation--this is by far the most humorous performance of the song yet, sung by blanc rather than tommy bond.

another fun scene with some vivacious animation is a sequence featuring a mule caricature of martha raye (dubbed moutha bray), singing a cover of “how could you?”, which has been featured as an underscore in cartoons such as porky’s badtime story and its later remake, tick tock tuckered. raye’s large mouth served as prime material for caricatures, as we see here. the animation is snappy, fun, and vivid--she finishes her song by “swallowing” the camera, an old trick that beckons memories of the harman and ising cartoons of animation past. 

an interesting trend in the ‘30s WB cartoons is the trend of playing with the iris, whether it was the closing iris out or an iris in between transitions. tex avery would consistently play with the final iris out on his cartoons, whereas directors such as friz freleng and bob clampett would use one as a transition between scenes. here, tashlin uses the “swallow the camera” technique as a segue for an iris in, tedd pierce’s falsetto squeaking “hello folksies!” as we’re introduced to a fish caricature of tizzie lish, a character played by bill comstock on al pearce and his gang.

though tizzie has long faded into obscurity (as has the entire community sing radio show), it’s still quite easy to appreciate pierce’s vocals and mannerisms as he portrays the character. it’s always a joy to hear him doing voices for cartoons--he’s never been my favorite writer on the crew, but he was an excellent talent as a voice actor. his squeaky deliveries, matter of fact deliveries “mix them up... are you mixing? my friends say i’m a good mixer. are you? or aren’t you?” as tizzie haphazardly dumps food items and their respective utensils into a bowl and prepares the meal are nothing short of hilarious. the timing is very well executed and can be appreciated regardless of background knowledge.

after humming a pitchy rendition of “the lady in red” while waiting for her concoction to bake in the waffle iron, tizzie removes the homemade waffle and discards it, instructing the audience “now take the ‘wiffle’ out and eat the iron. you must have iron in your system. or should you?” thus concludes tizzie’s act, certainly heightened in hilarity by pierce’s vocals and timing.

for the final act, ben birdie introduces a possum caricature of louella parsons, the host of the radio program hollywood hotel, which served as a way to advertise upcoming movies by featuring guest stars enacting some of the scenes. here, we have caricatures of jack benny (as jack bunny, the first of his many reoccurrences), mary livingstone (canary livingstone), and andy devine (andy bovine).

tedd pierce voices andy bovine, whose voice burlusqued not only in this cartoon, but to a greater extent in friz freleng’s my little buckeroo not even a year later. devine, a western star, was notorious for his scratchy, shrill voice which was rife for comedic opportunity. indeed, this scene here with pierce’s vocals is nothing short of hilarious: 

the trio chronicle the prodigal’s return, in which bunny and canary coo over their baby son. out of the bassinet pops incongruously large bovine, who shrieks “HOWDY MAAAA! HI PAAAA!”, the sheer volume of his voice enough to blow both of his parents away and out of the scene. and, with that, the scene ends, red curtains colorized from porky’s romance marking the sequence’s end. short, sweet, to the point, and hilarious.

ending right where the cartoon began, the owl caricature of alexander woollcott bids us farewell, the iris closing in on the bell he rings as he exclaims that all is well.

like so many other cartoons i’ve reviewed, this is one that i slowly warmed up to upon rewatching it and typing out the review for myself. i didn’t entirely dislike the cartoon upon my first watch, but it’s undeniably dated and deserves its title as possibly the most dated cartoon. without further research, some of the jokes and caricatures (if not all of them) are difficult to appreciate. the animation has bursts of energy throughout the short, the highlights being the scenes featuring raven mcquarry and moutha bray, but otherwise remains relatively simple and conservative. tashlin does incorporate a few intriguing camera angles throughout the cartoon, but many other entries of his are far more cinematic.

however, despite all of that, this cartoon is not without its bonuses: art loomer’s backgrounds are stunningly gorgeous and rich, and as someone who loves the lush, painterly backgrounds of the 1930s, this is heaven to me. and, as i mentioned previously, tedd pierce’s scenes are great--the tizzie fish and andy bovine sequences are undeniable comedic highlights.

so, if you’re willing to dedicate time to put in the research for this cartoon, you’ll find it’s quite fascinating! i’m certain this was a much bigger gut-buster in 1937 than it is in 2020, but even then, this is a good cartoon for people such as myself who love to learn more information and seek out facts. as a result, i’d recommend it to people who fall into that category. if you’re just someone who wants a good laugh and a leisurely watch, there are more interesting cartoons that lie ahead. you won’t miss much by skipping it.

with that said, here’s the link!

[bates--boy]

“Okay, closer! Remember that this is the best day of your life! Terra, soften the lights!”

         If Peter said right then and there that he knew that modeling was hard from his “experience”, he’d be a liar just trying to soothe his worries and ego. His experience before this was chump work, and none of the filtering, editing, and social media marketing would have prepared him for even an iota of this type of work. Firstly, he had grossly underestimated how long this would take, and it definitely did not take the two or three minutes it would take to snap a selfie, or even the the half hour to get his makeup and hair in order. 

        Secondly, there had to be photos of everything. A toast at the table, Burak carrying Peter down the bridge, Burak making Peter wonder if the universe hated him by brushing away hair and cupping his cheek, Peter taking solo shots in a grayscale room for every. single. dress that the stylists picked for him. Posing on the swings, dancing to nonexistent music, lounging on a leather chair. Pierre wanted photos in as many angles as he can imagine, and fuck how beautiful Burak was, fuck how dazzling and breathtaking Peter felt in the dress once he became used to the silicone breasts -- Peter was ready to bite someone’s nose off by the fifth hour.

          "Alright, everyone, break time!” the manager, whose name Peter also hadn’t gotten but was too frazzled to even want to bother with, called out as she waved people over to the food table.

         Peter knew that if he was going to barrel through the estimated next six hours of this, he should have something nutritious in his stomach, but the bubbly golden champagne called out to him. He downed one glass at the table and carried another to the gazebo steps. His feet hurt, his everything hurts -- how does modeling hurt the body? How the fuck does that happen in a bridal photoshoot? -- but especially his feet, and once he sat down on the step, Peter unfastened the heels and peeled them off. 

        “This is not worth the money,” Peter grumbled, reaching down to rub one of his feet with his free hand. He winced and hissed through his teeth. “Fucking Christ on a dildo...”

        “You totally sound like a bridezilla right now.”

