#IT SOUNDS MEAN BUT EVERY MINUTE THE GAME LAGS FOR FIVE SECONDS AT THE START AND THEN END OF A MONTH

[seithr]

seithr accidentally pulls a tuchanka in stellaris

[moemammon]

You are not Beyoncé but you're singing your heart out when you think you're home alone.

(Featuring the demon brothers and GN!MC)

For once, you had the house to yourself! Was this a miracle?? Were the heavens finally smiling down on you from above? Was this the result of all your good karma??? Whatever it was, you were almost certain that you were alone for once.

And what did that mean? Time for a good ol' fashion jam session. You put on your favorite tunes and set them to blast through the speaker of your D.D.D. while you danced around the house, singing your heart out. Who cared if some of your notes were flat, or if you had to drop a few pitches to hit those high notes?

Not you. You were just living your best life without a care in the world.

Until...

Lucifer

Of course the eldest would be around. Arguably the most mysterious and omnipotent brother in the house, so yeah. He's there.

He told you this morning that he’d have a meeting to attend after classes today. You thought he’d be out for a long while, but it just so happened that the meeting ended early today, much to his relief.

Not to yours though, because that means that Lucifer has front row seats to your amazing concert without your permission.

He didn't even have the courtesy to make himself known! He just waited in the kitchen, quietly preparing his coffee while your singing echoed through the halls.

You were sauntering your way to the kitchen as well, fumbling over forgotten lyrics without a care in the world, when you saw him.

Enemy spotted.

Does this mean he heard every single time your voice cracked-

Your eyes lock and Lucifer doesn't even mention what you were just doing, despite the obviously being within earshot of you.

You really start feeling the heat rising in your cheeks when he says "You seem to be in a good mood. Did something good happen to you at RAD today?"

Regardless of how you respond (or not), Lucifer turns his back to you to tidy up, and says "....I don't believe I've ever heard your singing before. You'll have to give me an encore in my office some time."

You swear you can hear the mischief in his tone....

Mammon

This seriously was unheard of. An afternoon without having mammon glued to your hip?? Hell must've frozen over or something.

Regardless, you weren't going to take this for granted! Mammon did mention something about a 'foolproof money making scheme' he had a dream about last night, so he was probably off trying to see if he could make it a reality.

Things like this usually took a huge chunk of greedy boy's afternoon, so you figured you were safe to sing as you pleased!

Besides, he probably would've texted you if he were on the way home, right?

Apparently not, because Mammon was very much home, and did not send you a text. Honestly? He forgot to. He was too busy wallowing in self pity.

How was he supposed to know that using magic to duplicate grim was illegal??

He managed to escape any real trouble and made his way back home, only to have his ears immediately blessed (or assaulted) by your singing.

He's not the type to sit around in secret until you notice him, so catch this boy marching around the house until he finds you himself. Not so quietly calling out your name the entire time, too.

Mammon caught you in the empty library singing your heart out. The acoustics were great in there! They also kinda drowned out the outside noise, so you couldn't really hear him yelling for you.

"Oh, I thought you were screamin' about a bug or something. What song is that?"

He's not shy about singing in the shower at the top of his lungs, so it's not like he's judging you?? But he's got his phone out when you spot him. The bastard is recording you...

So your knee jerk reaction is to attack

"Wh- Oi!! What're ya hitting me for?! I don't care if it's just a pillow- Hey!"

He has chosen death. Goodbye Mammon.

Leviathan

It was kind of bold of you to assume that Levi would ever be out of the house, but he DID mention something about a concert he wanted to attend..? Or some kind of book signing?

You don't really remember, and you don't have the mental strength to scroll through the sea of spam texts he's sent you today.

C'est la vie.

Since you're pretty sure you're alone, you're not taking your solo concert all around the house of lamentation, from the foyer to the west wing, up to the attic and down to the dining room.

Gotta find the perfect spot to sing this next part. It's got a really good bit with a flute, and you wanna stare longingly out of a window or something-

And it's when you pass by otaku man's room that he decides to make himself known by poking his head out. His headset is around his neck and his hair's a little tousled, hinting that he was in the middle of gaming.

You freeze. Neither of you can look the other in the eye.

It takes a while before the silence can be broken, but before you can say a word, Levi speaks.

"Y-You know... you should come to karaoke with me! Only if you want to, I mean! I didn't know you were a fan of singing, so... but you probably have other plans, right? You don't want to hang out with a gross otaku like me blah blah blah-"

You aren't sure if your brain is malfunctioning from being caught in the act, or from the word vomit spilling from everyone's favorite weeb.

Satan

Satan is a good, studious boy so you assumed he was staying after class to head to the library. He was lagging behind, so you didn't question it.

Or maybe he was planning his next prank? Lucifer did have to make an announcement tomorrow morning in front of the student body, and Satan had been awfully interested in glitter bombs lately...

Whatever the case, he wasn't home right now! Or so you thought.

You were busy switching between two different choruses AND a sick guitar riff all in one song, so there was no time to be thinking about the demon's whereabouts.

You did wonder where you left your bag at, though. You vaguely recalled dumping it at the front door, so maybe that's where it was?

Scooting your way down the hall like a music powered locomotive, you were right in the middle of imitating the sound of drums when you spotted the trembling grin plastered to Satan's face.

Hm.

Maybe you could ask Diavolo about sending you back to the human world right now.

"Sorry, I didn't know you were here, or I would've said something." Satan tells you, clearing his throat to further suppress his laughter. From the way his shoulders are shaking, he was barely holding on.

"I didn't think you were the type to like songs like that. Do you have a playlist you could recommend me? I'm interested after seeing how much you enjoy it."

That cheeky grin of his never breaks for a second, so you can't tell if he's actually asking for recommendations, or if he's watching for your reaction.

Asmo

Not a surprise that you assumed he wasn't home, since he rarely is. He's always out partying or shopping around, so you usually don't see him much around this time.

But that also means you're free to sing as loudly as you want! Look out Mariah Carey, there's a new high note singer in town.

Asmo can vouch for that! Because he can hear you. Clearly.

Okay but he's one of those people that joins in while you're singing.

Legit the moment he goes inside and recognizes your song, he's trying to serenade you from the other side of the house.

And boy do you hear him. This man can SING (as expected of a fallen angel), and he likes to sing loudly. He wants all eyes on him after all!

And maybe you'll be so smitten by his angelic voice that you'll come running into his arms and beg that he takes you right then and there!

Wishful thinking though, because that is not how you reacted. Boo...

He finds you, and wants to know what you think of his voice. "Well? My singing was beautiful, wasn't it~? I used to sing all the time up in the celestial realm! I don't mind giving you some private lessons back in my room~"

Was he implying that you needed lessons? Maybe... but he's a sweetheart about it so can you really be mad at him?

Beel

A crepe cart recently opened up for a limited time, and there was no way Beel was going to miss that. And knowing him, he wouldn't come home until there were no traces of food left in sight.

So you figured you'd have plenty of time to brush up on your sea shanties! Bold of you to assume...

Beel can inhale a billion times his weight in food in like, five minutes. What made you think he wouldn't be back home by now?

He was full for a good ten minutes (a new record!) and spent that time in his bedroom, hence why you didn't hear his usual rummaging through the kitchen for food.

Speaking of food, you were feeling kind of hungry yourself! And a little parched from all the singing, so a snack break couldn't hurt!

You slid on your socks along the hardwood floor all the way to the kitchen... where you nearly slammed into Beel. There he was, the mad lad himself.

He was also on the way to the kitchen. Surprise surprise, right? And he managed to catch you by the shoulders before you could slide into anything.

Beel is the least phased by your singing. He just thinks it's nice that you were comfortable enough to sing so loudly! Good to see that you're enjoying yourself.

He doesn't exactly address it? Instead he moves his hand forward to place something into yours.

It's a crepe that he saved, just for you! You stare at the delicate pastry, all topped with layers of fluffy whipped cream, strawberries and blueberries, and lovingly drizzled with chocolate sauce! There's a bite taken out of the side, though-

"I tried my best to hold back, but I took a bite. Sorry..."

How can you be mad at him?? You're not even embarrassed about the singing anymore tbh. Too full of love to care 💕💕

Belphie

When,,,, was Belphie ever not home,, like,,,,

This man has never seen a classroom in his life, so it's not like you could've expected him to be at RAD.

And he wasn't usually in town?? Definitely a homebody.

But Beel wanted someone to go with him to that crepe cart, and Belphie couldn't exactly turn his dear brother down when he gave him those big baby eyes-

And since Beel wasn't home, you figured Belphie was still out, too!

Spoiler alert: you thought wrong.

Belphie was home, and now wide awake thanks to your banshee screams singing. He managed to slip away from Beel when he got too tired. He didn't really want a crepe anyway, so he decided to head back.

Only to be rudely awaken... how dare you...

He's hellbent on finding you, JUST so he can get you to shush. Please.. let him rest his weary bones...

When he does locate you, you have your back turned to him and your music on max volume, occupying yourself with grabbing your clean laundry to take back to your room.

He doesn't speak, instead choosing to watch you shimmy around to the beat of your song. And when you do a little spin, you turn right around to face him and get to witness the sheer amusement on his face.

He's NOT letting your forget about this moment. And you can't escape him either, he won't let you.

The bastard corners you just to repeatedly ask "Hey, what were you singing? I haven't heard that one in a while. Mind singing it again for me?"

"With a voice like that, I'm afraid to ask you to sing me a lullaby."

"...Just kidding. Your face is really red right now, you know?"

You feel the sudden urge to stuff him into the dryer, but you resist.

The urge grows stronger when he imitates the little dance you were doing.

[all-you-need-is-paul-mccartney]

The Couple Next Door IX (Roger Taylor x Female!Reader)

Find Part Eight Here

A/N: Surprise! I’m briefly back from a year-long Hiatus and I have one chapter for TCND, one for ATU AND a George Harrison one-shot I’m just gonna drop and then probably disappear again for another few months. I’m also finding it even more difficult to write for Roger seeing as I’ve kinda been listening to nothing but The Beatles for the last fifteen months and I really only hear Queen at work, so that’s gotta change. But I am very sorry about the LONG wait. I really do appreciate you guys, and I think you’ve all waited quite long enough to find out what happens next...

Summary: Roger and Y/N spend the morning taking care of Bobby; they talk a little more about the future and come to the conclusion they both want the same thing.

(Let your imagination run free, bc this can be either Canon or Borhap!Roger)

WARNINGS: Swearing is probably a given at this point, self-doubt, mentions/ suggestions of sex (advise you to avoid if you’re under 18), and I usually revise when I’m stoned so there’s probably some typos in here too, sorry.

Rated T for Teen-- (I feel like a video game rating smh)

Bobby was crying again.

Granted, it was about seven in the morning, and he did sleep for the rest of the night.

Roger was the last of the both of you to wake up; not because of the crying-- he didn't even hear the crying-- but he was wrapped up in the blankets with you, and you were trying to remove yourself from his grasp.

"Don't leave," Roger grumbled as he pulled you tightly against his chest, eyes remaining closed as you whispered back to him.

"But I have to go. Baby's cryin'."

Roger loosened his grip on you, much to his dismay, and you slipped from his embrace, leaving him cold, and alone.

"Come back, Baby..." He really hoped his gravelly plea would entice you to return from the nursery after tending to Bobby, and although you were probably against having sex in your friends' bed, he figured there was no harm in testing the waters.

"That's not how that works when you have a baby, Rog. The day starts now."

Roger groaned in protest, but as he rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands, he revealed to himself that you were no longer in the room, and the baby's cries settled when he heard your voice float down the hall from the nursery room.

Roger, as much as he didn't want to, tossed the comforter off of his body, and after rising to his feet and combing his fingers through his hair, he shuffled out of the bedroom and made a beeline to the stairs.

He was glad he was familiar with John's kitchen; because he was certain you had no idea where anything was, meaning he would be the one preparing breakfast that morning, and the one following it, most likely.

Fuck it, he would (try to) cook you up seven different meals a day if you asked him.

Anything for you.

He put the kettle on, and moved to the pantry in search for John's teabags, yawning lightly as he pulled the door open.

Nothing in the pantry really stuck out to him as being a good breakfast that morning, so Roger ended up migrating to the fridge after retrieving the tea, where his eyes fell on the carton of eggs on the bottom shelf.

He settled on making French Toast for breakfast seeing as he, according to you, made the best French Toast in England.

So he got to work whipping up some eggs and pulling four slices of bread from the bread box on the counter-- but not before he got one of Bobby's bottles out for you, warmed it, and placed it on the kitchen table.

Roger was frying the French Toast in no time, and he hummed gently as he busied himself with focusing on the now whistling kettle, and when the right time to flip the toast would be.

"... I thought you were still in bed," your words were sudden, and it made Roger jump a little. But when he realized it was only you, Bobby in your arms, his mouth contorted into a dopey smile.

"Nah," Roger turned the pan's burner down a little, and after he flipped the French Toast, he set his spatula on the counter, turning to face you.

"I was gonna let you sleep in, since you were so reluctant on waking up," you explained with a yawn. "But here you are awake, and making breakfast before me."

"Well it wouldn't be fair then, would it? Me sleeping in while you've all this work to do?"

"I don't know, would it?"

"I really don't think so, Dove."

He felt pride swell in his chest when pink dusted your cheeks at the sound of your new nickname, and he took this chance to swoon you further by pulling you in gently by the elbows, and he enveloped both you and Bobby in his embrace.

"Beautiful..." Roger's voice was barely a whisper as he touched his lips to your jawline, and you responded with a soft exhale.

"Even when you've just woken up," Roger mumbled against the skin of your neck, lips curling into a smile, "you are the prettiest goddamned thing I've ever laid eyes on."

"Mmm, down, boy," you purred back jokingly, taking a small step back. "Baby still needs to eat."

"Well yours is coming right up," he teased, "and Bobby's is already at the table." Roger pointed to the bottle on the other side of the room before tapping your rear. "Take a seat, and I'll bring your food over."

You didn't have to be told twice. You took a seat at the table, and although Bobby was growing a little agitated, it was short lived when you put the bottle of milk in his possession.

Roger, not five minutes after you sat down, joined you at the table with your French Toast and your mug of tea, made just the way you liked it, of course.

"'S the right tea, yeah?"

You took a quick look at the label hanging from the mug.

"Yep." Your eyes squinted after letting the label fall where the string tied to it would let it. "Y'know, you've been making my tea right for months, you don't have to check to make sure you're right."

"You know I'm always gonna make sure it's to your liking."

"And I love you for it."

"Hopefully for other things too. I'm not just good at being your barista."

"Oh, don't you worry. I'm not overlooking your other good traits," you smiled as you brought your mug to your lips and having the first sip of tea of the day.

As Roger sat down next to you with his own plate of food and mug of tea, he decided to wait on Bobby to finish so he could eat with you.

So, naturally, he took the time to evaluate again what kind of situation he was in.

There was nothing like watching you care for Bobby. Roger had known you for years, and not once in his life did he ever think he would be sitting next to you at breakfast while feeding a baby, whether or not the child was his own, or yours.

The whole scene looked too good to be true, though like the previous night, Roger just drank in the sight of you putting all your love and care into a child at breakfast with him.

How did you think you weren't cut out for being a mother?

This was in your nature.

The domesticity of the situation made Roger a little emotional. This was the closest he'd ever gotten to experiencing a breakfast with a family he'd built, and he spent every passing second filling his mind and heart with the beautiful sight before him.

"Y/n, you would make a wonderful mother." Roger's words left his mouth faster than his brain could register what he'd said.

You looked to Roger from Bobby, cheeks and tips of your ears darkening, and Roger was talking again before he could realize it and catch himself.

"Any man would be so damn lucky to have you. I honestly can't believe you stick around me still."

Your face was feeling real hot, now. Roger's head was still lagging behind his words, and clearly, he wasn't done talking.

"You could be out building a beautiful family right now, but instead you're babysitting with your best friend who you also occasionally sleep with. I just... I don't understand."

It took you a second to respond, but Roger didn't blame you. Honestly, he didn't even know what he would have said if he were asked the same question.

"... Well, I love you, Roger."

Your words were simple, and Roger knew your statement was nothing but platonic, but that didn't stop his heart from pounding against his ribcage.

You'd said those exact three words to him minutes earlier, but the context of the conversations contrasted their meanings.

"But we promised each other at the beginning of all of this that we'd be fine giving up pursuing family life if that means living with one another..."

"... You sound unsure, now."

The atmosphere felt heavy, and it was almost as if Bobby had known making noise wasn't in his best interest. He decided to finish eating at the right time.

"... It's not that I'm unsure. It's just..."

Roger waited patiently for you to answer, but you had noticed Bobby finished his milk, and you took the bottle from him.

You burped him, and placed a pacifier you pulled from your pocket in Bobby's mouth. You must have gotten it from upstairs before you came down.

"Let me," Roger offered his arms out for the baby, and you let him take Bobby. You'd stood up and moved to the sink to wash the bottle.

Meanwhile, Roger, who'd also gotten to his feet, was slowly walking around the kitchen. He was praising Bobby for finishing all his breakfast, insisting he was so proud of him, his smile wide and gaze adoring as he evaluated the child in his arms.

"It's just that. There. The way you're behaving with him," you turn to face Roger, finger pointed at him. "The way you're treating him as your own."

Roger's mouth opened and closed a few times, but after shutting his jaw for the third time, he decided the best thing to do in this situation would be to keep quiet.

"You'd make the most wonderful father, Roger. The way you behave with Bobby, god, the way you behaved with Raymond the other day," you sounded frustrated, and all Roger could do was watch you pace the kitchen, his sheepish face now a deep red.

"It's just that I would want the father of my kids to be just like you. I wouldn't settle for anything less."

Roger opened his mouth again to speak. He felt like his chest was on fire. Your thoughts were becoming painstakingly parallel to his, Roger had noticed. He couldn't get any words out before you started speaking again.

"Like you said last night, this job is giving us a chance to experience what it'd be like to have a family... and maybe I'm upset I did throw the chance to have all of that away."