         Peter recognized the voice (because of course, he did) before his eyes snapped up to find Burak ambling over, carrying a plate piled with pastries and pieces of fruits and a bottle of wine with an empty glass. Peter couldn’t even find it in himself to be excited that this Michelangelo sculpture was coming to sit with him, and the alone time in this picturesque setting they were likely to spend together. He was just so drained and sore. Like a cat, a part of Peter wanted some alone time alone, to hide away and lick his invisible wounds and ponder why he was doing this when he knew that, even if his crew had enough money to buy that coveted studio, they weren’t going to get anywhere. Still, he didn’t protest when Burak took a spot next to him and sat the wine and food between them. 

         “You should eat something,” Burak offered oh, so helpfully as he filled his glass.

          “Thanks,” Peter drawled. He plucked a hulled strawberry from the plate and popped it into his mouth. He made sure to lean a little forward so that whatever juice may slip out won’t get to his dress.

       “You’re welcome,” Burak replied. “So, I take it you’re new to this?”

       Peter started to shake his head, ready to draw on his social media and webcam modeling experience, but he thought better of it. Why bother conflate the two for his ego? “Pbbbbbbbbt, yeah,” he answered. He raised his flute to his mouth. “Why? Was it that obvious?”

       “Yeah,” Burak nodded. 

       Peter’s hand stopped, then lowered as a brow rose. “How?”

       “Well, besides the fact that you look like you’re ready to collapse or claw someone’s eyes out? You constantly have to be told to tone it down and you look ready to run every time we have to act out something intimate.”

       “So, I just look unnatural?” Peter looked away and downed much of his drink in one go.

       “Yeah, but it was likely to happen,” Burak bit into a pastry. “I mean: how did you, a guy, get hired as a bridal model?”

        Peter didn’t sense anything offensive in Burak’s tone, just simple curiosity, so he replied honestly with a lazy shrug, “I don’t know. I actually applied for the groom position.”

        “Pffft, oops. Sorry about that. Well, that dress looks lovely on you.”

       “Thanks. That was one of the reasons they hired me as the bride.”

        “Hm...”

        Then silence came. Burak watched the photoshoot crew as he ate his cream cheese bear claw, and Peter watched the shiny of the sun glint off his glass as he slowly waved the flute around. 

       Polishing off the last bite of his bear claw, Burak asked, “So, how is your first professional photoshoot going so far?”

       Peter perked up, smile stretched from cheek to sore cheek. If his hands weren’t occupied with the champagne, he would have given a little clap to sell the reply. “Oh, it is fantastic! Wonderful! My body hurts, this dress itches, the hair care products feel cheap as shit and I’m sure I’m going to break out tomorrow, and I am never doing this shit ever again!”

        Burak leaned back, blinking. He cleared his throat. “Ah... wow. Well, it’s good that you figured it out before you really committed to the modeling career.”

        “I didn’t do this to get a modeling career.”

          “Oh?”

         Peter shook his head and took a breath. “No, I took on this gig to earn money to buy a studio.”

         “A studio...?”

        “Recording studio. For me and my music crew.”

         Now it was Burak’s turn to perk up, and truthfully, seeing interest light his face did make Peter feel better. “You make music?”

       “Yeah. I’m part of this new group called The MizFists. We’re a hip-hop collective.”

        “Hey! My cousin likes hip-hop! Do you have any music posted anywhere? I can tell her about it.”

        And Peter, all wide eyes as he watched Burak take his phone out of his pocket and swiped on the screen. “Oh! Oh, uh, yeah. Our website is M-I-Z-F-I-S-T-S dot com. All of our youtube channels and Bandcamp accounts are on there.”

       “Huh, never seen it spelled like that before...” Burak shrugged.

       “Well, we would have went with the proper spelling, but, you know, another group already has it, and we’re too broke for copyright lawsuits.”

        “It’s a cool name, still,” Burak said. He made sure the message had sent before placing his phone back into his pocket. He ate a piece of mango. “If my cousin decides to go to one of your concerts, I’ll have to tag along.”

       That... should not have been as easy as that. Sure, it’s likely that Burak’s cousin will dismiss their group as crappy wannabes, but still, the fact that Burak even shared their name like that... 

       And the food and bottle (which Burak had in his hand to refill Peter’s glass) -- Peter wanted to ask what was Burak’s goal here. Because who was this jovial with a cross-dressing stranger? Peter had to remind himself that not everyone had an ulterior motive for niceties, he still sought a way, an opportunity, to give this man the stink-eye and a “What’s your endgame, buddy?”

       Taking a drink, Burak passed his tongue over his disgustingly perfect lips and said, “So, since you’re pretty much a rap expert, you wouldn’t mind telling me if this verse--” and he did that weird cool guy rapper hand gesture, “--is fire, would you?”

       “Heh heh, go ahead!” Peter prompted, with that eyebrow raised once more in amusement this time.

       “Okay, okay!” Burak set his glass down and placed a hand on his chest and held the other in front of his face like a microphone.

       Burak stared at Peter, the hunched over bride shaking with his face twisted to hold in a laughter, his own face feigning a cold serious.

         Me and da babe looking heckin’ cool

         After school, hittin’ up the party pool

        Sitting on the grill of the big Bugatti

        All slutty, all thotty

        A couple rock stars making it rain at the pool

      They burst out laughing.

      And Peter didn’t even know why he was laughing; Burak was cute, and it was sweet that he came over here to chat, but it wasn’t funny, not that funny. Maybe it was the earnestness in the humor, or the needed release of stress. Whatever the reason, Peter dabbed at the tear in his eye. Thank goodness for the waterproof stuff.

       “You know? You might have something there,” he chuckled. “You’re definitely the new Will Smith!”

       “Pfffft, please! I am way better than Smith!” Burak tossed his hair. “But I’m going to let my cousin know that she was wrong, that an actual, bona fide rapper said I got some skills!”

        “Shit, if we’re ever looking for another member, we’ll hit you up,” Peter said, taking a grape.

       “Looking forward to it!”

After a friendly elbow nudge, Burak continued, "Seriously, that's cool that you're this serious about your music that you're doing this. I can tell that you're gonna go far. But I hope you don't drop this line of work, because you have a bit of potential in modeling, too. Who knows, you'll probably get famous enough that you'll have clothing brands begging you to model for them, and you don't want to pass up on those deals, would you?"

"Nah, I guess not..." The smile on Peter's painted lips dimmed, and he pursed them until he allowed himself to ask, "Uh... Why are you being so nice to me?"

Burak tilted his head. Oh, god, now he looked like a puppy. An irresistible puppy. "Am I not supposed to be?"

"No, it's just that, er... I thought that supermodels had to be brutal because, you know, this industry is dog-eat-dog."

Burak shook his head. "First of all, I'm not a supermodel; this is just a catalog shoot. Second..." He shrugged. "It felt like you were having a bad time and was uncomfortable around me. And we can't have that for our kissing photos."

For the slow way the words processed through Peter's psyche, his body was quick to react in its non-reacting form: body suddenly rigid, temperature swinging from ghostly chill low to loins on fire and I'm a sinner scorching, mind going as blank as his eyes gone wide.

"K... Kissing? We're going to--" Peter bowed his head with his hand over his mouth. "Oh, my god..."

He didn't see Burak's face, but he felt the indignation rolling off the other man who said, "I mean, I like to think I'm not a bad kisser..."

"N-no! No!" Peter lifted his face and waved a hand. "It's not that! I just--"

"Wow!" Burak snorted. "Wow! You are blushing hard!"

Peter gasped. "No, I'm not!" Of course, where they went for top-quality mascara, they'd cheap out on the foundation.

Burak laughed so deeply that he had to set his glass down. "Yes you are! Aw, look how red your ears are!"

"Oh, my god," Peter, once more, groaned. He bent his head so low that the veil fell from behind his back and draped over his shoulders.

So when he felt an arm slink around his waist, he was too unprepared to stop the yelp squeaking out of his mouth. Nor did he have any protection against the medical emergency fever burning through his body when Burak whispered in his ear.

"Don't you worry, Peter: as a gentleman, I promise you that I'll leave your honor intact and will be tender with you."

Whether Burak was serious or joking, it didn't matter when, to Peter, his voice was every bedroom song one to life. But Burak squeezed his shoulder, and when they've locked eyes, Peter could still see some of that sweet earnestness, that urge to lift Peter's mood, and he could help but smile.

"Gee, thanks," Peter tried with as much playfulness as he could muster.

A chuckle pass between them, and then

Flash. Flash.

Both men looked up to find Pierre lowering his camera. "Oh, that was perfect! I have to convince the magazine to use that in their layout."

"Uhhhh..." Peter said. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Reminding you two that break's over," Pierre said. "Now, let's go, we're burning daylight!"

"Well, that was a nice break." Burak stood and brushed the back of his pants. He held out a hand for Peter. "Ready to get back into the dog-eat-dog world of modeling?"

Peter's smirk was lopsided as he took Burak's hand to let him up. "Sure."

[newcaptainofsquad9]

So, When Can We Tell The World?~Min Yoongi x black! fem! reader {5}

Parts: 1 2 3 4 5 6

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Summary: The Grammys have finally arrived and you’re trying to navigate the red carpet yet the interviewers keep asking questions about you and Yoongi. You answer them to the best of your abilities with annoyance, along with confusion, until Yoongi and the boys arrive. The red carpet goes by with ease soon after, until the rumors of you and Yoongi reveal themselves, leaving you in a heap of emotions while leading up to your performance with the man you love.

  Genre: Angst, Fluff, Romance, Idol-Verse, Smut (none in this chapter)

Word Count: 3, 002

Author’s Note: Finally the Grammys chapter! This is where things come to a head guys, I’m so excited for you guys to see where this goes! Also, I’m sure you guys know that the BTS members speak primarily English in this series, but that does not mean they don’t still sing mainly in Korean, so expect stupid ass questions from interviewers so, yeah. Also this is fictional! However some of these people may act in real life is not a reflection of this fic! Anyways, hope you enjoy! 

I can’t help but smooth out my golden dress for the umpteenth while the black Mercedes comes I’m in comes to a swift stop in front of the Staples Center. The palm trees always make me giddy, I never really notice Los Angeles until now, it matters a lot. I can’t help and wonder about Yoongi for the third time today(something that got my stylist and manager in a heated mood today). He seemed so timid during our phone call a few nights ago, his energy is usually pretty chill, I tend to be the one to freak out. 

“Uh, Y/N?”

I break from my thoughts to turn to my brother Kevin, along with his puzzled stare. 

“You ok girl?” my manager Katie asks. 

I nod sharply as the photographers start to swarm around the car. They don’t get far as a few men in tuxes step towards the car to help me out. 

“Oh, she’s just thinking about someone,” Kevin teases, “her Suga bear-ouch!”

I elbow him in the ribs, his teeth gritting at the discomfort. Good. 

“He’ll be all right,” Katie reassures, “you’ll perform with him, but I want to make sure you’re good. Are you ready to get out there?”

The nerves bundle up inside me abruptly, the tux suited men grow closer as I try to breathe in and out to ease my racing pulse. 

“Look, don’t worry about Yoongi,” Katie says, “just do a kick ass performance and don’t worry about the nomination, this’ll be helpful for the both of you either way.”

I nod while I smooth down my dress for the final time. 

“I still think you guys will win,” Kevin declares, “if you get snubbed again-”

“You won’t do a thing,” I deadpan. 

Kevin’s face flares for a moment, yet it disperses as quickly. 

“Good luck big head,” he teases. 

“Thanks,” I say sheepishly.

“Let’s go then,” Katie giggles. 

The tux men open the doors for Katie and I, allowing the camera flashes, the roar of the crowd and buzz of interviewers to have sound all at once. Even the carpet below my wedges scream with a red that can’t help but be noticed. Fans, along with interviewers chant my name, Yoongi’s as well. I only smile, wave and eventually pose for the cameras as they all snap together and a few get a complete 360 shot. 

“Y/N! Y/N! Over here!” 

I peer pass the barricade that keeps the fans out, pass a heap of camera men and hell of a lot of wires.

The voice who calls me over is none other than Ryan Seacrest in a plain blue suit and blonde hair that’s obviously dyed. I get an uneasy feeling down my spine, I remember how uneasy Yoongi was when we talked the other day. I don’t doubt Seacrest was one of the interviewers who gave him and the guys an obviously awkward and rude time. Katie’s hand on my lower back forces me to jump slightly. There are cameras on me, I need to focus. 

“You ok?” she asks, “you see Seacrest right?”

I nod as Seacreast puts on a toothy grin and walks over.

“I see him, he just, well he’s Seacreast,” I say. 

Katie giggles. 

“I’ll be watching the entire time,” she says, “if it get’s too awkward just look my way and I’ll intervene.”

I mouth a thank you and stroll over to Seacreast, his smile expands once he gets a quick once over of my dress. 

“Looking glamorous this evening Y/N,” he gushes, “how are you feeling tonight? you’re nominated for Song of the Year, how do you like your chances?”

I put on my best smile before answering. 

“I’m just honored to be nominated,” I say, “just being about to share this experience with Yoong-Suga!”

Seacrest grins, his eyes narrowing at the mention of Yoongi. 

“So, you and BTS’s Sugar huh?” he asks, “how close are you both going to be on that stage tonight?”