You looked like you were on the verge of tears, and all Roger could do was watch you and listen to what you had to say.

"Roger, I hope you know you will always have a special place in my heart. You're my family, you have been for the last five years of my life, and there's no doubt about it. But being able to have a child..."

Your hands ghosted over the robe's fabric covering your definitely unpregnant belly. "... I think I want to have children."

"... Y/n I hope you know I feel exactly the same way."

And then everything was clear.

Roger understood where his band was coming from.

Getting married to you would solve all your problems.

He knew what the both of you were thinking in this new moment of silence, but there was absolutely no way Roger was going to fall to one knee and propose to you right now when he wasn't even romantically involved with you.

And he just felt it would be very inappropriate if he took this moment to spontaneously ask you on a romantic date with the intentions of courting you.

"Listen, Y/n," Roger finally built up enough courage to break the silence. Bobby cut him off with a short cry, and Roger immediately started swaying the baby in his arms. Sure enough, Bobby's agitation ceased, and Roger could continue, keeping the movement going.

"Just because we're living together without families now doesn't mean we won't be able to have families, say, five to ten years down the road."

At this point, although it was necessary, Roger didn't really want to mention the discomfort he felt when imagining you falling for someone who wasn't him.

Your eyes were big and sad, lip pouted as you considered Roger's words. "... are you sure?"

The idea of you and him having to move out of the condo Roger risked the both of your love lives for didn't sit well with him.

You'd be gone making sweet love to some lucky asshole who probably didn't deserve to be in your presence, while Roger goes on a bender, gets ahold of some weed and coke, and sleeps with enough girls to distract him from realizing he'd thrown the best thing in his life away-- you.

He didn't want you to think he thought you were selfish. The last thing he needed right now was to feel guilty for making you feel guilty.

So he just nodded. "No house isn't forever anyways." When you didn't respond to his little joke, he sighed.

"Y/n, we're still so young. You don't have to commit yourself to anything like that just yet. Enjoy being able to go out drinking with me every weekend, and sleeping in on our days off. Your chance to start a family will come when the time is right."

You let out a shaky breath. Roger was actually a little surprised with how well you were keeping yourself together.

But his actions put the both of you here, and to see that this conversation nearly reduced you to tears had Roger drowning in guilt, even without the help of mentioning any of his inner conflict to you.

"I just hope you're right." Your voice was broken and your fingers were tangled stressfully in your hair.

"Hey," Roger's voice had gone soft again, his rocking slowing to a halt, and you looked up to find him with an open arm, awaiting your touch.

You slowly unravelled your fingers from your hair, and you gave into the hug not moments later. Roger pulled you to his chest tightly, his free arm occupied by the baby.

"Y'know... I made you French Toast to start the day off good." When you didn't say anything in response, Roger pulled away from you just enough to look you in the face.

He was giving you that same look he did at the Garrison's again; that unreadable gaze he'd achieved with those big blue eyes that seemingly bored holes into your very soul.

His free hand slipped up from your back to your neck, and he leaned in to just touch his lips to the corner of your mouth.

So close, yet so far away.

It wasn't before long that he pulled away from you, but Roger just couldn't keep his eyes off you.

"You come sit down and enjoy your French Toast, Dove. I've got Bobby."

"But--"

"Please?"

Roger knew he'd convinced you as soon as he said that magic word. Though you took a moment to look from the bundle in his arms to the breakfast you really were dying to dig into, you eventually sighed out a gentle "thank you," before taking your seat again at the table.

He came around and kissed the top of your head. "Enjoy, Honey." Roger took a seat next to you, Bobby still in his one arm, and the both of you ate your French Toast in relative silence for the first few seconds.

"... God, you really do make good French Toast, Blondie." Roger was smiling now. At least you were talking again.

"I only improved my cooking skills for you, y'know," he admitted with a mouthful of his food, though he didn't sound ashamed of it.

"And thank God for that. Cooking every other night sure beats cooking every night."

"You can say that again," Roger mumbled before shoving the last of his breakfast into his mouth. You still slowly ate away at your meal, and Roger was making funny faces at Bobby in between taking sips of his tea.

The telephone in the living room started ringing, and you stood up to go get it, but Roger immediately dropped his fork and grabbed your wrist.

"Nuh-uh. I just finished eating. You still have a little bit to go. Take Bobby and I'll get it." You scooped the baby up without another word, smiling when he opened his eyes.

"Can you at least bring back his rattle from his play pen?"

"Can do, Princess," he called over his shoulder as he approached the phone.

"H'lo?"

"Roger?"

"Oh, hey, John!" Roger tucked the phone's handset under his chin, carrying the telephone in his left hand so he could get Bobby's rattle.

"Isn't it a little early to be up?" Roger glanced at the clock, which read that it was quarter after seven.

"Biological clocks. Just wanting to checking in. Is Bobby okay? Has he been any trouble?"

"No, of course not! He's doing fine, John." Roger tucked the rattle in his back pocket when he found it, and returned to the writing desk where the phone was meant to stay.

That was something he loved about you. You always bought him pyjamas with pockets. The concept was cool, and being able to use them was even cooler.

"Y/n's got him in the kitchen right now," he explained, taking the handset again with his now free hand. "We're all just finishing up breakfast, actually."

"Oh good. How is she?" John paused for a second, his voice dropping a little lower. "... How are you guys?"

Roger made sure his voice was a little quiet, as well. "John, this may have been your guys' best idea ever. I don't know why I was against this in the beginning."

"Really?! What's happened already?!" John, everyone would have guessed to be one to avoid certain kinds of gossip, though when it came to Roger's business with you, he liked checking up on that.

"I told her about all that family stuff."

"And?"

"And, well..." Roger set the phone back onto the desk and scratched the back of his neck. "... She may or may not be having the same problem," he mumbled.

"So... so you both want a family?" John tried clarifying.

"Yes."

"Then why are you two not together?!" Roger slipped away around the corner into the main hall with just the receiver so he was a little further away from the kitchen. He didn't want you hearing their conversation, or John through the receiver.

"Well I'm not asking her here!"

"Then where? And when?"

Roger knew John was just getting excited, and his questions honestly had Roger brainstorming every possibility when it came to asking you.

"... I don't know, yet," Roger said after a while of thinking. "But soon. God, it needs to be soon." He didn't quite know why he was pressuring himself to ask you sooner than later.

Maybe it was because he was scared someone much better and more deserving of you (or alternatively, a selfish prick) was going to waltz in and steal you from him just before he had you for sure.

"Do you need any help with that part? I can get Fred and Bri--"

"No no no, it's okay, John." Roger leaned up against the wall of the hallway, fingers tapping the handset absentmindedly with his eyes squeezed shut for a moment.

"You guys have already done enough, really. I... I think I'm good on my own from here."

"Well, I'm glad," John expressed to Roger. "It's not every day you need to help Roger Taylor get with a girl, y'know."

"This is different, and you know it."

"I just like to tease," John defended, and Roger could even hear a smile evident in his words.

"Anyways, Veronica and I will be home tomorrow around noon. Y/n's got our number. You two take care."

"Of course, you too," Roger was making his way back to the writing desk.

"Thanks. Oh, and Roger?" John added quickly.

"Hm?"

"If you two end up doing anything, for God's sake, please wash the sheets."

As John was speaking, you'd walked into the living room with Bobby in your arms. "We're gonna go and have some play time, now! Yes we are!"

Roger was too panicked by your presence to even realize you weren't paying any attention to the phone call, and he hoped to God you didn't hear a single thing John had said. "Yeah-yes! Laundry. Will do."

He nodded his head once, though John couldn't see him, and after saying their good byes, Roger hung up the phone.

He turned to where you were in the living room. You were looking in the play pen for something, and Roger suddenly remembered the rattle in his back pocket.

He pulled it out hurriedly and held it out to you. "Shit! I'm so sorry about that--"

"Don't swear, Roger," you took the rattle, a smile on your lips you both knew you were trying to frown away. "There's a baby here."

"What? He doesn't know what that word means."

"Well, the more you keep saying it, the more of a chance he has at that being his first word, and I do not need the Deacon Family hunting us down for teaching their kid swears." You looked from Roger down to Bobby, shaking the rattle gently and grinning when Bobby squealed happily and reached out for the toy.

You took a seat on the couch, and played around with Bobby while Roger went back to the kitchen to do the dishes.

From 7:30 AM to about 2:30, all that really happened was play-time and lunch, something Roger prepared. You offered to do the dishes, but Roger wouldn't allow it. He just suggested you put Bobby up for his nap. He'd fallen asleep in your arms during play-time, like he did with Roger the night before.

The both of you thought it was crazy Bobby would just fall asleep rather than cry, but honestly, neither of you were complaining. Quiet baby for the win!

Roger just finished putting the last plate on the drying rack on the counter as he listened above for your footsteps leaving Bobby's room. He dried his hands off with the dishtowel hanging over his shoulder after turning off the faucet.

From behind, Roger felt a pair of arms slowly circle his body, and he smiled warmly at the feeling of you pressed against his back.

"He asleep?"

"Mhm."

Roger's smile only widened as you inched your palms up his chest. He turned in your arms and pressed his hands against your hips, inching you closer as he leaned back against the kitchen sink.

"Well, what do we do, now?" Roger asked. He sounded like he was up to no good. With the sultry look in his eyes and the way the smile on his lips looked like he was repressing a naughty suggestion, he knew you knew he already had something on his mind.

"Well, I mean," your hands slipped up into Roger's long hair, fingers tangling themselves between the strands. "Anything, really."

You knew what game Roger was playing, and you loved how cute he was, thinking he was going to have you on your knees for him.

His eyes shamelessly raked over the top half of your body, and he squeezed his hands, still at your hips.

"What'll you be doing with your free time, Roger?" You took one more step closer to him, and he pulled you the rest of the way to him so your groin was flush with his.

"I'm looking right at her."

He was already strained against his jeans, and you just offered a smile, fingers tightening their grip in Roger's hair.

"Mmm... I kinda like the sound of that," you admitted lowly, half of a smile on your lips. You shifted your hips from side to side, and Roger tried to pull you even closer.

You rolled your hips against Roger again, and the cheekiness in his face fell with a look of long-awaited relief, and his head dropped to your shoulder.

One of his hands moved up to grab you by the back of your neck, and when he lifted his head to look at you again, his second hand dragged upwards from your hip to squeeze your waist.

Roger lifted the hand by your neck, and combed your hair back with his fingers. His eyes fell onto yours for a brief moment, and you could have sworn there was something he tried to tell you there.

You just couldn't read him.

But he didn't care. He pulled you in close again, and his lips were on yours.

You'd kissed Roger before. Not in public, but definitely in the bedroom. And they weren't very scarce. Honestly, if Roger's lips weren't somewhere else on your body, they'd be on yours.

But why was this feeling different from all the other times he'd kissed you?

He was being a lot less forceful and needy than he usually was.

His grip wasn't tight on you, and it wasn't like he was crushing you against him as if indicating he needed more of you, now.

He was holding you rather, and the hand at your waist circled around to press against your lower back. The hand on your neck shifted a little forward so Roger could gently slide the pad of his thumb down the column of your throat.

The both of you were holding your breath, and Roger was the first to pull away. The both of you sucked in some air, and before you could even draw in a full breath, Roger's lips were on yours again.

He pushed towards you, guiding you backwards until your back was flat against the refrigerator. His warm hands grabbed for yours and he pinned them above your head by your wrists.

Okay. This, was something you were used to. But there was nothing that could have prepared you for when Roger's hands loosened their grip on your wrists, and he was lacing his fingers between your own.

Your hands felt very small in Roger's. How had he never noticed that before? What else had he neglected to realize about you?

In that moment, he felt you pull away to breathe, and he looked down at you worriedly, fingers frozen, yet still laced with yours.

"I- uh... I-I'm sorry--"

"No no, don't be. It's okay," your response was very rushed, but you didn't skip a word.

There was about a minute of silence, your hot breaths mingling in the space between your lips, though your gazes were locked with one another, and you couldn't look away.

"Did-uh... did you want me to... to stop?" His question was gentle, almost sincere-sounding, but he still made no effort to move from his place.

"No. God, no." And as soon as you'd answered, Roger closed the space between the both of you again, his fingers unwound from yours to grab you by the jaw, and you just held his waist, pushing your body as close to him as he would let you.

He shifted around a little, and moved his leg between yours. You could feel his mouth bend into a smirk against yours, and he began to apply pressure to the apex of your legs with his knee.

Before long, as much as you wanted to resist it, you fell to Roger's submission, and as you waited for him to grab your waist and put you wherever, he hesitated for a second, and dropped his hands from yours.

You opened your eyes again to find Roger, face red, and staring at your chest. Not in an ogling way, but more of a method to avoid looking you in the eye.

He could tell you were looking at him, and he shifted his gaze to you. He itched at his hands awkwardly, mouth opening and closing as he tried to explain himself.

You just waited. You gave him time to think, and he had an answer for you sooner than either of you would have thought.

"I just... I wanna try something else. I don’t want to control you like I do every night."

It wasn't much of an explanation, but a good beginning to a demonstration.

"Will you come to bed with me, Y/n?" His offer was gentle, yet confident, despite offering a hand out hesitantly.

When you dropped your hand into his, all of the tension in Roger's being relaxed, and he quietly led you up the stairs, past the nursery, and into John and Veronica's room.

Before you could say anything he gently explained that he'd do laundry later, and then he pulled you in for another kiss he'd been waiting to give you since the last one.

Roger pulled you closer to him, hands cupping your face as his lips began to desperately chase after yours. You kissed Roger back with just as much vigor, but then he slowed the movements of his mouth, and guided you backwards until the back of your legs hit the edge of the bed.

Roger helped lower you down onto the bed, and he leaned over you, dipping down to kiss your lips again. He knelt between your legs, and pulled them up around his waist so he could lean in even closer.

You felt his hands squeeze your hips, and he pulled at your bottom lip with his teeth. You hummed lowly, your eyelashes kissing your cheeks as Roger pulled away ever so slightly-- just enough to pull his shirt off of him, and close the distance between your bodies again.

You tangled your hands into his hair, and he hummed in approval before pulling back just once more.

"I'm sure that's hardly fair..."

"What?"

"This," Roger tugged gently at the hem of your shirt.

"Why's yours still on?"

"... I never said it had to be."

Roger exhaled, and slowly pulled your shirt up over your head after you raised your arms to help him out a little.

He placed the palm of his hand over the smooth skin of your belly as he stared at your bare torso. And before long, he dipping down to kiss you again.

You reciprocated his actions, wrapping your arms around his neck and tightening your legs around his hips, to which he rocked himself against your core, and then---

Bam!

The headboard hit the wall, and Bobby woke up.

"Nooo..." you squeezed your eyes shut as the baby's cries began to reverberate down the hallway.

"Fuck!" Roger groaned, eyebrows knitted together helplessly as he climbed off of you. You both knew it was Roger who technically woke the baby up, and it was just silently agreed on that he went to put him back down.

"Dammit to hell, those separated headboards."

Roger opened the nursery door, and made his way to the crib in the corner of the room. Bobby's cheeks were wet with tears, and Roger's heart sank. "'M sorry, little guy. C'mere. Come see uncle Roger."

He picked the baby up and rocked him back and forth, though it wasn't exactly doing much, so Roger took a seat in the rocking chair on the opposite side of the room, swaying the both of them with a push of his feet.

Bobby's cries settled, and Roger felt proud of himself. Sure, he wanted to get back to what he was doing before, but instead he took his time in making sure Bobby was comfortable and not in need of anything before he drifted off to sleep again.

Bobby played around with Roger's fingers a few moments after his agitation ceased, and he couldn't believe how large his hands were in comparison to Bobby's. He was once that size.

A little while later Roger set Bobby down in his crib, and the infant was out. The drummer smiled at his accomplishment. He didn't even need your help.

With that, he left the room without a sound.

He stepped into John and Veronica's room, and closed the door quietly behind him. He was in the middle of turning on his heel when he stopped dead in his tracks.

You'd taken some of the pillows off the bed and wedged them between the wall and the headboard to keep the bed from making noise.

You were also splayed out on the bed in a lot less clothing than he remembered you in when he left.

With a teasing beckon from your finger, Roger knew three things were for certain.

1. You were the smartest woman he knew.

2. You were the most gorgeous woman he'd ever laid eyes on.

3. He, the Roger Taylor, had fallen madly, and helplessly in love with you.

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

A/A/N: Again, you’ve all been waiting long enough for the next chapter, so here you are. i hope you all enjoy, and if my response is great with this one, I’ll see if I can spit out another one soon <3

PERMENANT TAG LIST

@culturefiendtrashqueen​

@rogermeddow​

FIC TAGLIST

@luvborhap

@amy-brooklyn99

@scarsout

@kimmietea​

@ohtheseboysilove​

@demo-wise​

@suavishowell​

@bohemianahoy​

@pippin248​

@maisielou

@hardyshoe​

@queenlover05​

@imjustboredso​

@juliarvra​

(Leave me a message if you wanna be added to either of my taglists)

[galaxyofmyown]

Okay so I just tripped and fell and ate sidewalk so! Maybe reader is helping hotch train for another marathon and they eat shit on the pavement??

oh my god. oh my GOD. this request was so so so fun to write. it’s just so fresh and fluffy and yayyy. and i’m actually very proud of myself for this one. if i’m honest YES i did write me and my friend in as a cameo because we were in dc yesterday morning making fun of all the runners, so i felt it needed to be done. i hope you love it and i’m sorry that i know nothing about running.

warnings: language, cheesy-ass confession

aaron hotchner x reader - marathoners

“I have a theory.” You pant, huffing and puffing as you struggle to keep up with Aaron Hotchner, your boss and King of Quarter-Zips. 

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” He replies over his shoulder, and you resent how even his voice sounds after 6 miles. Six. Fucking. Miles.

“I think you’re evil. I think you’re an evil little man with evil little powers who magically coerced me into training for this stupid marathon with you.”

Hotch laughs, and your resentment grows. If you laughed right now you would probably pass out.