I hold in my urge to roll my eyes at his blatant mispronunciation. Why is he saying this? How close?

“What do you mean?”

Seacrest chuckles. 

“You two aren’t partners?” he asks. 

His smile drops, he’s genuinely confused and so am I. I glance over at Katie, who shrugs as well before pulling out her phone. 

“Yeah, on the stage we are,” I say, “I hope Suga can tell you more about it when you get a chance to interview him.”

Seacrest nods. 

“Thank you Y/N, hope you enjoy the carpet.”

...

The same questions happen throughout each interview:

Do you get nervous when you’re up there with him?

Was Suga the one you were genuinely attracted to first?

How was it like working with one of the BTS members?

Nothing about the song. An album. About the actual music with Yoongi just a false attempt at asking if we’re dating. I try to shut them down as nicely as possible, keeping the conversation on song writing and my performance with Yoongi later. Katie continues to send me weary looks though, playing it off with a tiny grin once I raise a question. 

“What is it?” I ask, “do you know why they’ve been asking me those ridiculous questions?”

Katie opens her mouth, then shuts it as she peers around me. 

“Ah, Y/N uh-look!” she shouts, “there are the guys!” 

As soon as the words left Katie’s mouth the crowd, along with the photographers turned their attention towards the right. They always stick out: Namjoon because of the long mullet he’s been growing out; Taehyung with his curly medium length dark hair and smoldering eyes; Jimin with his honey colored hair; Hoseok and that smile that could heal the world; Jin with his looks that could make anyone stare and Jungkook sporting his confused, yet cute expression. Then there’s Yoongi. 

I rarely seen him dressed so formal in person. His hair seems lighter, a more blonde shade under the lights, his tan turtle neck fits him well too, along with his blazer. And the earrings, my God.

“Y/N, focus,” Katie giggles in my ear. 

I nod and strut the red carpet, expertly posing for photos while the guys approach my way. Out the corner of my eye I notice Jungkook’s face light up, similar to that of a child’s. I tilt my head over for the photographers, swiftly making eye contact with him, then Jimin and Yoongi. He flashes a short gummy smile and it takes all of my willpower not to sprint over and kiss him. I just want to hug him, I need him, but I can’t go to him. At least not right now. That’ll just add fuel to the already vast wildfire that these interviewers have sparked. 

Jungkook taps Namjoon on the shoulder as he nods in my direction. Of course Namjoon’s all dimples as he curves Ryan Seacrest’s attempt at interviewing him and the guys. 

“Y/N! Over here!” he calls. 

I turn fully towards them to wave and grin. 

Namjoon’s still dimples city as he gives me a quick hug and puts up his enclosed fist. Jimin hides a giggle behind his own fist as Yoongi rolls his eyes and Taehyung shakes his head lovingly. I accept the dap wholeheartedly, Namjoon’s smile only grows more. 

“How have you been? Excited for tonight?” he asks as he guided me towards the middle of the guys. 

“Yeah,” I lie as I get in between Jimin and Jin to smile for the camera. 

Jimin places a comforting hand on my shoulder while Jin rests his own on the other. 

“You sure?” Jin asks, “you seem a little out of it.”

I only smile and pose with all seven of them. 

“Just the interviewers,” I admit, “they’ve been bringing up ridiculous dating rumors between Yoongi and I.”

Jin blinks. Jimin sucks in his breath before gripping my shoulder a little tighter.  

“Ah, you know how the American interviewers can be,” Jimin scolds, “you’re around them more than we are.”

He giggles nervously, glancing away from me to wave at the crowd. Ok, weird. 

“Y/N!Y/N! Can we get just you and Suga?” one of the photographers asked. 

Jin and Jimin skitter from me as Jungkook, Taehyung and Hoseok do the same for Yoongi; they stand a little ways back. Our eyes finally meet for more than a moment and it’s hard. Hard not to blush around him like it’s the first time we saw each other, especially since we aren’t alone with the world watching us. 

“Hi,” Yoongi whispers. 

“Hi.”

We embrace, his turtle neck cuddly enough to melt in, yet I don’t. The embrace doesn’t last long, he pulls away quickly for the both of us. His hand goes to the small of my back as we both smile then wave to the photographers and fans.  

“Y/N! Suga, could I get an interview!” someone shouts, “please!”

Our heads shoot up towards a black woman with medium length hair clutching a microphone. She grins brightly and waves, forcing me to put on a small, strained smile. The hand on the small of my back moves up and down tenderly as Yoongi leans down to whisper.

“You all right?” he asks, “did something happen?”

“I-” I pause to look up at him, concern etched in his face. 

This is our night, our chance to maybe win, perform for our fans and just enjoy ourselves. Sure the questions are annoying, but that’s part of the game.

“Y/N?” he asks. 

“I’m ok,” I say, “let’s do an interview, yeah?”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, but I can see underneath that this conversation will be held later. And I’m fine with that. He only nods and holds his arm out, confusing me for a moment. 

“I would hold your hand, but you know.” he gestures to the camera flashes that make him grimace. 

“Right,” I say.

We approach the interviewer who fixes her hair and motions to the camera man in front of her. 

“Tiffany from Access Hollywood here!” she greets, “how are you guys enjoying the carpet so far?”

“It’s been great so far,” Yoongi says before turning his attention to me.  

“Yeah, it still seems like a dream being here,” I say.

Tiffany grins. 

“The both of you are nominated tonight for your song All The Crown Players, how are you guys feeling about that? Excited?”

Yoongi’s gummy smile returns. 

“Of course, I feel like it’s a long time coming,” he says, “I’m glad I get to share this experience with Y/N.”

He looks to me with those eyes, that look as if I’m the most special thing in the world. It’s real no matter how we try to play for the cameras and I feel guilty for not acting on my feelings. It’s for the best though, for the both of us. At least that’s what I thought. 

“Y/N?” Tiffany asks. 

“I agree,” I say, “I always wondered if I was ever worth of being honored here and here I am. Yoongi being able to stand with me is enough, he’s making this experience so much better.”

Yoongi’s grin widens as he nudges me with his shoulder and hides his grin. 

“That’s so wholesome,” Tiffany gushes, “what can we expect from your performance tonight?”

I open my mouth to answer yet close it immediately. Yoongi catches this and goes to answer for me. 

“It’s going to be worth the wait,” he says.

I nod sharply as Tiffany smiles. 

“Great, well I’ll let you both enjoy the carpet,” she says, “good luck guys.”

“Thank you,” I say as Yoongi bows and waves.

Maybe things will get better before it gets worse.

...