“And why, do you theorize, would I use my assuredly limited powers to make myself listen to you complain all morning, every morning?”

“Because you’re obsessed with me. You can’t get enough of me. You would hear me give a four hour lecture on my favorite sedimentary rock if it meant you could hear my sweet, sweet voice.” You tease, and Hotch looks at you, two-thirds amused, one-third… something else.

Your profiling game was off this morning.

“Whatever you say, (Y/L/N).” He retorts, and you groan.

“Can you please, please, please stop calling me by my last name? It makes me feel like a high school football player.”

“Fine, (Y/N).” He says cheekily, dragging your name out in a way that makes your stomach twirl.

“Okay, well, since you’re in such a compliant mood do you think we could stop running? And then also never run ever again?” Hotch laughs again, and his good mood lifts your spirits. It always does. He checks his watch graciously.

“Five minute break.” He says, and you immediately fall onto a nearby bench. Hotch joins you but doesn’t sit, taking this time to stretch a bit.

“(Y/N), you should also use this time to-”

“No.” You say with a smile, letting the light breeze cool your overheated face.

“But-”

“Hotch?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut. Up.”

He hits his foot against yours, more of a playful nudge than a kick, and you bask in the short moment of contact.

You secretly love running with Hotch. The actual running part is… eh. But the Hotch part is great. You can rarely convince him to spend time with the team outside of work, so you jumped at the opportunity when he offered to train with you for the next marathon. But it also made you wonder.

“Hotch?” You ask again, cracking your eyes open. His body is blocking most of the annoying morning sun shining onto you, and you fleetingly wonder if he was doing that on purpose.

Hotch nods to show he’s listening even as his fiddles with his fancy running watch.

“You know Morgan runs, right?” You ask casually, fiddling with the hem of the oversized t-shirt you wore with your favorite leggings. Hotch looks up.

“Uh, yeah. I think I remember him mentioning it. Why?” He says, uber casual. You shrug.

“I’m just wondering why you chose to train with me when I obviously slow you down.”

“You don’t slow me down-”

“Oh, please. Remember the day I had a cold and couldn’t get up that morning? I heard you telling JJ how much you ran. I can’t get close to that on my best day.”

“Well, that’s why. Challenging you challenges me.”

“That makes literally no sense, but alright big guy. I’m ready to keep going.” You say, standing up despite the pain in your legs.

“We don’t have to if you’re too tired.” Hotch’s voice sounds distant all of a sudden.

“No, I really don’t mind. As long as you buy me breakfast after. Let’s go. We’ll run to the Capitol building and then back around to the smoothie place you like.”

 You start off without him, focusing on the sound of your feet hitting the pavement. You hear him trailing after you, and you run the crosswalk to the National Mall, the sand and small rocks crunching under your feet as you brave the rectangle of pain.

Hotch, of course, passes you easily, and after a bit you’re back to lagging 20 feet behind him. It rained fairly hard last night, and the ground is slushy like half melted snow. As Hotch turns in front of the Capitol Building, you opt for the marble-esque surface that separates the grass from the sand in an attempt to cut a bit of the corner.

You regret your decision immediately. The damp toe of your running shoe catches on the white material and you slip, your body slamming into the ground not two seconds later. You break your fall with your forearms, but the sting of gravel digging into your skin makes you wince.

“(Y/N)!” You hear a voice call, and now you officially want to die. You had briefly forgotten about your boss, your crush, the witness to your awkward fall. But now he was right in front of you, squatting down to make sure you’re okay. So you do what you always do when you find yourself in a painfully awkward situation.

You laugh.

It’s loud, and some of the other 6 am joggers shoot you odd looks. But it seems to make some of Hotch’s worry dissolve.

“You okay?” He asks with a small smile. Grabbing your hand to help you up. You nod, still giggling, and ignore the way your hand feels like it’s been set ablaze.

“Yeah, I’m fi-”

Except you don’t get to finish your sentence. Hotch takes a step back as he pulls you up and his foot makes contact with the same demon marble from which you met your demise. He slips backwards, yanking you with him.

You fall back together, fortunately hitting the grass. Hotch is under you to break your fall, which is a good thing until you realize you’re on top of him, one leg slotted between his.

Hotch clearly had the breath knocked out of him, and he groans, which, okay. It is clearly not the time for a noise like that.

“Oops.” You say, moving to get off of him. As you adjust yourself, you find your face is positioned directly over his, just inches apart.

How cliche.

Hotch, regaining his bearings, looks right into your eyes. You stop breathing for a moment. It isn’t often you get a free opportunity to just look at Hotch, but both of you have stopped moving. You admire his dark eyes, his slightly flushed cheeks, his strong nose. You wonder if he’s admiring anything about you.

(He is.)

You snap out of your reverie and realize how uncomfortable you must be making your superior feel.

“Sorry, sorry,” You say, embarrassed, and roll over to the side as gracefully as you can manage. You’re off of him but your thigh is still pressed against his hip, so you go to scooch away. He gently grabs your wrist before you can, however. Your breath catches as he runs his thumb over the irritated skin where you arm hit the ground.

“You know why I really invited you to train with me?” He asks, seemingly resigned to just… being on the ground now. You twist towards him and adjust so you’re sitting cross-legged, curiosity piqued.

“Why?”

Hotch sighs and makes a face. It’s the same face he makes when he’s about to say something he really doesn’t want to say.

“I wanted to see you. Outside of work. I just… I never had an excuse.”

You frown, confused, “We always invite you out with us. You never come.” You say, not in a mean way, because it’s just the truth.

Hotch falters and props himself up on his elbows. He isn’t looking at you anymore, his eyes steadily trained on the building before us.

“I don’t want to see you in a crowded bar surrounded by our coworkers. I wanted- I wanted to be alone with you.” He confesses, and you freeze. 

“What do you mean?” You say quietly. Because you think you know what he means. But you need him to tell you what he means because if he doesn’t mean what you think he means you’ll fling yourself into the Tidal Basin.

“(Y/N), I know you aren’t oblivious, and I know I’m not subtle. I’ve liked you since you first walked in the door to the BAU.” He says, finally, and you want to cry and dance and-

and kiss him. 

Which you should probably do, since Hotch has obviously taken your silence as rejection and looks like a kicked puppy. 

So you pull him in by the collar of his quarter-zip, kissing him enthusiastically on the mouth. He responds after a moment of brain failure, placing one hand on your thigh and the other on your waist. You know it must look ridiculous for two fully grown FBI agents to be making out like teenagers on the lawn of the National Mall before 7 a.m., but you couldn’t care less. Because it was you and Hotch, a glowing light after all these years of pain and loss and longing. You pull away after a long while, both of you giddy and smiley and bright-eyed.

“You too?” He asks like he can hardly believe it.

“Of course me too, always me too,” you respond, “even when you make me run.”

He laughs, kissing you again, to which you respond enthusiastically. Hotch pulls away and moves his mouth close to your ear.

“We have some onlookers at three o’clock.” He murmurs, and you slowly turn your head to see two girls, not older than 20, trying to enjoy their picnic barely 15 feet away. One of the girls scoffs.

“And people think we’re weird.” She says. The other girl nods, and they go back to eating their breakfast. You laugh.

“Okay, yeah, maybe they have a point.” You say, getting up and brushing the grass off the back of your t-shirt. Hotch does the same.

“Okay, so what do you say, two more miles before the smoothie place?” He asks, and you laugh in disbelief.

“You never learn, do you? No. We’re walking, let’s go.” You say, grabbing his hand because you can now. He surrenders, entwining your fingers and swing you arm slightly as you stroll. 

“Aaron?” You ask, trying on the unfamiliar name for size.

“Yes, (Y/N?)”

“Now that you don’t need an excuse to see me, do we still have to do the marathon?” You ask, tone casual. Hotch laughs and bumps his shoulder against yours. 

“(Y/N), (Y/N). Have you no shame? Actually, don’t answer that.” He says.

“I”m not hearing a no.” You say. 

“We’ll talk about it. Later.” But he kisses you on the forehead, so you take it as a win either way. 

(You end up agreeing to run the marathon. It’s awful and hot and long but when it’s over Hotch is still there with you, kissing you and smiling and promising that you never have to run again in your life. So you think it’s worth it.)

[faunusrights]

if it’s a gentleman’s sport then why am i, ruby rose, so good at it? - snooker au

i straight up started writing this at like 11:45pm on my phone directly onto tumblr before i passed out for the night. is this garbage. yes. do i care. no. this is a part of the snooker au i’ve joked about before, which is a winter/ruby Sports Anime-Esque adventure into one of my favourite niche sports, up there with professional air hockey and rally. snooker is good! you should check it out! it’s like pool but more confusing, and you have to wear a waistcoat whilst you play it. i don’t make the rules, i merely enforce them.

///

“I never thought I’d say this,” Blake says out of nowhere, and their eyes are going sort of wide with the realisation, catching on the golden lights of the hall and glimmering a soft amber, “but I actually think I’m compelled by this horseshit.”

Weiss sighs so hard that it sounds more like a wheeze, but Ruby’s already overjoyed, turning towards Blake and Weiss with her cue held overhead, readying a cheer. “I knew it! I told you! Snooker is so good, right?”

Weiss had known coming to Patch’s single snooker hall to watch Ruby practise had been a bad idea for myriad reasons, the chief of which was that Ruby is almost certainly on a crash-course with Weiss’s older sister as she climbs the precarious ranks at an almost flippant pace, but the second was that the last thing she needs is for her datemate to find literally anything interesting in a sport about knocking balls together. Tragically, Weiss has always been somewhat adjacent to snooker given its status as the Gentleman’s Sport and its broad appeal in Atlas, and she’d hoped vaguely supporting her sister’s career whilst also strategically moving herself to Vale meant Weiss would never have to interact with it or any of its players again. Alas...

“It’s deceptively simple,” Blake muses aloud, and Yang tuts from where she’s stood at the opposite end of the snooker table, waiting for Ruby to take her turn.

“Yeah, and deceptively slow when your opponent needs to take five minutes to brag about it between shots. Chop chop, Ruby, we’re not hanging around here all day.”

Ruby pouts, making a show of rounding the table to eye up her angles. “But it’s so fun to talk about! It’s, like, ASMR the sport! And what with all the strategy and the thinking ahead, it’s like... it’s like... ball chess!”

Weiss facepalms. “Maidens have mercy.”

“I’m not wrong,” Ruby insists. “It’s exactly like chess. Ball chess.”

“It is a lot like chess,” Yang admits, and Weiss is glad she looks about as glum about it as Weiss feels. Blake, unfortunately, still looks horribly captivated. What a disaster.

“Ball chess,” Weiss repeats, and it hurts her to even say. “My sister would tie your spine in a knot for that one.”

Ruby snorts, but she finally leans over the table, eyeing up the distant black that Yang had missed. It’s a long pot — Yang had tried to get the cue ball to safety and had failed that endeavour, too, managing the distance but not the snooker — but Ruby doesn’t even hesitate before lining herself up, eyes focusing between her target and her goal before striking true, the cue ball sailing smooth down the table... before it catches the angle just so, the black knocked into the corner pocket with such ease she may as well have picked up the damn thing and dropped it in herself. The cue bounces off the foot cushion before rolling to a calculated stop for an angle on the next red, and Ruby nods appreciatively before turning back to Weiss with a grin, Yang quick to replace the black onto its spot at the bottom of the table.

“Yeah, but she’s gonna have to be nice to me. Way I see it, we’ll first meet in the hall during, like, semi-finals or whatever. Gotta have manners, Weiss.”

“She’ll obliterate you,” Weiss fires back, because she might not care for snooker but she’s Winter’s number one fan hell or high water, and that means tossing out the threats. “As soon as you miss, she’ll clear the table and wipe the floor with you.”

Yang makes a wriggly hand gesture at that. “I dunno. Your sister’s pretty fucking methodical, but I’ve yet to see anyone put Ruby in a position she can’t cheese her way out of. I don’t think you can actually, like, snooker her in a way that matters.”

“It’s trajectories,” Ruby cuts in as she lines up her next shot on the red — there’s only two remaining after this, and Yang’s score is lagging dangerously behind with Ruby’s determined focus to keep herself centred on the black. “Even then, you just have to get fancy with your curves. A snooker is just when your shot isn’t a hundred-percent chance, but I can do a lot with ninety.”

At that, she sinks the red, the cue ball puttering its way back around to give her another straight shot on the black to the opposite corner pocket. Yang’s already losing the will to live, it seems. Weiss can’t blame her. Blake, however, seems more interested than ever. “So, Winter’s methodical and you’re... what, spontaneous?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Ruby answers, shaking her head. “It’s more like... since we’re calling this ball chess—“ (“No we’re not,” Weiss interjects to no avail) “—it’s more like Winter’s one of those chess players who knows all the strats, right? Like, uh, Queen’s Gambit or Fool’s Mate or whatever the shit they’re called. So long as every move goes to plan, she’s pretty much unstoppable. Me? I’m like one of those kids who gets a Rubik’s Cube and then completely ignores all the instructions. Like, I totally mess it up before I solve it anyway.”

“Which Ruby has done before,” Yang adds solemnly, and Ruby grins.

“Which I have done before! So, with Winter, as long as she doesn’t miss the pot or fuck up her safety, it’s her game. But I like the unexpected! I like being jammed into a new situation and figuring it out from there. It means I adapt a whole lot better then I fuck up and miss my shot, or the cue doesn’t end up where I planned.”

Blake nods, doing that thing where they sit up straight and cross their arms because they’re getting really quite engaged with the matter, and Weiss hasn’t yet found the inner strength to tell them it makes them look like a carbon copy of their father. “Polar opposites, then?”

“I guess,” Ruby shrugs. “Like, if you give her an inch she’ll take the mile, but if she screws up, she’s gonna have to work hard to put me somewhere I can’t crawl out of again.”

This is why Ruby’s nickname in these halls is The Escape Artist, and it’s the entire reason Weiss absolutely does not, in any capacity, want Ruby and Winter to play against each other. It’ll either be a match that’ll end in as few frames as physically possible, or a match that goes on until Weiss crumbles into fucking dust, and the odds are so 50/50 that she doesn’t like the look of either of them.

It would help if Ruby stopped being so fucking good at snooker, potting the black again with such ease that it’s like breathing at this point. Yang hisses between her teeth, and Ruby raises a brow as she stands up again.

“It’s ungentlemanly conduct to quit a game before you gotta do snookers,” Ruby points out, and Yang scowls.

“Ruby, I have done the maths, and there is not a chance in hell I’m winning now. The day I manage to get points off you missing is the day hell opens up and swallows me whole,” Yang says, though she doesn’t move to quit just yet, still holding onto her cue despite the knowledge it’s no good to her now. “Just clear the table so we can go and get lunch.”

“We could do that,” Ruby agrees. And then, she swings her head around to look at Weiss with an obnoxious grin. “Unless...”

“Ruby Rose,” Weiss snarls, “if you intentionally miss this final red just to keep this game on life support, I will end you.”

[cherrytoru]

A Letter For You

also titled: Five Times Yaku Said I love You & When They Said It Back

Word Count: 2.4 K

 Pronouns: they/them

warnings: swearing, a little bit of angst, currently unedited

Authors Note: this is my second time posting this cause tumblr decided to delete it last time. also apologise of the lack of a read more for some reason tumblr won’t let me add it right now.

tags: @thembo-for-anime @ohayoposts (uhh tagging you so you can get your yaku fix-)

Number One: Hasty Confessions

Yaku Morisuke was lot of things, late was not one of them. But alas here he is, running faster than he ever has in his life. Okay maybe that one is a stretch.

As he ran towards the club room he racked his brain for a logical reason of how he ended up in this situation. His alarm was set. And so was his back up. Hell even his back up’s back up was on. So why was he sprinting to Nekoma 20 minutes later than he should have arrived?

Yaku didn’t really have an excuse. All he really knew was that he was late and starving. He also knew that the chances of him getting to eat before lunch were slim to none.

“Yakkun!” He turned his head to where the sound was coming from. Standing by the club door was Y/N, waving at him a small smile on their lips. “There you are! I was starting to get worried.”

He let out a breathy laugh. “I slept through my alarm by accident.” He sheepishly replied rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well don’t keep the team waiting, they need their libero, silly.” And with that they pushed him into the club room, closing the door behind him to allow him privacy.

Yaku let out a sign of relief when he walked into the gym. No one seemed to ridicule him for showing up late. He quickly stretched and got to work receiving with Lev.

Practice went on as normal despite his late entrance. He yelled at Lev for failing to receive the ball. Kuroo laughed and poked fun at the pair. And seemingly as soon as it started it was over.

A knock resonated from the door of the club room. “Are ya decent?” Y/n yelled with a slight laugh.

“Yeah yeah you’re good creep.” Kuroo laughed out as Y/N creaked open the door.

“Yaku are you good?” He perked up at the mention of his name, a slight blush dusting his cheeks realizing you where staring at him questioningly.

“Huh? Uh what?”

“You’re tie?” He looked down the the crooked knot which donned his neck. They stalked towards him, hands reaching out to pull the knot undone.

Fingers making quick work of the loose fabric. “Thanks.” He flushed again.

They nodded quickly grabbing his blazer and handing it to him. “Let’s go.” They walked back towards the door but paused, hand stopped on the handle. “Don’t need you being late again.”

Yaku sat at his desk feeling nauseous. The lack of food in his system finally catching up to him. Dropping his head down on to the desk hoping it would all just go away.

Soft footsteps made there way in his direction before stopping in front of his desk. “Yakkun.” The soft voice didn’t register as his beloved manager at first.

An annoyed groan paired with an overly annoyed face came out of the libero’s mouth. As soon as he looked up his face softened at the sight of Y/N. “Are you feeling alright?”

The paled skin and clear look of discomfort on his face where answer enough for the manager. Silently They placed a tin and bottle of water onto his desk.

Opening the tin Yaku was greeted by an arrangement of fruit. He quickly picked up the utensil from the side of the tin and started to shovel the fruits into his mouth. Y/N smiled to themself seeing him more relaxed than he had previously been.