I stay close to Yoongi and the guys as step through the hallways backstage. My anxiety flares once more eyes land on us, camera crew, performers and artists alike gawk. I always seem to forget how popular the guys are. That must be it, right? 

“You gonna tell me what’s bothering you?” Yoongi whispers, while not breaking his stride with the guys and I, “you’ve been forcing smiles all night.”

I hide my state of anxiety with a false giggle. 

“It’s nothing Yoongi,” I lie, “I-I’m nervous about our performance.”

Yoongi smiles, reaches in to take my hand but stops himself. I understand why, considering that we’re still around potential cameras and other American artists. 

“Don’t be,” he says, “I’ll be right with you. Is that really it?”

I look up and his stare is intense. His brows furrowed down in a deep set frown that I’d consider adorable even in our given the current circumstances. His deep brown pupils soften as he rubs my arm tenderly. 

“Tell me Y/N, please,” he begs, “I just want this to be an amazing night for the both of us.”

My heart sinks at his saddened tone. 

“I do too, it’s just-I-I don’t want it to ruin your night,” I say. 

Yoongi flashes that gummy smile again. 

“Try me.”

Ok, well I did warn him. 

“The interviewers, well besides the one we just had, they’ve been very forward to say the least,” I say. 

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. 

“How so? You do know that they ask us the most bizarre questions too, right?” he asks.

“Yeah, but they’ve been asking a little too much about me and you, nothing of it happens to do with the song or our nomination.”

Yoongi chuckles. 

“Let me guess, they asked what it’s like working with the ‘phenomenon known as BTS?’ or how we made a song in English and Korean,” he teases. 

“They asked if we were dating Yoongi,” I say. 

Yoongi freezes, his face blank as the guys walk on ahead of us. 

“See this is why-”

“Y/N, they’re only rumors, right?” he asks, “nothing more?”

I nod, a little confused at Yoongi’s question. 

“I guess so,” I say, “God, I told you this would ruin everything.”

Yoongi shakes his head, giving me another gummy smile as he moves to touch the small of my back. 

“It didn’t, Y/N. It’s just, what I did might ruin everything.”

“Ruin what?” I ask. 

“Yoongi, Y/N?”

Both of our heads snap up to see Namjoon and his deep, perplexed stare. I glance past him to see Jimin, Jungkook, Taehyung, Hosoek and Jin giving us weary stares as well. 

“Is there something wrong?” I ask, “did something happen?”

Namjoon purses his lips and look’s to Yoongi who shifts uncomfortably as he shoves his hands into the pocket of his blazer. 

“It’s nothing Y/N,” he declares, “just a couple of nasty tweets, I guess some of them got into the interviewers heads is all.” 

I open my mouth to question him, yet we get interrupted by one of the staff members. 

“Y/N, Suga,” he says, “you guys are performing a little earlier than planned. Your stylists are waiting, all the way down the hall to the left.”

My chest tightens at the news. Earlier? We didn’t rehearse for earlier. Yoongi must have saw my panic as he leans in to put a hand around my shoulder and squeeze me gently. 

“Got it, thank you,” he says before bowing slightly. 

Once the staff member disappeared I breathed in deeply. 

“All right, let’s go,” I declare. 

Namjoon looks to me then to Yoongi before back to me. 

“Y/N, you don’t look too fine,” Namjoon noted. 

I bite down on my lip to try and cease the tears, thankfully it works. I’m not sure if Yoongi notices but he holds my hand this time and nods sharply at Namjoon.

“I’ve got her, I promise.” 

His reassurance to Namjoon is solid, putting me at ease even though it’s not directed at me. 

“Good luck you two, we’ll be cheering for you,” Namjoon says. 

I hug him tightly and giggle as Jimin, Jungkook, Hoseok, Jin and Taehyung join in, engulfing me in a group hug. My anxieties disperse at their praise, along with any doubts I had about Yoongi. 

...

Performing with Yoongi made me feel ethereal. His verses and rhymes put a fire under me, made me keep up with him, when I felt overwhelmed Yoongi was there. I didn’t even notice the song stopped as he grinned brightly down at me with sweat pouring down his face while breathing heavy. I can’t help but smile back and stare up at his lips. Yoongi must have noticed and mirrored my movements to get closer. The roar of the crowd forces us to stop however, thank God. We both turn back towards the audience to wave and bow with our warm hands wound together. 

“You were amazing,” Yoongi whispers. 

“So were you,” I say.

“C’mon.”

I giggle as Yoongi takes my hand and leads me backstage.  

“Wow the chemistry you guys carry can’t be replicated,”  a staff member says, “no wonder you guys are an item.”

Yoongi goes rigid, I pull away from him. 

“N-No I ah, we aren’t dating,” I let out, “you shouldn’t really believe those interviewers.”

The staff member frowns. 

“Really? I thought it was official, hm,” he says before disappearing  to his duties. 

Official?

“Y/N-”

“What did he mean by official Yoongi?” I ask, cutting him off. 

Yoongi’s eyes sweep to the floor. 

“Y/N I-I fucked up,” Yoongi whispers. 

His eyes grew soft again as he bit down on his lip. 

“What is it?” I ask, “what the fuck did you do?”

Katie bursts in along with Namjoon. 

“You guys did great- Y/N? Yoongi?” Katie asks.

Namjoon gets in between the both of us. 

“What happened?”

“Just tell me the truth Yoongi, what. Did you do,” I whisper. 

Yoongi purses his lips before he speaks.

“Bighit had to put out an official statement,” he pauses before continuing, “about the both of us.”

My chest pangs as my entire body begins to tremble. 

“W-Why would they do that?”

Yoongi swallows hard. 

“Because I revealed it on V live, on accident,” he says, “I-I promise I didn’t mean to.”

I only nod and step past Namjoon and Katie, ignoring Yoongi’s pleas. I need some air. 

[swifteforeverandalways]

Come For Me

@lilmissriottbliss @wrasslin-kpop-and-bullshit

“Why the bloody hell are we at a freaking WWE building?” Lance Hunter complained for the five hundredth time. “I was doing perfectly well in the ‘Injustice Verse’ thank you ever much”

“Because, they have a MMA girl I wanna talk to about our target” Bobbi Morse-Okaia slapped him across the head

“Ow!” Hunter complained, “Why me though? Why not your wife?”

“Jade’s banned for hitting someone too hard. Ends next month” Bobbi shrugged. Hunter rolled his eyes as Rhea Ripley and Toni Storm walked up to the two.

"What's up Bobbi?" Rhea and Bobbi hugged. "Who's the twink?"

“Oi!” Hunter scowled, “I am NOT a twink.....whatever that is.” “My ex husband. Lance Hunter,” Bobbi explained with a roll of her eyes.

“Twink” Rhea repeated

“Anyways, do you know where we can find Cole Young?” Bobbi asked, cutting off Hunter’s retort.

"Who?" Toni asked. "Old MMA fighter" "I've never heard of him, ask Sonya"

“Alright, thanks Rhea. It was nice seeing you. And Kate wanted me to tell you that Uh.....she really wants you to tie her up,” Bobbi said.

"Tmi!" Hunter said. Rhea merely smirked and high-fived Toni.

“I don’t get it. Isn’t wrestling like....fake?” Hunter said way too loud. Bobbi facepalmed as nearly everyone turned to look (or rather, glare) at Hunter.

"We can all easily kick your ass mate" Rhea growled. Toni stepped up to Rhea and placed a hand on her arm. “It’s okay, ignore him,” Toni murmured. Rhea glared at Hunter before turning to Bobbi.

“I know, my ex husband is an idiot,” she said with a shake of her head. Rhea laughed at that.

“True, Jade is much smarter,” the Raw Women’s Champion said, “And since I know you’re gonna ask, Sonya is in the office.”

“Thanks Rhea,” Bobbi hugged Rhea again before heading off, Hunter following her. 

“Hunter, I swear if you make another dumbass comment like that I might ICE you,” Bobbi grumbled. Hunter mimed zipping his lips shut and Bobbi rolled her eyes fondly. They got to a closed door that had Sonya Deville’s name on it, and Bobbi knocked on it. There was a brief moment of silence before the door opened. 

“Oh, hey Bobbi! Hunter,” Sonya said, a smile crossing her face.

“Hey Sonya,” Bobbi smiled back as Sonya pulled her into a hug. 

“What’re you two doing here? It isn’t like you guys to visit Orlando often,” Sonya asked. 

“I wish I could say this is purely a social visit but….what do you know about a guy named Cole Young?” Bobbi asked.

“Cole? He trains at the Black Frog dojo, why?” Sonya asked.

“Where is it located?” Hunter butted in. Sonya gave him a weird look but answered.

“Here in Orlando. Again, why?” she asked.

“SHIELD needs to know,” Bobbi explained. Sonya nodded and hugged Bobbi again. 

“I promise, we’ll all hang out sometime soon,” Bobbi promised. Sonya grinned and nodded. Bobbi and Hunter headed out. 

"There, that looks to be Cole Young," Bobbi said as she and Hunter walked into the MMA gym, pointing at an Asian young man working on a punching bag.

"Joy," Hunter said, his tone slightly sarcastic. Bobbi rolled her eyes at her ex husband and the two approached Cole.

"Cole Young?" Bobbi called out. Cole looked up, looking warily at the two.

"Who are the two of you?" he asked, his tone guarded.

"My name is Bobbi Morse-Okaia and this is Lance Hunter. We are with SHIELD and want to talk to you," Bobbi said. Cole crossed his arms across his chest.

"Why does SHIELD want me?" he asked. Bobbi opened her mouth to answer when the door to the gym was thrown open and in stalked a figure surrounded by mist.

"What the hell?" Cole questioned, Hunter reaching for a gun. The figure shot a stream of icy mist at Hunter, knocking the gun out of his hand and away from him. Bobbi grabbed her own and fired, the figure freezing it at the last second. Bullet fragments frozen in place

"Fuck," Bobbi swore under her breath as the figure strode over to her.

“Wife of Jade Okaia. Get out of my way. The blood of Hanzo Hasashi must die” Cole looked at her confused

"Who is Jade Okaia? And what the hell is he talking about?" he demanded.

“Get behind me,” Bobbi said lowly. Cole slowly began walking towards her. 

“Killing Hanzo’s wife and son wasn’t enough for you Bi-Han?” Bobbi raised an eyebrow. 

“The son still lives,” Bi-Han pointed to Cole. “I’m a orphan from the south-side of Chicago. Try again asshole”

"You are the son of Hanzo Hasashi and you deserve death," BI-Han said. "You'll have to take me down to get to him, and if you do that you know Jade will have your head," Bobbi said.

“I don’t even know who that is!” “I fear no death” Bi-Han kicked Bobbi away

"Bob!" Hunter yelped and ran over to his ex wife to check on her. Cole punched Bi-Han in the face, breaking his own hand. Bi-Han laughed and grabbed Cole, teleporting away with him as Hunter helped Bobbi up.

"Well....that was a fail," Hunter said. "How the hell did he know about Cole?"

"I don't know, but we need to get back to Outworld and tell Hanzo that his son is alive."

"Reincarnation" Bobbi corrected. "Hanzo just celebrated his 556th birthday"

"Still, we need to tell him....plus Jade is definitely going to freak out when she finds out Bi-Han kicked you."

“Eh” Bobbi shrugged. “Wait a minute Bob” Hunter found Cole’s phone, the wallpaper showing Cole posing with a pre-teen. “Does he have a kid?”

"Fuck," Bobbi swore again, "Bi-Han has crossed a line. Taking someone from their kid...."

“We gotta find her”

[cycat4077]

Sheltering An Outcast

Summary: Sonny goes undercover during “Sheltered Outcasts” 17x19 Pairing: Sonny x Reader  Warnings: fluff and smoochies with a sprinkle of angst...and maybe a bit of Sonny in only a towel ;) Words: 2848 (sorry it’s a bit long...)  AO3 here

Part 6 of the Changes verse (but it can be stand-alone too). (Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5)

It’s evening and you're flaked out on your couch, an empty ice cream container sitting by the wayside, when your phone rings. "Hey Sonny, what's up?" you answer, spirits brightened by the sound of his voice. "Finally finished that difficult case you were working on?"

As you were discovering, some cases posed ridiculous hours, keeping the two of you apart with only the occasional evening together amidst the chaos. Text, calls and Skype eased the separation, but there was nothing better than physically being by his side.

"Yeah, it’s done," replies Sonny. "Thank goodness too. It was a tough one, doll." You hear a heavy sigh on his end and your heart goes out to him. "You busy?" he then asks hopefully, and when you answer in the negative, he adds, "Wanna spend the night?"

A rush of excitement spreads through you. Of course, you want to spend the night! Running around, you stuff a change of clothes into a bag and hop awkwardly, struggling to slip on your pants.

The commute over leaves time to reminisce about the nights you and Sonny actually do get to share at each other's apartments. They're sweet and intimate times. Nothing sexual, just precious moments together without any rush to go home.

Those times bring out the domestic side of Sonny too, being that he always makes sure you feel welcome. For instance, even though he blatantly detests peanut butter, you opened his cupboard one day to find a jar simply because he knows you like to eat it for breakfast.