Yaku looked up at them, words fall from his mouth quicker than he could think them over “Thank you, Y/N. I love you.” To Y/N it seemed like he hadn’t even realized what he had said as he went straight back to eating.

“Of course, Yakkun.” They muttered leaning down to place a kiss on his cheek. Although they walked out too quickly to see the red flame filling his cheeks.

Number Two: Sleepy Confessions

The second time Yaku muttered the words “I love you” Y/N was after he suffered yet another sleepless night.

He could count on one hand the hours of sleep he managed to catch last night. No matter what he tried he just couldn’t manage to peacefully fall into slumber.

He’s movements were lagged, and his receives were off. Despite all this no one commented on how he was in fear of irking him.

An all to familiar knock rang at the door. Y/N walked in to make sure the lingerers of the team where finishing up. A look of soft concern was thrown to Yaku, but they decided not to press the matter right now. He was still getting changed after all.

Although that didn't stop them from sliding a coffee across his desk where he laid with his head down once again.

“Yakkun? Can you drink this for me?” He peered up at his manager in front of him looking at him with a sympathetic smile.

He nodded with a small smile, cracking the can open and taking a sip. “Did you not get enough sleep last night?” they frowned.

“I just couldn’t seem to fall asleep is all...” He looked down into the can almost as if it would magically wake him up more.

“Alright, I’ll see you at lunch Yakkun.” they stood up from the seat they had previously resigned in and ruffled his fair. His leaning into their hand didn’t go unnoticed and resulted in them smiling to themself.

Lunch came quickly much to Yaku’s enjoyment as he found himself surrounded by his friends. He also found himself significantly more drowsy than he was just a few hours earlier. The coffee Y/N had given him doing seemingly nothing at this point.

“Yaku-senpai you look tired are you okay?” Lev questioned.

Yaku sighed shaking his head slightly, taking another bite of the onigiri in his hand. Soft eyes fell upon him and small hands gestured towards him.

Quietly he shuffled and his head found its way onto their lap. A sigh of content managed to slip past his lips as he started to drift off. Lev stifled a giggle as Y/N sent a glare his way, a silent warning to let Yaku sleep.

Nimble fingers found their way into his hair. sifting and lightly tugging in hopes of allowing him to rest peacefully even if it was just for a few minutes.

Yaku muttered a few words of affirmation to continue their ministrations. In his lulled state he mumbled daring words causing all but Y/N to freeze.

“Mmm... I love you...” A small contented smile plastered on his face.

Number Three: Rushed Confessions

The third time Yaku confessed to Y/N it was pouring down rain and he had forgotten his umbrella.

From inside the gym the rain sounded more like an army coming to attack than the thunderstorm that was correctly predicted for today.

A loud laugh resonated from the opposite side of the gym where Kuroo sat next to Y/N and Kenma. He stared at the group with admiration in his eyes, although he cleverly masked it with faux annoyance on his face. “Stop being so loud Kuroo.” He shunned.

“Awe don’t be mean Yakkun.” Y/N teased playfully, “C’mere doofus.”

Yaku trekked towards the group and placed himself next to Y/N. Without saying anything they wrapped their arm around him and pulled him towards their shoulder where he placed his head.

After a few more minutes Kuroo and Kenma left, the former holding up his umbrella for the two in hopes that the latter’s game wouldn’t get ruined.

So there the two sat. cuddled together as the rain pounded down atop the roof of the gym. Neither made any effort to move. If you where to ask either of them they would have quickly dismissed their staying. A readied excuse of “oh we forgot our umbrellas so we’re just waiting out the storm” at the tip of their tongues.

For Yaku it wouldn’t be a lie. He hadn’t heeded the warnings of the storm from the news broadcast early on in the morning. He had a long walk and it would be even longer with walking Y/N home to insure their safety. And what gentleman would he be if he didn’t offer his umbrella to protect them from the rain. So instead he opted for sitting with them in the quiet gym.

For Y/N it was as from from the truth as possible. They always kept an extra umbrella in the club room for situations just like these. And even if they didn’t they could have just asked Lev if they could have their umbrella back so they could make the journey home without threat of water in their hair or coat. But instead they let the white lie slip past their lips in hopes of spending time with Yaku.

Thirty more minutes past and the storm wasn’t letting up. Both were getting antsy from sitting so still. “Serve me a few?”

Y/N turned towards the boy sitting next to them. They hesitated, their serves have never be great and they worried that Yaku would be less than enthused when he saw how poor they truly were. “Okay.”

So they grabbed the ball bin from the closet and started. The serves weren’t the greatest but Yaku received every one. In stark contrast to the last time he haphazardly confessed his feelings for them. It was after a rather bad serve that Yaku let it slip once again.

“Man I love you..” He mumbled to himself as he watched Y/N sheepishly rub the back of their neck. a light blush dusted their cheeks, not from fudging the serve but because they had heard him. But he didn’t need to know that.

Number Four: Angry Confessions

The fourth time Yaku confessed he hated it. He hated it cause he hurt them and that’s the last thing he would have ever wanted to do.

It wasn’t uncommon for a teenager to go on dates. Yaku understood this but he couldn’t help but get angry when they happily gushed to some of their friends that Washio had asked them out.

He didn’t hate Washio. In fact at one point he would have said they could have been friends. But hearing the person who he had been so infatuated with called him Washio-kun lead every feeling of friendliness to leave his body. Instead being replaced with something he couldn’t describe. Kuroo could however, and he would describe it as pure, unadulterated jealousy.

Yaku wouldn’t come to terms with his jealousy until he was trying to have a conversation with Y/N but they kept checking their phone every few minutes. He had no way of knowing if they were texting Washio. In fact they were actually texting Bokuto about how while they appreciated the sentiment of Washio’s offer ultimately they turned him down because they care deeper for someone much closer to them.

Of course Yaku didn’t know this though and the buzzing of their phone was only making him more angry. And when they giggled down at heir phone, a look of admiration in their eye’s he snapped.

“Why do you keep texting him so fucking much?” shit.

“What?” The abrupt outburst startled them and as their phone clattered against the table Yaku realized he shouldn’t have said anything. But at this point he couldn’t stop.

“I’m trying to have a conversation with you and you keep fucking texting him!” Tears brimmed their eyes and threatened to spill at the harshness of Yaku’s words.

“Yakkun wait-”

“No.” He huffed “I can’t stand seeing you so fucking excited about Washio when I’m right fucking here.” They both were crying now.

Y/N didn’t know where Yaku’s words where coming from. He seemed happy when they had first told everyone that Washio had asked them out.

Yaku didn’t know how they weren’t able to notice the tight lipped smiles that he wore whenever they brought him up. How could they completely miss how much he cared about them. How in love with them he was.

But by the time Yaku had gotten out of his head Y/N was starting to walk out of his bedroom. “W-Wait! Y/N!” He scrambled up in an attempt to stop them from leaving.

They wanted too. They really did but they didn’t want him to see that tears that streamed down their face knowing how they would effect him. So they kept walking. “Wait please!” He panicked. He never wanted to make you upset. “Please... I love you...”

Number Five: Letter Confessions

It had been a week. A week since he had yelled at them. A week since he had hurt them. He knew they wouldn’t speak to him. He didn’t blame them for it. He couldn’t text them . It wouldn’t feel as sincere as he wants.

So he did the next best thing. He wrote a letter. A letter detailing every feeling he felt for them. He poured out his heart and soul and hoped that it would be enough for them to at least forgive him for lashing out.

After several hours and several crumpled papers later, he entrusted the safety of the letter in the hands of their favorite first year. Much to his own displeasure.

When Lev appeared in the door frame of their classroom the other students whispered about the silver giant awkwardly looking for Y/N. When he spotted them, his face lit up and he shuffled his way towards the back of the room.

He quietly placed the red letter onto their desk. Anyone watching the scene unfold would have assumed the letter was from the first year. But they knew better, they recognized the lettering of their name atop the envelope. It wasn’t the first time Yaku had decided to apologize with a letter.

They sighed opening the envelope carefully, they would add it to their collection of letters previously sent. The apology was standard at first. Exactly what you’d expect when your best friend screamed at you for reasons unbeknownst to you.

The second half of the letter caught their attention though. No longer was it an apology but instead a confession. Yaku had written out exactly how he felt about his best friend simply ending the letter with “I love you, Yaku.”

Double Sided Confessions

Quickly Y/N forced themself out of their chair grabbing their bag and the letter running towards Yaku’s class.

“Morisuke.” They breathed out standing in front of him.

“I’m sorry.”

“Shut up already” They rolled their eyes and did the one thing they could think of doing. The one thing they’ve thought about doing for three years now. They kissed him. And he kissed them back.

“I love you too, Yakkun.”

[keanureevesisbae]

Caught in a Blizzard - Part 1

Summary: Luna is going to perform at the Graham Norton show, but little did she know that Chris Evans is going to be a guest as well.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Luna Hwang (Asian OFC)

Warnings: Mentions about sex and some alcohol

Wordcount: 4.5k

A/N: if you want to be on the taglist, just let me know! Also, I love to read your guys’ thoughts and feedback xx

Masterlist // Introduction // Part 2

Tonight I’m the musical guest on the Graham Norton show and I was too lazy to check who were going to be the other guests. I mean, I was severely jet lagged and a bit hungover, because they were serving some real good wine on the airplane and I might have finished an entire bottle and then some more sips from another bottle.

Normally my new agent Gia would be with me when I go to these types of things, to make sure everything is handled correctly and I’m up to date to the most important things, but since she has come down with a flu, just like her two youngest kids, she obviously stayed in New York. She told me I would be doing fine, however I wished that she was with me now, because she  could’ve told me that finishing that entire bottle of wine myself wasn’t exactly a good idea (I have no self control, that’s obvious) and mentally prepare me for the other guests.

Now I have exactly five minutes to prepare myself, because I have wasted at least thirty with hyperventilating.

Because of the tough weather, Viola Davis couldn’t be here unfortunately, which is a shame, because she herself is a whole new level of awesome. But on the couch sits the queen herself Reese Witherspoon and THE handsome ass Chris Evans is there as well!

I mean, I obviously have an unhealthy crush on him, because who wouldn’t? He is handsome, he is funny and he is exactly the type of man that I’d like to drag in my bed for some mature activities. Seeing him sitting right there, makes my heart do all sorts of different things. And I realize that when I’m going to join them, I have to sit next to him. I have to sit next to the man who thought that wearing grey plaid pants and a fitted sweater would be appropriate.

Normally I would’ve known who the guests are on the shows that I perform at when I was still with my group Brave Elegance, because we had agents and a few members that actually listened to them when stuff like this was being told. I relied on them mostly, because I was making sure I could perfect my performance, by practicing the dance moves and hum out my rap. Now I’m all by myself and the first time Gia is supposed to be with me, she is sick.

And now I have to eat up the consequences of my own stupid choices.

I wish there was a guide available, that could help me out with one of the biggest problems I have ever encountered in my life: how to NOT embarrass yourself in front of the Chris Evans?

‘So, I have a question,’ Graham Norton starts. ‘Our musical guest Luna is backstage and—’ The audience erupts into a loud applause and whistles. ‘Goodness me, I wasn’t even finished yet!’

The crowd starts to laugh and from the looks of it, Reese Witherspoon and Chris Evans are amused. I take another sip of my water, because my throat feels painfully dry.

‘What I was going to ask is if you two had heard from her,’ Graham continues.

‘I do, actually,’ Reese says. ‘My daughter was a huge fan of hers back when she was in Brave Elegance. I went to three concerts of them actually.’

‘Oh, so you know quite a bit about her?’ Graham asks.

Reese nods. ‘Yes, I do. Back when she was in the band, my daughter was such a big fan of hers. Even had posters of her in her room. I do know that she is really killing the game with her solo projects.’

‘She totally is,’ Chris Evans says. ‘I downloaded her album the second it came out. I loved it.’

I think I forget how to breath. He downloaded my album? Holy crap, this isn’t helping with my nerves.

‘Really?’ Graham asks. ‘I never thought you were the type of guy that would listen to her songs, if I’m being honest.’

‘Well, my niece was a Fairy once, so I knew about the existence of them and heard some songs. But I only started to get really invested in their music during their Golden Globe performance, little did I know that that was going to be one of their last performances. A shame really, I was ready to become a Fairy.’

The Chris Evans Captain America Chris Evans was ready to become part of the fanbase? Oh shit, is this how it feels to have an out of body experience? How am I supposed to act normal after this?’

‘Really?’ Graham asks with a smile. ‘Well lucky you then that she is going to perform here.’

A woman ushers me with her and I follow her through the tiny halls. It’s nearly time for me to get on stage, but how am I going to deal with this? The sound is pretty loud, so I continue to hear what is being said.

‘She has something,’ Reese continues. ‘Like she forces you to watch her. My daughter once showed me a compilation of her on the X-Factor and I was genuinely impressed. She was only seventeen and knew exactly how to pull the audience in. Amazing.’

‘Please, everybody, please give it up for the one and only Luna!’

The audience start to clap and whistle, causing me to smile. I always love it when I hear the whistles and the screams of fans. Graham holds out his hand and I kindly take it, but all of the sudden I feel a little self-conscious about my tight red dress and my over knee boots, but I can’t change now. I must hold my breath the entire time I’m sitting my ass on that couch.

I shake hands with Reese Witherspoon, who compliments me on my outfit and tells me I’m so pretty. Why is this woman such a nice lady?

I quickly wipe my palm when I have to shake Chris Evans’ hand. When I’m with my producers or even back when I was still with the girls from Brave Elegance, I’d tell them how Chris Evans literally bite me wherever he wants, choke me during sex and that every hole I have is right there for him to use.

Now I’m standing in front of him and those things have turned into nothing but idle talk.

I somehow manage to extend my hand without shaking like an idiot an he holds mine in his large one. Oh my, those fingers… Imagine them insi— No, Luna, don’t even go there. You are in public!

‘It’s so nice to meet you, Luna,’ he says with a charming smile and me knees nearly give out. His eyes are glued on me and oh my, he is even more handsome from up close.

‘Yeah, it’s nice to meet you too.’ Okay, good, I managed to say seven words to him, in an acceptable order. Progress!

I sit on the left end of the couch, next to Chris Evans and I sure hope the microphone doesn’t pick up on my heartbeat, since I can feel it beating with a force that it actually hurts me.

‘Luna, I’m so happy that you’re here,’ Graham says.

‘Thank you for having me.’

‘Are you excited?’

I nod. ‘This is my first solo interview on television, so I’m a bit nervous, but other than that, I’m very excited. I just hope that I won’t say anything stupid.’

‘You probably won’t,’ Graham says and I don’t feel necessarily assured. ‘I have to say, Luna, you are such an interesting woman.’

‘Is that good or bad?’ I ask.

‘Well, I mean,’ he says, looking at his cards. ‘At the young age of seventeen, you participate in the X-Factor, didn’t win, but did gain four friends. Is it hard to now do your own stuff?’

I think well about this question. Our disbandment was quite messy, though the public doesn’t know about that. The reason we split up was because of the amounts of jealousy between the members and… Me actually. I miss my members every single day and I wish that they were here with me. But I have to realize, that the disbandment was all my fault and if I was just a team player back then, I would still have them around me.

‘It’s hard to be by myself, sometimes. I mean, I have dancers with me, but… It’s different. It can’t be compared to being with four amazingly talented girls with the same dream. So yeah, it’s hard, because I have to figure out how I’m going to do it alone. We were together for six years non stop, so it’s kinda weird.’

‘Your disbandment came as a huge surprise. Did you guys knew that you were going to disband soon?’

‘Well, 2018 was really a rollercoaster of a years and the after shocks of that, went with us to 2019. We were all kind of struggling with our psychical and mental health. I won’t really go into details for the rest of the girls, but I was hospitalized for two months, because I totally overworked myself. Being in a group is hard work and our record label was really putting a lot of pressure on us and after six years, it can be hard to keep up. So, our last two performances… We didn’t really say that it were the last, but deep down we all pretty much knew, you know?’

‘Right… You are the only one that is continuing in the music industry. How come?’

‘Well,’ I say, ‘it’s the only thing I’m good at and I love to do it. I love interacting with fans, being on stage. My new record label is really laid back and they continue to say that we are going at my pace, that my health is the most important and I shouldn’t overwork myself ever, so that really is comforting and I know it’s for the best.’

Graham nods and asks: ‘Did you know that Chris Evans was ready to become a Fairy?’

I shake my head. ‘No, I didn’t.’

‘Tell us, Chris, what was your favorite song and maybe Luna can sing a bit for you.’

I’m going to fucking vomit. Is this truly happening? I bet Gia is watching this right now (or tomorrow, since she is still sick) and she is going to laugh her ass off, just like all the producers and God who knows. I just know.

I carefully look to the side and see Chris Evans smirking. Seeing it in gifs is such an experience, but seeing it in real life… Goodness me.

‘I truly loved ‘You Know, He Did It Too’, especially because it showed how society is really fucked up. It takes two people, but of course only the woman in this story gets the blame, which is not fair.’

‘I’m not going to sing that,’ I say to Graham. ‘Or rap my part.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because…’ I can’t even think of a very good reason to not do it.

‘Come on,’ he coaxes me. ‘When can you say that you rapped in front of Chris Evans? Captain America!’

I sigh, knowing I can’t get out of this.

Remember Bieber, had that fever?

You tiny man, you fucked it up

You should come clean

No need to fake

Your fiancé leave you no matter what

So be a man, suck it up

Take the blame, she ain’t alone.

You little fucker, just spit it out

We do this over and over

Till we fucked up your entire career

‘Damn!’ Graham exclaims. ‘We all watched the news obviously and knew what happened, but you really didn’t hold back with the rap.’

‘Well, funny story,’ I say, ‘originally we wanted the song to be a diss track to society, for only blaming the girl. But then he released a statement, saying that he had nothing to do with it, that she was seducing him and basically that it wasn’t his fault. So that’s when I got mad and changed the entire rap.’

‘Dragging him,’ Chris Evans adds.

I chuckle, feeling all too happy that I can agree with Chris Evans on this. ‘Yeah, dragging him.’

‘I love this,’ Graham says. ‘So, you were just out of high school when you auditioned for X-Factor.’

‘Right,’ I say.

‘You wrote all your raps by yourself. Did you write songs back then?’

I nod. ‘They weren’t any good. I started with really bad poetry and that turned into cringy songs, that were trying to be deep, but it high school cringe. Thanks to the mentors on the X-Factor I was taught about flow and beat and all that good stuff. So I’m really grateful for that.’

Reese says: ‘What always surprised me, was how the raps you wrote matched the songs you girls were performing. But you did that all by yourself, with some help of the mentors?’

I nod. ‘You know, our time being on the X-Factor was hard, but it was so worth it. I feel like my song writing skills have improved over time and I do hope that the album showed my best writing skills and rap skills and sing and dance.’

‘You sure did,’ Graham says. ‘Can you tell us a little about who one of your songs is inspired on?’

I shake my head. ‘My songs aren’t necessarily inspired by anyone or any event really.’ Then I realize that I’m lying. ‘Wait, that is not true. One of my songs was sort of inspired on someone.’

‘I want the details,’ Graham says without skipping a beat, ‘and I want them now. Spill.’

‘Well, Ditch The Boys, Use Your Toys is inspired on someone I had sex with, back in the X-Factor days. We were already going to the next round as Brave Elegance. I had heard some rumors that he was pretty great in bed, causing me to think that if I ever had sex with him, it was going to be mind-blowing, so I had pretty high expectations.’

Graham nods, making it obvious he is really interested in hearing the rest of the story. I look at Reese and Chris, who have amused smiles on their faces.

‘I think we were two minutes into the foreplay, when he… You know… Can I say this on television?’

The host shrugs. ‘I have no idea and I honestly don’t care. I want to know how this story ends, though I might have an idea.’

I chuckle. ‘Well, he penetrates me and I’m like, oh, okay, he really wants to have sex with me. Obviously I was a bit flattered, but I think it took less than thirty seconds before he came  already and made really loud and weird noises. And I was confused, because for starters, he came real quick, but I also didn’t understand why so many girls were raving about him. Then, this guy looks me right in the eye and has the audacity to ask me if I enjoyed it as much as he did.’ My eyes widen, while I hold out my hands, as the audience starts to laugh.

‘I really want to know what you said to that,’ Chris Evans says, who seems to enjoy my story a lot.

‘So I stared at him,’ I continue my story. ‘And I said: “Well, if we were trying to be in the Guinness book of World Records for fastest male ejaculation during sexual intercourse, sure, but I wasn’t aware that we were going for a world record”.’

Graham starts to laugh, Reese places her hands on her face to hide her visible gasp and Chris Evans places his hand on his chest while he laughs, a trait that I love with all my heart.

‘But on top of that,’ I go on, ‘he got mad and said that I was an ungrateful bitch for not being happy we had sex.’

Reese scoffs. ‘What an idiot.’

‘So anyways, it was during our X-Factor days, so I got dressed and told him I was going back to my dorm and masturbate, because I obviously couldn’t count on him for some pleasure. Fast forward to two weeks later. We’re waiting for our dance training and the teacher wasn’t there yet and this time around there weren’t camera’s to film anything. So me and some other girls were chatting about orgasms and stuff like that, as one does. Since this said guy was like a few feet away from us and had been telling the other competitors that I was a slut and ungrateful and all, I decided to take my change. I say in a pretty loud voice: “Well, if you want orgasms, you have to skip on sex with… Let’s call him Peter,’—his name was Cole Springs, but I’m not totally heartless and he is doing pretty okay in the country music industry now, so I don’t want to ruin his reputation entirely—‘you have to skip on sex with Peter, because he’ll nut inside of you within thirty seconds. You better ditch that boy and use your toy, because no orgasms for you when having sex with him. So that song was heavily based on someone.’

‘I’m so glad I asked that question,’ Graham says in a giddy voice, causing the rest of the audience and Chris Evans and Reese Witherspoon to laugh as well. ‘I admire you, Luna,’ he adds. ‘You really have the guts to sing about these topics.’

Chris Evans nods. ‘I totally agree.’

‘What is in stores for Luna?’ Graham asks. ‘What can we expect?’

I lean back in the couch. What can they expect? I never thought that far ahead. I was just thinking about promotions for this album. ‘Hopefully a world tour one day,’ I say. ‘I am still working on expanding my back up crew, but I want everyone to feel represented, you know? So, that’s totally what I’m working on and for the rest… I think just more music, more controversies, because it turns out that’s what I do best.’

‘I’m here for it,’ Graham says. ‘Is it hard to sing about certain topics like sex, masturbation and female empowerment?’

I shrug. ‘I feel like someone should do it,’ I admit. ‘I know that people—especially men—have certain opinions about it, but you know… I feel that there is someone out there, that listens songs and feels a bit empowered and that’s all I care about.’

Chris nods. ‘I admire you,’ he says, causing the audience to aww. ‘I bet it can be hard sometimes.’

Are we having a moment right now? I’m lost in his eyes for a few seconds. ‘Sometimes, yeah.’

Graham interrupts this whatever it was by asking if I’m ready to perform.

‘Oh, yeah, totally am.’

‘Please give it up for Luna, who is going to sing a mashup of Inside and Silky Ribbon!’

✘ ✘ ✘

‘You have one new message,’ the robotic voice of the woman says when I want to check my voicemail on my phone. I’m at a pretty chill bar, with a nice bartender who gave me two drinks on the house already, since he liked my album and my appearance on the Graham Norton show.

‘Luna, what the actual fuck?’ Look at that. Cole Springs decided to call me. ‘Do you honestly need to tell that fucking story on television? I already got five texts from people who either ask me if this is about me or simply know it’s about me.’

I click the voicemail away mid sentence, since I really can’t use this right now. I already feel tired and like shit, no need for Cole Springs to make things even worse. ‘Could I have one more please?’ I ask with a pout, as I push my empty glass to the bartender.

‘Sure thing,’ he says. ‘Who was that on your voicemail?’

‘Cole Springs.’

‘The boyband member gone country boy?’

I nod. ‘He wasn’t all too happy I exposed him like that.’

‘That was the Peter in the story?’ The bartender’s laugh fills up the entire bar. ‘This is amazing. He looks like the type of guy that would nut in two seconds.’

I can’t help but laugh, as I feel the vodka already making me feel a bit lightheaded. That feeling however doesn’t stop me from drinking up some more. I stare outside and see that it’s snowing pretty heavily. I’m still wearing the outfit I wore to Graham Norton, but with the thickest coat worn over it. I know that I have to get back to my hotel, but for now I’ll just stall that moment and enjoy it here.

‘How long are you going to stay in London?’ the bartender asks.

‘Dunno, man. Think I’m heading home somewhere tomorrow or the day after that. I honestly don’t know. Normally Gia, my manager would be with me, but she’s sick now.’

The door opens and some guys are yelling something, but I’m too tired to look up. I place my head on my arms, hoping that I can gain some energy to go and hail a cab.

‘Hi there, can I have…’

I look up and see that Chris Evans is standing right next to me, ordering a drink. He looks really handsome, but that is pretty easy, since he is really handsome. Everything he does is simply breathtaking. I bet he has sex every weekend with someone else. I mean, I bet there is a line waiting to have sex with Captain America and I’m somewhere in that line too. ‘Hi,’ I say and he looks up, a smile appearing on his beautiful face when he recognizes me.

‘Hi, Luna, how are you?’

‘Tired and a bit annoyed though.’

‘Oh no.’ He sits on the stool next to me and his knee bumps against mine. ‘Tell me all about it.’

I start to rant about Cole Springs, exposing to Chris as well who the story was about and during that rant, I go on about my past, about the foster care system and how that is bothering me. I rub my face, not caring that my make-up is all smudged over and the alcohol that I just drank is really kicking in now.

‘I think I just have a kink for controversy, you know,’ I say, staring at me empty glass. ‘I love being in the spotlights for everything that is not exactly how it’s supposed to go. When I got arrested at that protest, boy, I liked the attention that got.’

Chris smiles. ‘Well, I hardly think what you do is that controversial. I think you are just a bit ahead of your time.’

‘That is so deep,’ I admit, absolutely in awe by him. ‘Wow, not only are you handsome, but you are pretty much an intellectual as well. You should consider writing. Bet it would be a bestseller.’

‘I think,’ Chris laughs, pulling the drink from my hands, ‘you’ve had enough to drink.’

‘No,’ I whine, but Chris gets out of his chair. ‘I’m boring you, aren’t I?’

‘Not at all, but I think you need to get back to your hotel,’ Chris says. ‘Hearing from your stories, you have to catch a flight tomorrow and I bet you don’t want to be completely hungover then.’

‘I was already hungover this morning,’ I say, sliding off the barstool. Chris holds up my coat and helps me to put it on. ‘I could use a cigarette, you know.’

‘I bet you do.’

I wrap my arm around his broad shoulders and with my other hand, I hold his face. I place my thumb on one cheek and the rest of my fingers on his other cheek. ‘You have such a beautiful face, that you could just lick and not regret it,’ I admit. ‘Has anyone told you that?’

He starts to chuckle. ‘Not with those exact words.’

‘Well,’ I continue, ‘have you ever read fan fiction about yourself?’ I don’t give him time to answer that question, as we walk out of the bar into the cold, Chris’ arm wrapped tightly around my waist. ‘I have,’ I say, ‘especially the real dirty ones. According to those stories, you know exactly how to please a woman. I bet you are really good in bed, a whole lot better than sweet Cole Springs. I bet you can last for hours.’

‘I sure hope so,’ he laughs.

‘Tell me, do you have sex with a new woman every other week? Because I was wondering that and personally, I’m gravitating towards yes, because honestly I think you are a walking sex machine.’

Chris holds out his hand to hail a cab and says: ‘No, I don’t actually. I barely have sex nowadays.’

‘Shut up!’ I yell. ‘No, no, no, that can’t be true.’ I wiggle myself out of his embrace and crouch down on the sidewalk. My fingers touch the snow, a cold sensation that makes me shiver. ‘What happened to the world that you, Chris Captain America Evans, barely has sex nowadays. If you don’t have sex, what is the rest of the world doing? Oh my, you poor thing.’

‘It’s really not that big of a deal, Luna,’ Chris laughs. He holds out his hands and says: ‘Come on, we need to get into the cab.’

‘You hailed a cab?’ I take ahold of his warm hands and jump up. ‘That is so cool. You are so talented.’

He helps me into the cab and I want to pull him on my lap, so he can sit comfortably there, but weirdly enough, he insists on walking around the cab and sitting next to me. ‘So, can you tell me where your hotel is?’

‘I don’t remember,’ I admit. ‘I barely remember anything that happened today. I was pretty hungover when I arrived here.’ I let myself fall to the side, placing my head on his legs. ‘Mister Evans, have you been working out?’ I squeeze his tight muscles in his thighs, admiring what’s in between my fingers. ‘Damn, I bet chicks love to ride your thighs.’

He burst out in laughter. ‘How much did you have to drink?’ he asks.

‘Just a few shots,’ I admit. ‘But I don’t really handle alcohol that great, to be honest. I’m wasted like that.’ I attempt to snap my fingers, but I fail miserably. My hands look for his and when I finally have one in my hand, I admire his beautifully shaped fingers. ‘You have lovely hands. You have spanked a girl’s ass with these? Or anyone’s ass for that matter’

He starts to laugh. ‘You are unbelievable,’ he says.

‘I’ve never been spanked,’ I confess. ‘I’d love that though. You know, I sing about sex a lot, but to be honest, I haven’t had proper sex in like a year. I mean, my toys do miracles, just like my hands and all. But I just want to have hot and heavy sex.’ I look up and hold out my hand, to touch his beautiful face. His beard pricks against my skin, but I’m not complaining at all.

In the background I hear Chris say something to me, but I close my eyes and fall asleep.

Taglist: @diegos-butt​

[artificialqueens]

Unexpected (but I'm worth it) (branjie) - writworm42

A/N: I wanted to write another virginity fic but this time a) lesbian, b) w V as the virgin. Because Holtz messaged me the other day and pointed out that 1st Position would be Excellent inspiration for a first time fic, and y'all know what? She was right, and she should say it

Title from 1st Position by Kehlani. THANK YOU HOLTZ for beta-ing and leaving me laughing so hard w ur comments fdhsfjkh LOVE U <3

Brooke can’t help but feel like something is very, very wrong.

It’s not that things are bad between her and Vanessa; on the contrary, they’re doing better than ever, better than any of Brooke’s previous relationships when they went this long. She and Vanessa see each other every week, cuddle and hold hands and kiss in public and feel secure when they don’t. They feel comfortable quadruple-texting, and safe not to text at all when they’re having a bad day. They’ve met each other’s friends, and for the past couple of weeks, Vanessa’s been hinting that she might want Brooke to be her date the next Mateo family reunion.

But Vanessa’s never spent the night, and as much as it wouldn’t bother Brooke normally, somehow lately, it’s felt… different. Like something has shifted, in the strangest of ways.

Brooke notices it first when they’re watching a movie together. A sex scene flashes across the screen, and Vanessa shifts in her seat, presses her legs together a little. But when Brooke asks if she’s turned on, teases her a little for it, Vanessa blushes and mumbles that Brooke should drop it. The next time Brooke feels the shift, it’s when they’re making out, and Vanessa grinds her hips into Brooke a little more aggressively than usual. Only the minute that Brooke responds by grinding back, Vanessa pulls away and apologizes, saying she needs a minute. And then there’s the time that Brooke brings up sex directly, telling a story she thinks is funny about an ex she thinks Vanessa doesn’t feel jealous of. Vanessa listens quietly, looking progressively more uneasy until Brooke skips to the end, and Vanessa looks relieved.

Something is definitely wrong, and whatever it is, it definitely has to do with sex.

“Why don’t you just ask her about it?” Scarlet sounds matter-of-fact on the phone, like it’s the easiest thing in the world, and Brooke feels a flash of irritation at the suggestion.

“ Because, ” she hisses, “There might be a reason she’s so touchy, and it might be really personal. We’ve only been dating for five months, Scarlet. Five months is so early to disclose some things! What if she’s touchy because she’s a survivor? Or has a social anxiety disorder? Or autism and she’s insecure about reading the signs of whether I’m ready for sex? Or has a phobia of sex or something? Those happen, you know, because of OCD or internalized homophobia or super strict upbringings…”

“Yeah, we know you have issues, Brooke, no need to project them onto Vanessa.” Scarlet scoffs, and Brooke has had it, she really has. It was a mistake to even bring it up, let alone with Scarlet. Sure, Scarlet is intelligent and creative, but the girl possesses the EQ of a gnat, and it’s very clear she won’t be of any help. She should have asked Nina, Nina would’ve been better—

“Have you considered that she might be insecure about sex because she’s still a virgin?”

Brooke stops in her tracks, the suggestion hitting her square in the face.

Of course. It explains why Vanessa seems to be hinting that she wants it, but then pulling back, and why she won’t spend the night. Why Vanessa looks like she wants to say something but can’t whenever Brooke makes a sexual joke at an ex’s expense.

God, Brooke is an idiot.

“I’m not saying you have to kick the door down and start screaming about autism or abuse or exposure therapy, girl.” Scarlet continues, and this time, Brooke listens. “I’m just saying, starting with a question and a disclaimer that she doesn’t need to tell you anything she doesn’t want to isn’t a bad thing. It’s good. Shows that you want to know what’s going on with her, make it better. Everyone should be so lucky to have someone like that in their life.”

Holy shit. If the suggestion that Vanessa may still be a virgin isn’t already enough to shake Brooke, the words that have just come from Scarlet’s mouth certainly are. Because Scarlet is right .

Brooke checks over her shoulder for flying pigs before turning back to the phone, still a little in awe at how obvious her friend’s advice is, how good it is. “You’re a genius, you know that?”

“Yeah, I do.” Scarlet’s voice is casual, but Brooke knows that she’s probably grinning madly on the other side of the line, overjoyed at the praise. It’s kind of cute to think about.

“Just let me know how it goes, okay?”

“Alright, will do.” Brooke nods. “And Scarlet?”

“Mhm?”

“Thanks.”

–

Brooke keeps it casual the next time she sees Vanessa, trying to make everything seem as normal and calm as possible.

Only inside she’s a nervous wreck, visions of what can go wrong spinning in her head. What if Vanessa gets offended or defensive? What if she shuts the conversation down, and then things get awkward between them? What if for whatever reason, they fight? What if Vanessa really does have some kind of baggage, and even if she doesn’t open up to Brooke, it brings up bad feelings or memories for her?

No. Brooke takes a deep breath in, forcing the thoughts out as she exhales. Now isn’t the time for anxiety. If she’s going to spin out about it, she might as well not do it. If she’s going to broach this topic, be ready for Vanessa’s answer, she needs to have a clear, level head. She can’t make this all about herself and how she feels.

Right now, everything needs to be about what’s best for Vanessa.

“Man, you off your game today.” Vanessa grins as she puts a few more letters down on their scrabble bored, poking the tiles softly as she tallies up her points. Twenty, all from adding an ‘E-D’ at the end of a word on a double word score tile. Brooke could have done it if she’d been focused; she would have done it if she were focused. Instead, she’s lagging by about thirty points and still trying to stop her head from spinning.

Fuck. She needs to get out of her head and into the game, or she’s going to lose both her winning streak and her opportunity to talk to Vanessa.

She puts down ‘C-A’ to make ‘CAD’ and winces when she realizes it’s only earned her six points.

“Brooke?” Vanessa prods again, her voice softer this time, and Brooke looks up to see that Vanessa’s grin has fallen away, concern painted on her face instead. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m…” Brooke trails off, then takes yet another deep breath before she can make any more excuses for herself.

No; no more running. She needs to address this, and needs to address it now.