You also love being privy to his little habits. After practically every shower, Sonny darts between the bathroom and bedroom having forgotten his clean clothes in the latter. With only a towel around his waist, he’ll tell you jokingly not to look, though you can't help sneak a peek at his bare torso still coated in a sheen of water as he runs by.

It’s all these little things that make you fall even more in love with him and excite you for a future with your Italian detective.

-x-

Arriving at Sonny’s apartment, he opens the door and you throw your arms around his neck. Enthusiastically, you pepper kisses across his nose and cheeks, purposefully leaving his lips for last.

Sonny’s smile stretches from ear to ear. Clearly, the affection you shower him with washes away any remaining stress from his latest case. "What'd I do to deserve all that lovin'?" he teases, taking your coat and closing the door.

"Hmmm…" you pretend to think on it. "Gotta be that Italian charm." Winking, you begin shimmying out of your pants, revealing pajama shorts underneath. You then glance over your shoulder and notice Sonny still standing by the door with mouth slightly agape. His baby blues are quite obviously glued to your behind. "Hey, detective!” you call out, batting your lashes and smirking. “My eyes are up here!" It’s hard not to take at least a little pleasure in flirty bouts like these since they never fail to flush Sonny’s cheeks or jumble his words.

"Y-yeah, I-I know, doll. It's just," he closes the distance towards you. "You're so beautiful." Sonny's voice seems to catch in his throat causing your heart to do the same in your chest. He reaches out to cup your face, a thumb brushing tenderly along your cheek. "I'm gonna miss this..."

Your eyebrows knit together. "What?"

Sonny shuts his eyes firmly as if he's guarding a confession and releases a breath through his nose. "I have ta go undercover for a while."

Your eyes widen. "When?!"

Your boyfriend rests his hands on your shoulders, bracing you. "Tomorrow." You pull yourself out of his grasp. "Doll, please!” he begs. “I just found out myself! There's been a few assaults around this shelter for convicted sex offenders and we need a guy on the inside."

How could he just spring this on you? A cramped space packed with ex-cons struggling to get their lives together hardly seems like the safest assignment. What if they don't believe his cover? What if they find out the truth? He could be bashed over the head and no one would give a damn! How could Sonny, a man without an ounce of evil in his body, ever pass for one of them? Sure, he could come off as a little brash sometimes, but not sex offender-levels of it! And how the hell long would he need to be there for, anyway?!

You don't realize that you asked that last part aloud until Sonny responds. "I'm not sure. It all depends on what we can find out and how fast. I hope not too long but who knows..." To say his demeanor is apologetic is an understatement. He isn't any more enthusiastic about this whole thing than you are.

"Why you?!" you protest, half frustrated, half terrified. "Because...because I need you to be careful, Sonny!" The way you say his name is more a desperate plea than an outburst of anger.

"I will! I promise! But I'm still technically the new guy, so it’s kinda on me to take the U.C. assignments no one else wants." And he's right. There's nothing he can do about it. You just have to cherish falling asleep in his arms tonight and pray he stays safe.

-x-

“What about this?” you ask poking your head out of the closet to hold up a tan and green plaid shirt. It’s definitely seen better days.

Sonny turns around from where he’s packing a duffle bag on the bed. “Yeah, that could work,” he agrees. “But where’d ya find it?”

“It was in this box back here labelled ‘Dom’,” you state, parting the dress shirts and suits hanging above your head for a second look.

“That’s dad’s stuff.” Sonny crosses the room and helps you tug the box free from the back corner. “Ma insisted I bring them along when I moved ‘because ya neva know when ya might need ‘em’,” he mocks, attempting his best impersonation of his mother. “I guess she was right.”

“Mothers usually are,” you quip before pulling out a faded pair of thick, denim jeans. “Will these fit?”

Sonny takes the pants to examine their size. “’Should,” he confirms. “They’re from the eighties or somethin’. Dad’s appetite for Ma’s cookin’ sure has made him pack on the pounds over the years…” he chuckles, stretching the waistline back and forth.

“Hey, now! Since I started eating your cooking my jeans fit tighter too!” you say jokingly as you pat your tummy in defence of the Carisi patriarch.

“Jean size doesn’t matter, doll, as long as the heart’s happy ‘n the stomach’s full.” Sonny’s blue eyes lock onto yours, delivering a sincere smile. “And my heart is the happiest it’s ever been.”

Your cheeks flush and you avert your gaze like a bashful teenager. You may not have supermodel proportions, but your heart flutters knowing that Sonny loves you all the same.

The old clothes are the perfect match for Sonny’s alias. Later, as the morning sun trickles through the New York City streets, ‘Dominick Smith’ joins you in the living room clad in an old grey hoodie and his father’s faded jeans. Things are a bit baggy but they’ll do. The two of you spend the next little while rehearsing ���Smitty’s’ backstory, unnerved that Sonny has to be convincing as someone with such a disgusting past.

“Oh, I almost forgot the ring,” Sonny declares as he jogs to the case-info envelope on the table.

“Huh?” you question as your line of sight follows his movements.

He shakes out a gold wedding band and rejoins you. “Dominick Smith has a missus, rememba? And apparently he wants to better himself so he can go back home to her.”

“Oh, yeah,” you say foolishly, eyes glued to his finger while he delicately slips on the ring. You know it’s stupid, but for a moment your hopes were high and your heart pounded at the inside of your chest. You can’t help but wish the ring was real; that it would symbolize that he is yours forever.

Sonny’s eyes dart between yours and where they’re fixated on his hand. “You okay?” he asks quietly which brings you back to reality.

“Y-yeah,” you manage, forcing a smile.

He then reaches into his pocket and produces a key. “I hope you don’t mind me askin’, but since I dunno how long I’ll be gone for, would ya mind checkin’ in on my place every now and again? Y’know, just ta make sure that no one’s broken in or whateva.”

“Of course, babe,” you reply, accepting the key. But your clouded mind gets the better of you and your eyes widen when you realize your words.

“Babe?” he questions, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I-uh…” You’ve never called him anything other than ‘Sonny’ since the two of you started dating and you’re just not sure if he’s comfortable with anything different.

However, before you have a chance to articulate an excuse, your Italian detective leans his forehead against yours and sneaks in a swift kiss. “I could get used ta you callin’ me that,” he grins. And you can’t help but giggle. This sweet man keeps giving you more reasons to love him.

With spirits lifted, you stand back and place a hand on your hip before drawing a finger up to your lips to study his appearance.

“What?” Sonny questions, scanning himself over self-consciously.