“I wanted to talk to you about something, and I guess I’m a little nervous about it, because I don’t want to bring it up in a way that’s, like, insensitive, I guess? I just don’t want to hurt your feelings, or make you feel bad, or bring up anything that you don’t want to talk about, not that you have to talk about anything you don’t want to–”

“Brooke.” Vanessa brings her hands up to stop Brooke in her tracks, the ghost of a smile returning to the shorter woman’s face despite herself. “Slow down, baby. It’s okay.”

There’s a pause while Brooke catches her breath, calms herself down a little, and then Vanessa looks back up at Brooke, her face serious again.

“This is about how horny I’ve been lately, ain’t it?” Vanessa asks, staring at Brooke intently. “It’s okay, you can be honest with me. I know you’ve noticed.”

“Yeah.” Brooke shakes her head, her stomach settling down completely once the confession is out. “It’s not that I’m mad about it or anything, I’m just… It’s like you keep starting to initiate something, then pull back, and I’m worried that maybe I’m doing something wrong?”

“Oh, baby, no!” Vanessa takes Brooke’s hand, her face softening with sympathy. “It’s not you, don’t worry ‘bout it. It ain’t anything like that. It’s more that–Well, I guess I mean–I’m…”

“You’re a virgin, and you want to sleep with me but you’re embarrassed and worried you won’t be good enough for me?”

Vanessa looks at Brooke, surprised, and retracts her hand. “How did you know?”

“Scarlet had a hunch.” Brooke snorts, and Vanessa rolls her eyes, smiling a little despite herself.

“Yeah, that’s what it is. It’s not that I’m ashamed of it or anything. I mean, you already know I’m a romantic. I was just tryna wait for the right person. And now…well, I think I found her. And suddenly I’m afraid I might mess it up.”

Aww. Brooke feels her heart melt, and can’t help but smile as she reaches across the table to grab Vanessa’s hand again, patting it gently. “Listen, you won’t. I would never think anything bad about you. I love you, okay? By default, it’s gonna be good because of that. And anyway, things always get better with practice, right?”

“Right.” Vanessa still sounds a little skeptical, but her face evens out when Brooke leans over and meets Vanessa’s lips halfway over the table to give her a little kiss.

“You already know what to do, I promise.” Brooke reassures her. “Just let your instincts guide you, and I’ll teach you the rest, alright?”

“Alright.” Vanessa smiles, squeezing Brooke’s hand back, and Brooke relaxes, finally sure that everything’s going to be okay.

“So…”

“So.” Brooke laughs. “Let’s put on a movie and see where it goes, yeah?”

Vanessa doesn’t even have to say anything, nor give it a second thought; without skipping a beat, she’s pushing herself up from the table and grabbing Brooke’s arm, dragging her towards her bedroom.

–

They’re only about half an hour into Ghostbusters when Vanessa’s head finds its way to Brooke’s lap, and Brooke finds herself stroking Vanessa’s hair as they pretend to watch the movie. It’s nice, cozy, even, and Brooke is content to keep feeling the softness of Vanessa’s hair, keep hearing the soft sighs of pleasure she lets out as her eyes flutter closed, then open, then closed again. To stay like this forever with Vanessa, just the two of them and the movie in their own world.

Only then Vanessa squirms a little, and whines in protest when Brooke pulls her hand away. And after a few more moments of restlessness from the shorter woman, Brooke notices that Vanessa’s legs are squeezed together, moving more than any other part of her body.

Oh.  

Brooke smiles, a sudden flash of arousal stirring between her legs. Looks like things are about to get interesting.

“You alright, baby girl?” she brings her hand down from Vanessa’s hair to stroke her cheek lightly, gleefully biting down on her lip when Vanessa shivers at the touch. “You seem a little distracted.”

“I’m— Oh. ” Vanessa sighs when Brooke brings her hand lower still, trailing her fingertips along Vanessa’s body at a snail’s pace and delighting in every goosebump that appears in their wake.

“I’m okay, I’m just—“ Vanessa cuts off suddenly, letting out a whimper and beginning to squirm again when Brooke’s hand finally reaches her chest.

“You’re what, sweetheart?” Brooke watches Vanessa intently as she starts to explore the younger woman’s breasts over her shirt, feeling and experimenting, waiting to see her reaction, making sure she knows that she can get away if she wants to.

“I’m… oh, fuck, Brooke, keep doing that…” Vanessa melts into Brooke’s touch as she finally palms one of her tits, squeezing and massaging it gently, just a little warm-up.

“There we go,” she purrs, “that feel good, Ness? You like it when Mami plays with you like this?”

The nickname isn’t new—it’s something Vanessa’s thrown around a lot, a title she pulls out whenever she wants to reel Brooke into the palm of her hand. It always works, of course, earning her kisses and cuddles and occasionally a completely free dinner. It’s not something Brooke dislikes, either; in fact, it makes her feel powerful, sexy, even. Like she’s in control, because Vanessa wants her to be. So it feels completely right to use now, and if the way Vanessa nods eagerly is any indication, it seems she’s made the right choice.

“Yes, Mami, fuck, I like it so much.” Vanessa moans, leaning into Brooke’s touch.

“Good, I’m glad.” Brooke praises, and fuck it, she’s proud of herself, relieved that she’s actually helping Vanessa, actually making her feel good. Showing her that she’s made the right decision, not just in doing what they’re doing now, but in deciding to share it with Brooke.

Still, there are plenty more things Brooke wants to show Vanessa, and she knows she’d better get to it.

“You know, there’s lots of other ways I can make you feel good, too.” Brooke leans down to plant a teasing kiss on Vanessa’s jaw, smiling against Vanessa’s skin when the shorter woman whimpers and squirms a little more. “What d’you think, baby, want me to show you? Want Mami to make you feel all nice, teach you everything she knows?”

Vanessa doesn’t even have to hesitate this time.

“Yes, Mami, fuck, please, yes. ”

“Good girl.” Brooke forces herself to keep her movements slow and exploratory as she continues to touch Vanessa, moving her hand away from her chest and down her body again.

Truth be told, Brooke would love nothing more than to drag Vanessa up further onto the bed, climbing on top of her and peeling off her clothes in a flurry of kissing and biting and needing her now . But Vanessa is right–she is a romantic, and Brooke wants to give her the exact kind of slow, sensual first time she knows Vanessa is probably looking for.

So instead, she pays attention to every part of Vanessa’s body, keeping an eye out for places that make the younger woman sigh a little louder, clench her legs a little tighter together. She’ll need that knowledge for later, after all.

“Can I touch you here? Like, between your legs?” Brooke pauses when she reaches Vanessa’s pubic bone, right above her slit, pressing down a little to bring Vanessa just a little closer to the edge and giggling when Vanessa responds by keening up into Brooke’s hand, urging her to press down harder.

“If you don’t, we ‘bout to have problems.” Vanessa growls, and she doesn’t have to tell Brooke twice–she trails her hand down all the way between Vanessa’s legs, cupping her pussy through her pants and rubbing it slowly, but firmly.

“So cute, baby.” Brooke murmurs, kissing Vanessa again. “My cute little princess, so desperate for me.”

Vanessa whines, her hips bucking back into Brooke’s hand. “Please, Mami, please, give me more, I need more…”

“Mm, you sure, angel?” Brooke plays at deliberating, despite the fact that her fingers are already circling the button of Vanessa’s jeans, toying and teasing at the cool metal clasps. “You sure you want more?”

“Yes. ” Vanessa hisses, and fuck it, Brooke just can’t hold out any longer.

Brooke undoes Vanessa’s jeans fast, plunging her hand inside to feel Vanessa’s slit over her panties. She gasps when her fingers make contact with the thin cotton fabric, meeting a sticky, slick wetness that’s practically soaking them through.

“My, my.” Brooke tuts, trying her best to conceal her excitement, the way her heart pounds in her chest as she continues to tease at Vanessa’s cunt. “Aren’t we a mess? No, don’t move, baby, keep letting me feel you–there we go.”

She brings her other hand around to Vanessa’s chest, toying with her tits again as she continues to rub Vanessa through her panties, working her way up to focus on the other woman’s clit. “God, you’re so sweet like this, all desperate for me. I should just tease you forever, wouldn’t that be nice?”

“No, no, please, please Mami.” Vanessa whines plaintively, practically shaking as she tries her best to be good, tries her best to stay still. “Please, touch me for real, I need it so bad.”

“I know you do, sweetheart.” Brooke finally gives in, because she needs it too, needs to feel Vanessa’s cunt under her fingers, needs to taste it, needs to hear Vanessa’s moans in full force, see what she looks like when she comes. “Get up for me, baby, let’s get all this off.”

Brooke doesn’t think she’s ever seen Vanessa move as fast as she does in that moment, springing up so suddenly she practically headbutts Brooke in her haste to shed all her clothes and clamber up to the top of the bed.

“Oh my God, slow down!” Brooke laughs, her character broken as she chases after Vanessa, wriggling out of her own clothes in the process. “Baby, don’t rush, come on.”

But Vanessa doesn’t listen, only tossing her arms over Brooke’s neck and pulling her into an eager kiss.

“Hi.” Brooke smiles widely when they separate again, her chest swelling with affection when she sees how flushed Vanessa is, how she’s practically glowing with happiness.

“Hi.” Vanessa smiles back, her eyes sparkling with excitement and contentment, and Brooke thinks she’s never seen Vanessa look so beautiful as she does right then, blushing and sweating and biting her lip as she tries to catch her breath.

“I love you so much.” the words come out softly on the heels of another kiss, then another, this time against Vanessa’s jawline, then her neck, then down, down, down to her collarbone, each peck and nip carrying yet another statement, another confession, you’re beautiful, thank you for sharing this with me, I love you, I love you, I love you.  

“I love you too.” Vanessa murmurs, her eyes hooded and voice thick with need. “Now please, just fuck me already.”

Brooke snorts, but obliges with pleasure. She continues to trail kisses down Vanessa’s body, taking her time to lick and suck at her girlfriend’s skin, the tang of Vanessa’s sweat lingering on her lips. She finally reaches Vanessa’s tits, and barely hesitates before taking one of her nipples into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it and sucking gently.

“Oh, fuck…”

“That feel good, baby?” Brooke comes off Vanessa’s nipple just enough to be able to whisper out the question, just enough to make sure that Vanessa can still feel her hot breath against its hardened, now-wet bud.

“Fuck yeah, it does.” Vanessa gasps.

“Mm, I don’t know.” Brooke replaces her mouth with her fingers, tracing and circling Vanessa’s nipple with deft, light movements. “I mean, you say that, but what does your pussy think, hm? Should we check?”

She trails her other hand down Vanessa’s body, smirking as she watches the younger girl shiver, before planting it between her legs, bringing two fingers to her slit.

“So wet for me!” Brooke gasps with an edge of mock surprise, one that makes Vanessa giggle a little. “Goodness, all this already? Poor baby, must’ve been so pent up all this time.”

“Tell me, princess,” she sobers quickly, her voice low as she nips at Vanessa’s neck, “you’ve been thinking about this a lot, haven’t you? Thinking about my hands on your cunt, rubbing you out and making you feel all nice? Your pussy certainly feels like you have.”

Vanessa nods, whimpering. “Yeah, Mami, fuck yeah. Been touching myself while I think about it, pretending my hands are yours.”

“Oh?” Brooke plays with Vanessa’s folds, gathering wetness onto her fingers before finally tracing her way up to Vanessa’s clit and beginning to circle it gently. “Well, what do you think, sweetheart, is it everything you expected? Hm?”

“No.” Vanessa laughs, bucking her hips in search of more pressure from Brooke’s fingers. “It’s even better.”

Brooke can’t help the pride that swells in her chest, spurring her on to go a little faster, press down a little more firmly. “Good, that’s what I like to hear.”

She continues to rub at Vanessa’s clit for a while, varying her pace and pressure, switching directions and occasionally breaking her circles to go up and down or side to side, but soon, they reach a plateau, Vanessa moaning and panting but getting no closer to the edge. It doesn’t worry Brooke too much; it’s perfectly normal to have difficulty reaching orgasm sometimes, especially on someone’s first time, when they don’t necessarily know what to direct you to do. Still, Vanessa not being able to come is definitely not how she wants her first time to end, so she switches it up, asks if she can put a finger or two inside her.

“Yeah, please.” Vanessa agrees.

Brooke is about to oblige, when she notices that something is… off. Vanessa’s eyes have taken on an air of worry, and the way she’s chewing on her lip is more nervous than aroused.

Shit.

“Are you okay? Do you need to stop?” Brooke gets up and takes her hands away, giving Vanessa room to breathe, but Vanessa just shakes her head, blushing crimson.

“I’m okay!” she waves her hands frantically, her eyes wide. “Really, I don’t need to stop. I was just… I wanted to say…”

“What is it?” Brooke moves close to Vanessa again, wrapping her into a hug and kissing her on the cheek. “It’s okay, Ness, you can tell me. I wanna make you feel good no matter what.”

“Well, I just… I really liked your dirty talk, is all. It really fucking turned me on. But I didn’t wanna knock off your concentration, ‘cause then…”

“‘Cause then what?” Brooke sucks in a breath, her confidence deflating in her chest just a little as she waits for the answer she knows is coming.

“I was afraid you’d get mad and stop.” Vanessa mutters, looking down at herself.

“Oh, baby, no.” Brooke pulls her closer still, squeezing her tightly. “I wouldn’t get mad at you over something like that. Hell, I’d be happy . I want you to tell me what makes you feel good, it’s a good thing when you feel safe to.”

“Besides,” she adds with a conspiratorial wink, “you know how much I love a chance to mouth off.”

Vanessa turns to look up at her, and thank God, all of the doubt has been wiped from her face, a wry, mischievous smile left in its place.

“Well come on then,” Vanessa cranes up to give Brooke a slow, teasing kiss, “get to it, Mami.”

“That’s more like it.” Brooke eases Vanessa down, once again settling on top of her like it’s the easiest thing in the world, the place she really belongs. “Now why don’t you open those pretty little legs for me, sweetheart? Let me see that cute little pussy, I wanna make sure it’s still nice and wet for me…”

It is, and so Brooke slowly slips a finger inside, still working on Vanessa’s clit with her thumb.

“ Awww. ” Brooke coos at Vanessa’s moans, soft and desperate as Brooke picks up her pace, starting to pump her fingers in and out of Vanessa’s cunt in search of her spot. “You like when I fuck you like this, baby? Look at you, you don’t even know what to do, you feel so good. Bet this is much better than using your own hand, huh? Isn’t this better?”

Vanessa is too far gone to do anything but nod, so Brooke fills in the words for her. “Your pussy is so pretty, baby. Just the cutest little thing, all wet and puffy for Mami. I just fucking love it. Maybe next I should taste it, huh? Eat you out so good you won’t be able to think about anything but my tongue for the next three days. I bet you taste so fucking good, you’re already so sweet, I could just…Oh? What’s this?”

Brooke stops in her tracks when Vanessa’s breath suddenly hitches, her whole body going rigid for a moment, and Brooke realizes that she’s found Vanessa’s spot.

Jackpot.

“Look at that!” She hums, hooking her fingers over Vanessa’s spot as she keeps pumping in and out of her entrance with more and more gusto every time Vanessa gasps or begs for more. “So responsive, aren’t we? Sensitive, too! Aw, poor baby, you must just be overwhelmed, aren’t you? Don’t even know how to deal with how good I’m making you feel. Guess that just means I’ll have to fuck you more and get you used to it, yeah? Get you nice and trained to take my fingers?”

“ Fuck , yes Mami, oh fuck, yes, oh God!” Vanessa’s voice is hoarse as she cries out, her knuckles blanching from gripping the sheets underneath her so hard. “ Just please, please don’t stop, please keep going, please keep fucking me—“

Brooke pounds her fingers into Vanessa with one final, deep thrust, and Vanessa’s words are cut short, swallowed into a silent scream. Brooke fucks her all the way through her orgasm, easing her down from it and slowly bringing her movements to a stop while Vanessa settles, still shaking despite finally relaxing again.

“You alright, Ness?” Brooke checks in as she slowly pulls out, coming around to lay next to Vanessa. She’s expecting Vanessa to nod, smile, maybe even say something about how good she felt, hopefully how she wants to do it again.

Instead, though, Vanessa looks Brooke dead in the eyes as she grabs the blonde’s hand and takes her fingers in her mouth, sucking gently.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Brooke chuckles, and Vanessa rolls her eyes, grinning a little despite herself.

“It sure is.” Vanessa finally lets Brooke’s fingers go, licking her lips. “Fuck, Mami, that was fucking amazing. Thank you so much.”

“No, you were amazing.” Brooke kisses Vanessa on top of her head, pulling her close again and cradling her in her arms. “I’m so glad I could give you a good first time, babe.”

“About that.” Vanessa perks up a little, her hand suddenly finding its way up Brooke’s body and settling on her waist. “Any chance you up for teachin’ me how to thank you?”

Brooke grins, the old fire in her belly starting up again as her mind fills with ideas for what could come next.

“Absolutely.” She kisses Vanessa’s cheek before sitting up, gesturing for Vanessa to crawl on top of her.

“What d’you think, baby, wanna learn how someone else’s pussy tastes?”

“That I do.” Vanessa grins as she settles over Brooke, looking her over like she’s something good to eat. “Why don’t we get started?”

[virmillion]

Ibytm - T minus 18 seconds

Masterpost - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter - ao3

Words: 2,350

Logan knocks a rhythm into the legs of his chair with his heels, absently observing the cafe. Not terribly busy, given how close to society’s generally-agreed-upon dinnertime it is. Most people have the good sense to be out for a late meal, if not relaxing at home and sleeping off some comfort food. Logan is not included among those ‘most people,’ in case that wasn’t clear.

He glances out the finger-smudged window, watching a leaf skitter across the pavement. A couple of kids chase it along ahead of a slower kid, their backpacks abandoned at the base of a nearby oak tree. Probably a need for speed type deal. Something happens on the table in front of Logan, but he’s too intently focused on the kids outside to notice.

“Logan.”