“Something’s not quite right…” You take a couple steps forward and tangle your fingers in his hair. It’s soft and uncharacteristically floppy without any gel. You continue to muss it up, carding through it and enjoying the texture.

“You done?” he asks, pursing his lips, unamused.

“Almost,” you utter as you poke your tongue out of the corner of your mouth. “There!” You step back to admire your handiwork.

Sonny leans over to glance in the wall mirror. A horrified expression overtakes his features. “What did ya do?!” he exclaims.

You throw your head back and laugh. “I made you look the part a little more, silly!” His dark locks now stick up in multiple directions.

Sonny narrows his eyes and gives you a hard look. However, the slightest of smiles plays at the corner of his mouth and you know he secretly enjoyed it.

Then Sonny’s watch lights up, giving off a beep which catches both your attentions. You know what it means and so does he. It’s time.

Tears begin to rim your eyes. “Please be careful,” you speak in a shaky voice. You wish you could protect him and keep him safe throughout this whole ordeal.

“I will be,” he reassures. “This will all be over soon.” Sonny steps towards you and gathers you in his arms. The two of you lock into an embrace and you feel a squeeze that’s filled with desperation. It’s then that you understand just how nervous Sonny actually is about all this. You hug him a little tighter, both clinging to one another like a life source.

“I love you,” he says lingering his touch along your arms.

“I love you, too.” You lean up and kiss him before burying your face in his chest for one last embrace.

-x-

“On my way home now to shower and change before I have to head back. So, I have a few minutes if you're free." Is what his text reads.

You don't think you've ever made it to Sonny's apartment in such record time. After five days of no contact and being consumed by a worry that made you feel like throw up 24/7, his return lifts a giant weight off your shoulders.

You eagerly knock on the door and a disheveled looking man in the same old grey hoodie and faded blue jeans opens it. His hair is greasy and he looks a little pale, though you suppose nearly a week of cruddy food and shoddy sleep will do that to a person. None of that matters, however, because a large smile of relief spreads across your face from knowing he’s safe and naturally, your first instinct is to jump into his arms.

But this time Sonny stops you. "Don't, doll. I stink,” he scrunches his nose in disgust.

A laugh bubbles free from your chest. "Okay, babe!"

"Lemme go shower 'n brush my teeth, then ya can kiss me," winks Sonny as he welcomes you into his apartment. It seems this undercover gig hasn't completely broken his spirit.

"Hurry up then, stinky!" you chide, hopping onto his couch impatiently.

Sonny runs off in the direction of the bathroom and in no time, you hear the whoosh from the faucet and spray of the shower.

A few minutes later, the water shuts off and a familiar darn it! resonates from within. You smile to yourself knowing exactly the cause and perch over the sofa arm to watch the show.

As predicted, the door opens and a billow of steam releases into the hall. The patter of wet feet follow as Sonny comes scurrying out, darting into the bedroom for clothes. You're about to unleash a cheeky catcall when you notice a large purplish splotch resting above the white towel tied around Sonny's waist. You immediately jump up to intercept him before he can duck back into the bathroom. "What the hell is that?" you demand, tone no longer light and flirty.

"What?" he questions, perplexed.

"That!" you point to his discoloured side.

He contorts to glance in the direction of your finger. "Oh."

You continue to stare him down when he fails to provide an explanation.

"It's nothing, doll," he lies, clutching his clothes to his chest. But your disapproving eyes forces him to confess. "Okay...I got jumped. It wasn't by the guys in the shelter though! It was outside 'n they were targetin' everyone they thought could be a suspect in the most recent assault."

They?! You're suddenly overwhelmed by his close encounter. "Oh my God, Sonny! Are you all right?!" He could have come out of this a whole lot worse.

"Yeah, I'm okay. It'll heal. Actually, it was one of the guys from the shelter who came to my rescue. Who knew..." Sonny's voice trails off as his mind drifts.

But all you care about is Sonny. Focusing on the bruise, you hesitantly reach out and give it a light touch. His skin is warm and damp, yet turns to goosebumps under your fingertips.

Sonny gazes down at you silently and you shift your eyes to meet his. It's only been five days but it feels like a lifetime since you've seen his handsome face. The gentle curve of his lips. The blueness of his eyes. Suddenly he feels so close. Nothing but a towel separates you. Your heart rate picks up as every inch of you aches for the man you love.

"I gotta go get ready.” The tension snaps with Sonny’s soft grin and breathy voice.

"I know," you say reluctantly. "I missed you."

"Missed you too, doll." His left hand finds the back of your neck, cradling your head as he leans down with closed eyes to place a kiss to your lips. Maybe it's the steam from the shower, but it's the type of kiss that makes your insides melt. Then Sonny parts and slips back into the bathroom.

Lightheaded, you make your way back to the couch and sit down. Twenty minutes later the door opens again and the Sonny Carisi you're most familiar with steps out. A three-piece suit and crisp tie. Slicked back hair and smooth cheeks. Though he looks perfect to you, Sonny is still fretting over his hair, combing it back at the temples to work in the last of the gel.

"How do I look?" he inquires, holding his arms out to the sides.

"Handsome as ever!" you give a cheerful smile.

Sonny grins. "Sorry I have ta run, but I need ta get back to the precinct. We've got a major lead in the case."

"All good," you wave dismissively. "I'm just glad you're all right and that I got a chance to see you."

Sonny echoes your sentiments while scurrying around to gather his things. You get up once he starts heading for the door. "I dunno when I'm gonna be back t’night," he frowns. "I'd love ya to stick around but don't wanna keep ya waitin'."

"No worries. Besides, you're gonna need a good night's sleep after almost a week in that place." You smile up at Sonny lovingly and take the apartment key out of your pocket. "Here."

"Nuh-no! That's your copy now, doll." He folds your fingers towards your palm, enclosing the key within.

"Really?" You're ready to burst with joy.

"Really," he confirms with a kiss.

"Well in that case," you smile against his lips, "maybe I'll sneak back in here tonight and we can indulge in some mediocre takeout and bad tv."

"Ya read my mind, doll,” he beams. “Ya read my mind."

Notes: Hope you enjoyed this one! It was originally just going to be angsty but I tried to liven it up a bit with some flirty stuff.

Also, here’s a bit of a preview of what’s next. Let’s just say that there’s trouble in paradise... (Full version up now!)

"Doesn't matter. I want to be with you -" "No." Sonny cuts you off firmly. It's the first time he's raised his voice to you in any way. It shakes you to your core, leaving a horribly sour feeling in the pit of your stomach. You try to dismiss it because you know he's tired and scared but the tears still fall when Sonny hangs up the phone.