He waves a vague hand in the direction of the voice, not really processing who it belongs to. At last, the lagging kid catches up and jumps forward, crushing the leaf under their dirt-streaked tennis shoe. The other kids clap them on the back in congratulations.

“Okay, what is it?” He glances across the table to Virgil, who’s sitting on the seat diagonal from him and sipping absently at a cup of coffee that’s probably in the process of melting a few oversized dollops of whipped cream. Virgil doesn’t seem to notice that Logan suddenly decided to start paying attention, which means the latter is free to ogle his husband to his heart’s content. How the faint purple of his fading hair dye hangs just so over his forehead, how that one stubborn spot of acne near his chin pushes his lips up into a half smile, how his eyes sparkle with the light of the early evening sun, how, just by looking at him, Logan can tell he’s savoring every ounce of this moment without even thinking about it.

“What are you doing?” Virgil finally asks, turning around and catching Logan mid-stare. If Logan knew anything about grade school crushes, he would know that this is the part where he’s supposed to quickly shift his gaze, embarrassed to high heck. But he didn’t, so he doesn’t.

“Admiring how good you look.”

“Ew, dork.”

“We’re married. I’m allowed to say things like that.” Logan holds up his ring finger and tilts his head toward it with a lopsided grin. “Sorry, pal, but you’re stuck with me.”

“Just be quiet and drink your drink,” Virgil mumbles into his cup, his face turning a lovely shade of pink. Logan smiles to himself and lifts his own cup to his lips, taking a long sip from the straw. “Where are they, anyway? Weren’t we supposed to meet here at, like, seven?”

“Please, you’ve met Roman. It’ll take him at least that long to get his hair done. Don’t pretend like you expected him to be punctual.”

“I guess it’s just a downright tragedy that we got here on time, then.”

“Indeed. Send in the clowns, as it were.”

“Don’t bother, they’re here.” Virgil jerks his chin toward the door, over which a bell proudly chimes to announce the arrival of Patton and Roman. True to form, Roman’s hair looks as painstakingly effortless as ever, and Logan can’t help but wonder just how early he has to get up to be at work on time (or five minutes late) while managing to look like that.

“Heya, lovebirds!” Patton calls, waving far more emphatically than necessary as he drags Roman into the queue. Roman barely remembers to toss them a passing glance, more focused on the exhaustively detailed menus.

“Remind me why we agreed to this?” Virgil mutters. He swirles the contents of his cup around, but there’s definitely a smile lurking under his feigned irritation.

“Because we’re nice people who talk to other nice people like the good little members of society we pretend to be.”

“Sounds overrated.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t.”

“Hey, what’re we talkin’ about?” Patton asks, plopping himself down beside Virgil. Logan nods his greeting as Virgil knocks elbows with Patton in a weird not-quite-but-still-kind-of handshake. An elbowshake, perhaps.

“Why society and its conventions are overrated.”

Logan cocks his head to the side, watching Patton’s brow wrinkle. “There’s a little more to it than that.”

“Not really.”

“And you say that on what grounds?”

“Well, for one, you started it, and for another—”

“I would hardly say I started it. You’re the one that brought up—”

“Only because you insisted we had to act per—”

“Patton!” Roman interrupts, sitting beside Logan and plunking his cup down on the table. “Tell them what Morgan did today!” Logan doesn’t have time to wonder why Roman got his drink before Patton, as the latter launches into an excited and (some would say excessively) detailed account of the make-believe game his daughter thought up in the backyard, right down to the surnames of her imaginary fallen teammates. Actually, Logan isn’t entirely convinced that Patton himself isn’t the one with the active imagination, even to the point of making up these stories about his daughter on the spot.

“Ariel still doing okay?” Virgil cuts in. Maybe trying to steer the conversation away from how many shades of grass Morgan decreed as being ‘queendom property,’ but who’s to say?

The question sets Patton off all over again, this time encouraging an enthusiastic catalogue of every last one of Morgan’s mother’s movements. How she brought over surprise balloons for Morgan and held her breath the whole time because of her latex allergy (which Patton isn’t entirely convinced she has) but she could be telling the truth since it could’ve been an allergy that developed after her childhood and it certainly wasn’t of top conversation priority on that one messy night nine months before Morgan was born but maybe they should’ve looked into it when she first tested positive on that little stick in case she passed it on to Morgan when they—

“Large coffee for Patton?” Patton jolts out of his seat and is at the pickup counter before Logan can blink. As Patton strikes up a cheerful conversation with the (mercifully unannoyed) barista, Roman twists to look at Logan.

“Ten bucks says he doesn’t need all the crap in that cup.”

Logan is almost afraid to ask, but curiosity begs satisfaction. “What’d he get?”

“Okay, so you know how a large is twenty ounces, yeah? And a single shot of espresso is one ounce?”

“Very much did not ask for the vocabulary lesson, but continue.”

“Right, yes, but it’s important to me that you know all that. Anyways, apply that knowledge when I tell you he got fifteen shots of espresso, one long shot, and two ristretto shots. Oh, and five packets of splenda.” More jarring to Logan than that disaster of a coffee order is the look on Virgil’s face—not surprised in the slightest, as if someone had told him Patton ordered a regular cup of black coffee or something.

“I’m sorry, but how did you figure out that you liked that combination abomination?” Logan asks as Patton returns with a smile over his shoulder to the barista.

“Oh, you know, little of this, little of that.” Patton grins at Logan, and something in his eyes makes Logan’s stomach turn. Logan watches in horror as he knocks back far more than what could be considered an advisable amount of coffee. In a voice like a demon banished from the depths of hell for bad behavior, Patton whispers, “Taste is meaningless. There is no flavor that could supplement the raw energy in this.” Logan isn’t entirely sure whether or not he’s making up this whole exchange to cope with Patton’s drink order, a fear which is not helped in the slightest by Virgil’s continued nonchalance.

“That’s actually one of his tamer drinks,” Virgil finally remarks, studying his nails.

Before the shock of this nonsense has even begun to wear off, Roman decides it’s been too long since he had a turn to speak. “So, mister promotion man, what do you think of the new location? You seen it yet? Been inside?”

“First off, stop calling me that. You got promoted, too. Second, no, I’ve avoided finding out any details aside from the address and how to get there from home.”

“Even finding that out took a solid two days of me pestering him to look it up,” Virgil chimes in, now messing around with his phone. “If it weren’t for me, he probably wouldn’t even know there was a relocation happening.”

“That’s entirely true, actually,” Logan admits. “We were talking wedding plans and he wanted to send me something, and I must’ve had my do not disturb mode on, because I completely missed the email about the move.”

“Not to mention all the texts and calls from me that you so callously ignored! You didn’t return a single one!” Roman sputters indignantly. “It’s like we aren’t even friends! I mean, how cruel can you be? Those texts could have been important!”

“Oh, are we friends? You should’ve told me sooner.” Logan swivels in his seat to face Roman, well aware that Patton and Virgil both have their full attention on the conversation’s direction change. “We see each other at work, and we’ve interned together since way back when, but that’s hardly solid grounds for declaring friendship.”

“We are literally on a double coffee date right now. Like, I am sitting in a coffee shop with you and your husband and everyone’s best friend Patton, and it has nothing to do with work.” Patton blinks at the mention of his name and smiles absently.

“Okay, but it’s not a date , because you aren’t dating Patton, not to mention that attending a coffee peddler at the same time doesn’t necessarily denote being anything more than work colleagues.”

Virgil covers his mouth as he leans over to whisper something to Patton, who giggles into his cup of caffeinated chaos incarnate.

“You tell them!” Patton whisper-shouts.

“I’m not saying it.” Virgil folds his arms and mimes zipping his lips, slouching back in his seat. Logan really ought to have a serious talk with him about proper ergonomic posture, but that’s a lecture for another day. He quirks an eyebrow at Patton’s muffled laughter, but Roman clearly isn’t about to let him dodge the conversation (which had no business existing in the first place) so easily.

“We are seriously hanging out right now. Like, casual hangout session in a coffee shop. You with your husband, your husband with his close work friend, that work friend with his best friend, and that best friend just so happens to be your work friend. This is a large and tangled web here, my good sir, and I will kindly ask that you respect it.”

“How am I supposed to respect such a convoluted string of coincidences, much less one that means so little with how it’s laid out?”

Patton bursts into a full-on belly laugh at whatever Virgil whispers this time. It genuinely looks like his face might straight-up explode from how red it turns, but he shakes his head profusely when Virgil juts his chin toward Logan. “I can’t say that!” Patton squeals. Virgil winks at an understandably bewildered Logan, who would very much like to move on to a new topic of discussion right about now. No such luck.

“So what are your requirements for friendship then, huh?” Roman gets up in Logan’s face,washing him in a wave of coffee breath. Logan grimaces. “Staring at some poor, unsuspecting tour guide in a museum until they take pity on you and accept your desperate pleas to go on a date with you?” Roman puts enough silliness into his tone that it’s clear he’s kidding, so Logan decides to play along. What’s the harm?

“Right, because I’m keeping Virgil in this relationship on my own terms. Virgil, blink twice if you proposing to me was an elaborate ruse for your own chance at single life again. Blink once if that’s not true.” Virgil blinks three times. “You are a monster.” Virgil bats his eyelashes. Logan might scream. Virgil winks.

“Friendship is a weird thing, anyway,” Patton pipes up, a hint of that laughter still tinting the edges of his voice. “I mean, I’m still super close friends with Ariel, and we had a stinkin’ kid together. Meanings can change, I think, since words are already so hard in the first place. Isn’t that a fair agreement?”

Logan and Roman grumble vague sounds of acknowledgement, though their matching unhappy tones make it clear—at least, they do to Logan—that neither of them actually wanted a real answer to their little debate. They were just arguing for the fun of it, kind of like—

“Hey, what about that Neptune expedition riddle from way back when?” Roman says suddenly. “Logan, y’member that? Never did manage to solve it, huh?”

“Oh, no, I definitely solved it. I simply refused to share with rhizocephalan barnacles such as yourself.” Roman—along with the rest of the table—blinks silently at Logan, who crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. “Just google it. I’m not a dictionary.”

“You’re my dictionary,” Virgil coos in a honey-sweet voice.

“Never say that again,” Logan mumbles halfheartedly. Let’s all agree to ignore the blood that rushes to color Logan’s cheeks as he considers the pros and cons of dreaming up something equally lovey-dovey. No, better not. Why ruin his stoic reputation with an attempt at romance that’s doomed to fail before it even launches? Might as well stay quiet, watching the topic jump again.

Well, more like Virgil shoves the current topic off a cliff, but you get the idea.

“How’s Ariel doing on that new degree?” he asks. This sets Patton off on yet another tangent about her career, her interests, her grades, her field studies, and who knows what else as Logan takes another sip of his drink and lets his eyes drift to the window. Some kids sprint across the sidewalk, arms spread like wings, chasing a leaf as it floats along with the gentle evening breeze.

[junker-town]

Secret Base Hall of Fame: Casey Fossum

Photo by Andy Lyons /Getty Images

One day fifteen years ago, this man ruined me.

“Eephus” is a stupid-looking name for a stupid-looking pitch. Only a few players across Major League Baseball history have regularly thrown it, and Casey Fossum is one of them.

Many of the greatest pitchers of all time have found success mostly by changing speeds. If you can throw 95 miles per hour one minute and 77 the next, you make it tough for the batter to lock in and time it right. This only really works if you can make it look like either one might be coming out of your hand. You can’t tip off the batter. Your delivery needs to look the same.

If you wanted to right now, you could give yourself an oversimplified demonstration of how high of an art this is. Wad up a paper ball or something. Throw it as hard as you can, paying close attention to how your arm and your body moves when you throw it. Now mimic that same throwing motion, but only throw it half as hard. You’ll then have some iota of how difficult this is to do with a baseball from 60 feet away.

But the eephus? That only hits the mitt at 55, 50, even 45 miles per hour. Here is what Fossum’s looked like.

Some GIFs make a sound, and this one sounds like a slide whistle. It’s cartoonish in appearance, and it can work if it’s deployed smartly — in one newspaper report, teammates noted that he only threw about three eephus pitches per game. Deploy it too often, and they’ll catch on to you. You have to keep it a weird, sad surprise, like a cigarette butt in a load of laundry.

I don’t know why the 25 or so notable eephus pitchers in baseball history picked up that pitch, but greatness is not the common denominator. Casey Fossum was not at all a great pitcher by Major League Baseball standards; in fact, among pitchers to make at least 100 starts, Fossum finished with one of the worst ERAs of all time. But you will not hear me denigrate his abilities for two reasons: first, he was, of course good enough to stick around and make those 100-plus starts in the first place.

And second, the video game version of Casey Fossum inflicted upon me a great and terrible humiliation. One that made me swear off baseball video games forever. To this day, I have not returned.

It’s 2006, I’m 23 years old, and we’re in my apartment. This story is about Casey Fossum and not me, so I’ll only pull the curtain back a little.

If you look to the left of the TV, you’ll see a weight bench. I have a friend who likes to drive around and pick up random junk that people have left on the curb. One day he stopped by unannounced, back when people just did that, with the weight bench in the back of his truck. “You want this? I’ve already got one.” Sure.

We lugged it up to my place, and it wasn’t until a couple days later that I tried to use it, stood up, took a close look at it, and realized that it was a child-sized weight bench. This possibility never occurred to me because I didn’t realize such a thing existed. Was I mistaken here? Another friend stopped by. “No, yeah, dude, this thing is for kids. It’s gotta be.” I’m too lazy to try to sell, it, and I’m certainly not going to pay a junk hauler to drive it away, because I don’t have the kind of money you need to do … anything, really. So it’s sat there for a year. It doesn’t do anything and it isn’t going anywhere. Takes one to know one, pal.

If we can direct our attention back to the right, I’m firing up Major League Baseball 2K6 on my Xbox. I don’t know why! I don’t even like playing this game! I felt, and still feel, that realistic baseball video games are a bad idea. They should either be oversimplified like the R.B.I. Baseball series, or off-the-wall lunacy like Mario Superstar Baseball. The art of getting good wood on the ball can’t possibly be simulated by a single button-press, but that’s what this game has stuck you with, so batting really feels more like bet-placing than anything.

I’m in the lobby of this game I suck at and don’t enjoy, waiting for an online match. This is only gonna piss me off, because even by 2006 standards, my internet connection is terrible. I’ve lost Yahoo! Chess matches due to lag, that’s how bad it is. I get matched up, and as the loading screen appears, I hear some kid’s voice crackle through the mic. He probably isn’t older than 12.

Online gaming with kids is a pretty weird experience that we all just kind of have to get used to. You’ve been robbed of your superior social standing. You’re not any more dignified than they are. This is not a friendly game of Mario Kart with your youngest sibling, and you can’t laugh it off as a friendly match that’s all in fun. That’s not why people play online games. We play to win, not to have fun. Who took the time to upload a custom avi? Who carefully monitors their rating? Who patiently waited in the lobby for five minutes to find a ranked match? You did, dummy, just like they did. You’re taking this equally seriously and you cannot even try to pretend otherwise.

I’m beginning to think I might collect my first-ever win when I see that he’s chosen the Tampa Bay Devil Rays, one of the worst teams in baseball. The only real draw for selecting this team lies in Scott Kazmir, their young ace with a high-90s fastball and a terrific slider. I’m further amused when this kid doesn’t even start him.

He starts Casey Fossum.

At this time, I have no idea Fossum has an eephus pitch, or what an eephus even is. Unlike the real-life Fossum, the kid throws this thing so often that his fastball is actually the off-speed pitch. It goes something like eephus, fastball, eephus, eephus, fastball, eephus. When he strikes out the side in the first inning, all I can really do is laugh. I’ve never seen a pitch that looked like that. It moves like the clay pigeons in Duck Hunt. But it’s fine, I’ll figure it out.

He strikes out the side in the second as well. I just cannot figure this guy out. The eephus is such a strange pitch that even when I guess correctly that an eephus is coming, I still miss somehow. I can’t even make contact. Worst of all, I can’t even work the count, because the vast majority of his pitches are landing over the plate.

Around batter number five, I hear him over the mic:

What, lil’ bitch

What what, lil’ bitch

What, lil’ bitch

What what, lil’ bitch

This will continue throughout the rest of the game. He doesn’t stop.

Heading into the third inning, I talk myself through a strategy: listen, if he’s going to keep throwing the eephus, just assume he’s throwing one every single time. If I’m late on a fastball, I’m late. Just hit the eephus. If I time it right, I could hit that thing 500 feet.

He then strikes me out on three straight fastballs, all of which I am comically late on. I immediately abandon this strategy.

What, lil’ bitch

Lil’ stupid-ass bitch

What, lil’ bitch

What what, lil’ bitch

I don’t have a mic, and thank God for that.

Beyond completely destroying the opponent’s sense of timing — a thing already compromised by the lag — there’s another special utility to the eephus as deployed against you in an online game. It makes you look like a total idiot. You’re finished with your swing before the ball is even halfway to the plate. If you bet the other way and guess wrong, you don’t even begin to swing until the ball’s basically in the mitt. Video Game Fossum doesn’t even have to fool you with pitch placement. Every ball goes over the plate. He’s attacking your your ability to time, sense, react. He’s directly attacking your intellect.

Nothing will tilt an online gamer quite like being obviously and repeatedly outsmarted and made to look like a dummy. Someone will find out you’re susceptible to one particular parlor trick and beat you to death with it. There’s the phase in which you recognize what’s being done, how it’s happening, and what you need to do to counteract it. What comes after is the phase in which you realize that there’s nothing you can do. Your opponent has run this playbook a hundred times against a hundred clueless marks. You’re next on this merry-go-round, and you’re here to lose.

Hey lil’ bitch

What’s up lil’ bitch

What lil’ bitch

What what lil’ bitch

It’s the fourth inning. 12 up, 12 down, all strikeouts. This is a perfectly-targeted attack on my ego.

I think I’m smart. I think I’m an excellent tactician when it comes to video games, my abilities forged in the fires of Madden ‘93, Perfect Dark, and Rainbow Six, but also informed by the dark arts of weird old DOS strategy games. Games like Warlords and Nobunaga’s Ambition that required mastery of troops and economies to conduct campaigns of great conquest. Games this kid is too young to have a clue about.

I also think I know a lot about baseball. I watch it constantly. Even in 2006, I’m poring through Baseball-Reference every day. I want to write for a living someday, and if it can ever somehow happen, it feels like baseball is my ticket in. I’m a professional baseball writer in training. I should know what an eephus pitch is.

I think I’m a pretty laid-back guy. I don’t get angry easily. I’m really easygoing. I get along well with people. At the tech-support call center I work at, my supervisor notes in my reviews that I’m very good at de-escalating, which is to say that when mad people call me, I’m good at helping them feel more understood and less mad.

All these things mean a lot to me. They’re the basis of my ego. Hey, look at that guy. You know, he doesn’t have his shit together at all and is actually kind of a doofus, but hey, he’s a smart guy who knows stuff and is good with people. That’s something.

All those pillars are shaking. I’m a shiftless bum who can’t hit a 55-MPH pitch to save my life because I don’t know anything about baseball, and on top of that, I’m being absolutely driven up the wall by a Video Game Casey Fossum and some random 12-year-old who’s outsmarting me every chance he gets.

He is way better than me at everything I thought I was good at. My self-esteem is being annihilated.

Lil’ old bitch

What what, lil’ bitch

Lil’ old bitch

What what, lil’ bitch

One thing that to this day makes me an absolute loser is that I take online gaming etiquette very seriously. I never abandon a match, no matter how badly I’m getting destroyed. Someone can say incredibly cutting things to me and I’ll say “Thanks!” and pretend I’m not mad, that this doesn’t matter to me. Kill ‘em with kindness, you know? I’m above this. I’m better than this.

When you’re 23 years old and nothing feels like it’s breaking the right way, if it’s even breaking any way at all, it’s a lot more difficult to feel that way. But I try, I really do. I refuse to abandon the match. I am determined to solve this puzzle. This can only last for so long. Even if I can’t win this game, I can at least light him up a little bit, proving to both of us that, yes, I figured him out.

What, lil’ bitch

What what, lil’ bitch

Lil’ old bitch

What what, lil’ bitch

Imagine the experience of losing 50 consecutive rounds of rock-paper-scissors, and you might have a sense of what this is like. I’ve fouled off a handful of pitches, but I haven’t put a single ball into play. This kid is a genius, but it’s not really about that anymore, it’s about how fundamentally bad at this I am. Can I at least be okay at a video game? We’ve settled that I’m a stupid baby who doesn’t know anything and gets mad at things that don’t matter. Can I have this, at least? No.

I hope this kid thinks I’m someone his age. I hope it never occurs to him that he’s thoroughly embarrassing a grown man so badly that he’ll write about it a decade and a half later.

And I’d like Casey Fossum to know that for one day, on two televisions, he was a god.

Having surrendered every other claim I thought I had, my sense of honor is the last thing to go. Somewhere around the seventh inning, I disconnect. I don’t have time to navigate through the menus. I have run out of oxygen. I unplug the console from the wall. It was a tornado, for all that kid knows. I never play an online baseball game again.

[thethingssafhaslearnedsofar]

52 things I learned in 2019

Each year humanity produces 1,000 times more transistors than grains of rice and wheat combined. [Mark P Mills]

The maths of queuing are absolutely brutal and counter-intuitive. [John D Cook]

Emojis are starting to appear in evidence in court cases, and lawyers are worried: “When emoji symbols are strung together, we don’t have a reliable way of interpreting their meaning.” (In 2017, an Israeli judge had to decide if one emoji-filled message constituted a verbal contract) [Eric Goldman]

Harbinger customers are customers who buy products that tend to fail. They group together, forming harbinger zip codes. If households in those zip codes buy a product, it is likely to fail. If they back a political candidate, they are likely to lose the election. [Simester, Tucker & Yang]

Baijiu is the world’s most popular spirit, with 10bn litres sold each year, almost entirely in China. The second most popular spirit in the world is vodka, with just 5bn litres sold. [Feyi Fawehinmi]

A Python script, an Instagram account and quite a bit of free time can get you free meals in New York City. [Chris Buetti]

At least three private companies have fallen victim to ‘deep fake’ audio fraud. In each case, a computerised voice clone of the company CEO “called a senior financial officer to request an urgent money transfer.” [Kaveh Waddell, Jennifer A. Kingson]

Drunk shopping could be a $45bn /year industry, and only 6% of people regret their drunk purchases. [Zachary Crockett]

Placebos are so effective that placebo placebos work: A pain cream with no active ingredients worked even when not used by the patient. Just owning the cream was enough to reduce pain. [Victoria Wai-lanYeung]

Since the 1960s, British motorways have been deliberately designed by computer as series of long curves, rather than straight lines. This is done for both safety (less hypnotic) and aesthetic (“sculpture on an exciting, grand scale”) reasons. [Joe Moran]

Between 1880 and 1916, Ireland had its own timezone, which was 25m 21s behind Greenwich Mean Time. After the Easter Rising, the House of Commons in London introduced GMT in Ireland and abolished Dublin Mean Time [Elena Goukassian]

Drug names are changing: X and Z names (Prozac, Seroxat) are giving way to names ending in O or A (Natesto, Qsymia) which are more appealing to speakers of Romance languages in Europe and South America. [Pascaline Faure]

The UK male suicide rate is the lowest since accurate records began in 1981. [Office for National Statistics]

The goal of walking 10,000 steps per day may have originated when a Japanese pedometer manufacturer noticed that the 万 symbol (which means 10,000) looks a little like someone walking. The actual health merits of that number ‘have never been validated by research.’ [Amanda Mull]

People hate asking sensitive questions. However, it turns out that people don’t hate being asked sensitive questions. So talking around difficult questions in research interviews is a waste of time and money. [Hart, VanEpps, Schweitzer]

The Korean Police force includes five labradors who are clones of ‘Quinn’, a bomb-sniffing dog who found fame after finding a missing girl’s body in a 2007 kidnapping. [Kim Tong-hyung]

As mobile phones became mainstream in the US in the early 1990s, the murder rate fell sharply. Street drug dealing became less popular, so gang-related turf wars were less common. (Other factors were also involved, obviously.) [Alexis C. Madrigal]

Mechanical devices to cheat your phone pedometer (for health insurance fraud or vanity) are now all over AliExpress. [Matthew Brennan]

In 2017 Google and Facebook lost $100 million between them to one scammer who sent them fake invoices. [Jeff John Roberts] [found by TomBot*]

Teenagers with acne get higher marks, are more likely to complete college and, if female, eventually get paid more than people without teenage acne. [Hugo M. Mialon & Erik T. Nesson]

72% of classical musicians have taken beta blockers for performance anxiety. [Composed]

Black women in the United States die in childbirth at roughly the same rate as women in Mongolia. [Annie Lowrey]

Sometime in the 1990s, it seems the US forgot how to make a critical component of some nuclear warheads. [Nick Baumann]

“Mushrooms and truffles are fungi, more closely related to humans than they are to plants.” [Lynne Peskoe-Yang]

In the US Northwest, rain can damage the fruit on cherry trees. So helicopter pilots are paid to fly over the orchards, using their downdraft to dry the fruit as it ripens. For the pilots, it’s a risky but potentially profitable job. [Maria Langer]

Gravitricity is a Scottish startup planning to store energy by lifting huge weights up a disused mine shaft when electricity is cheap, dropping them down to generate power when it is expensive. Using a 12,000 tonne weight (roughly the weight of the Eiffel tower), it should be half as expensive as equivalent lithium ion battery. [Jillian Ambrose]

Spotify pays by the song. Two three minute songs are twice as profitable as one six minute song. So songs are getting shorter. [Dan Kopf]

Fashion++ is a Facebook-funded computer vision project that looks at a photo of your outfit and suggests ‘minimal edits for outfit improvement’ like tucking in a shirt or removing an accessory. [Wei-Lin Hsiao & co] (In 2019, Fluxx helped launch Vogue Business.)

Three million students at US schools don’t have the internet at home. [Michael Melia & co]

No babies born in Britain in 2016 were named Nigel. [Jonathan Ore] (Correction: Robert Colvile, who broke the original story, points out that there could have been one or two Nigels in 2016 — the ONS only reports names with three or more examples)

Using machine learning, researchers can now predict how likely an individual is to be involve in a car accident by looking at the image of their home address on Google Street View. [Kinga Kita-Wojciechowska]

In 2018, the Nigerian government spent more on subsidies for petrol than on health, education, or defence. [Andrew S Nevin]

According to WaterAid research, women spend 97 billion hours a year looking for a safe place to go to the loo. That equals 46 million working years, which is the same workforce as Germany, the fourth largest economy in the world. [Caroline Criado Perez via Tanya Gold]

28% of people like the smell of (their own) urine after eating asparagus.[Rolf Degen]

AliBaba is investing $15m to research Chinese dialects, hoping to improve the performance of their voice recognition systems. [Emma Lee]

At least half of the effort of most AI projects goes on data labelling, and that’s often done in rural Indian villages. [Anand Murali]

Worldwide, growth in the fragrance industry is lagging behind cosmetics and skincare products. Why? ‘You can’t smell a selfie’. [Andrea Felsted and Sarah Halzack]

CD sales still make up 78% of music revenue in Japan (compared with less than 30% in the UK). Japanese pop fans have been encouraged to buy multiple copies of their favourite releases to win rewards (buy 2,000 copies, win a night at a hot spring with your favourite star). One 32 year-old fan was charged with illegally dumping 585 copies of a CD on the side of a mountain. [Mark Mulligan] [found by TomBot*]

Two disgruntled game developers wrote a script to generate and release identical but differently-named slot machine apps (sample names: Deer Antler Spray Slots, 3D Ravioli Slots). Eventually, the slot machine apps earned them $50,000. [Alex Schwartz & Ziba Scott]

80% of prisoners released late 2018 in a presidential pardon have opted to return to Kinshasa’s infamous Makala jail due to lack of means to live. [Olivier Kalume]

Disco, a Japanese high tech manufacturing company, has introduced an internal billing and payment system, where every cost is charged back to workers. Renting a conference room costs $100. “People really cut back on useless meetings,” says one staffer. [Yuji Nakamura & Yuki Furukawa]

A man who bought the personalised number plate NULL has received over $12,000 of parking fines, because the system records ‘NULL’ when no numberplate has been recorded. [Jack Morse]

The islands of Orkney generate 120% of their energy needs using wind and solar. However, 57% of homes in Orkney are in fuel poverty, where a household spends more than 10% of income on fuel. [Chris Silver] (This year I worked briefly with Community Energy Scotland on a project with Energy Systems Catapult)

Some blind people can understand speech that is almost three times faster than the fastest speech sighted people can understand. They can use speech synthesisers set at at 800 words per minute (conversational speech is 120–150 wpm). Research suggests that a section of the brain that normally responds to light is re-mapped in blind people to process sound. [Austin Hicks & R Douglas Fields]

SpottedRisk is a disgrace insurance company built on data: “Firstborns are at slightly higher risk of disgrace, as are those… who’ve suffered recent breakups — until the passage of time sends the bereft partner back down the ‘risk-decay curve.’” [Boris Kachka]

SDAM (Severely Deficient Autobiographical Memory) is a rare syndrome where otherwise healthy, high-functioning people are unable to remember events from their own life. There is also an exhausting syndrome called Highly Superior Autobiographical Memory, where people can remember precise details about every single day of their life. [Palumbo & Alain]

“Polling by phone has become very expensive, as the number of Americans willing to respond to unexpected or unknown callers has dropped. In the mid-to-late-20th century response rates were as high as 70%… [falling to] a mere 6% of the people it tried to survey in 2018.” [The Economist]

In 2012, only one sports team (Manchester United) was worth more than $2bn. Today, there are 52 sports teams worth more than $2bn. [Kurt Badenhausen]

Flamin’ Hot Cheetos were invented by a cleaner at a Frito-Lay factory. He’s now VP of multicultural sales for PepsiCo America. [Zachary Crockett]

Six reluctant Chinese hitmen who hired each other to carry out a murder went to jail when their outsourcing scheme collapsed. [Eric Cheung]

Fast fashion is hitting the wiping rags businesses, because some clothing is just too badly made to be sold as rags. [Adam Minter] (In January, Fluxx worked with Fibretrace to develop new ways to make the circular economy work in fashion.)

Asking ‘What questions do you have for me?’ can be dramatically more effective than ‘Any questions?’ at the end of a talk. (Many more good tips in this thread. [Jacqueline Antonovich]

[valkyrie-echo]

Project Echo, Part 2: Chapter 15 (The Prank War)

Part 2 Summary: A new enemy surfaces with a team of the Avengers’ greatest foes, hand-picked for their destruction. Meanwhile, Inessa’s pre-Hydra past begins to surface, casting doubt on where her loyalties truly lie.

Chapter 15: The Prank War

"OK, that's weird," Tony came down to his makeshift lab after the end of the movie to work through a few equations before the night was over. What he found was Clint, sitting half in the shadows.

Clint slipped off his stool and approached Tony slowly, cautiously. "I have a proposition for you."

Tony raised an eyebrow, "Speak, parrot... Wait, that didn't make sense."

"I was about to say," Clint frowned, the air of mystery was abruptly gone.

"What do you want?"

"Natasha has become a problem that must be dealt with. She has allies, powerful ones, ones that would destroy me if I stepped out of line."

Tony nodded, understanding at last, "You're looking for an alliance. Why should I help you?"

"Because I can help you. Your enemy, like mine, sleeps in the same room as you. I mean to declare war, but only if I know I can trust my team."

He considered it for a long time, "There are certainly strategic advantages... Deal." they shook on it. Clint grinned wickedly.

Sam turned back from the stairs to the barn and hit Banner on the shoulder, "Clint and Tony are teaming up. You and me take them on?"

"Yeah, sure."

Natasha flipped through some DVDs, trying to pick a movie for the Avengers still up for a second round, "Teams of two then?"

"Sounds good to me," Banner nodded.

Bucky was busy making several fresh bags of popcorn. He poured one bag into a bowl and tossed another in the microwave. "Hey Thor," Bucky walked halfway out of the kitchen to call down the hallway.

"Yes, James?"

"In the interest of preventing domestic violence, want to be on my team?"

There was a whirl of wheels and Thor slid into the hallway on his computer chair, "To what are you referring?"

"Prank war," Natasha clarified.

Thor brightened immediately, "Of course! I know many practical jokes!" he frowned for a moment, "Although, many may be fatal for Midgardians..."

Bucky laughed loudly, "We're so going to win."

"Not if we have anything to say about it," Natasha glanced at Steve, "right teammate?"

Steve considered the offer and nodded, "Why not?" he glanced over at Inessa, still sitting alone on the couch, ignoring them. "Who would you like to team up with? You get your pick."

Inessa crossed her arms and refused to answer. She had to train with these people to get her powers back, she didn't have to be friendly. Mallory just rolled her eyes, "She'll be wildcard. Trust me, you all don't stand a chance. Nadi- Nessie- is a pro. Just don't play cards against her."

"Too late," Natasha smiled. She glanced through the DVDs again and set them back on the shelf, "Someone else chose, nothing's catching my attention."

Banner raised his hand, "I think I know one Nessie would enjoy. It's called 'Gattaca'."

"Go for it," Banner stood and retrieved the keyboard that tied in to JARVIS' digital media database.

Bucky finished up with the popcorn and began to pass out the newly-filled bowls. He tipped in to Thor's room and pulled the Asgardian from his computer by wheeling him out the door and sliding the chair across the room towards the television, "Stop asking google if Christine knew the Angel was the Phantom, you're not going to find an answer."

When dawn came around, all morning runners were shaking tacks out of their shoes. "Amateur hour," Natasha scoffed. She walked down the hall to Inessa's door and knocked before opening. Mallory and Inessa were up and ready to go- begrudgingly.

"So, you have any big plans for this prank war?" Mallory chose to fill the silence. She could see Nadya was on the tipping point- if the Avengers played their cards right her temper could break that day and then everything would be right with their world again.

"Took us all night, but I think Steve and I have a few good ones worked out."

There was a screech of feedback through the comms and Natasha and Inessa both winced. A moment later Sam came on, shouting, "YOU COULD HAVE BROKEN MY ANKLE WHICHEVER ONE OF YOU SADISTS DID THAT!"

Natasha burst out laughing. She opened her comm and replied innocently, "That was meant for Bucky, not you."

"HE PUSHED ME INTO IT!" Sam was shouting from the bottom of a 6 foot pit that had been covered by a tarp and sand. They were jogging as usual when Bucky suddenly stopped. Once Sam caught up to him he lightly shoved him to the left and- crash.

"Rule number one of a prank war- change your routine," Steve was definitely enjoying this. Natasha and the girls ran through the opposite end of the cornfield as they usually did. Inessa saw something shining in front of them and grabbed Mallory's arm. They slowed to a stop. Natasha glanced back and missed the flash of metal- she ran smack into the invisible barrier. They were prepared this time for the feedback from the comms and the cursing.

"Rule number two," Tony came over comms now, "anticipate rule number one."

Meal times were "truce" times- no Avenger dared mess with the edibles, that was just uncivilized. As soon as breakfast was over, however, the melee began again. Steve went outside with a book to read as Natasha trained Sam, but a bucket of water was waiting, balanced on top of the door. Thor roared with laughter as the bucket crashed onto his head and Steve cursed, dripping, and started shaking out his book. Before he thought to move out of place, a second trap was triggered by the slamming of the screen door behind him- a precariously hung bottle fell from the rafters above the porch and nailed him in the groin. While Steve's language reached truly impressive heights, Bucky came out and nodded appreciatively at his work.

"Rule number three- set two traps."

Inessa pushed past the buffoons in a fresh set of exercise clothes. She paced the edge of the sparring ring, waiting for Natasha. After a moment, Nat climbed out through an upstairs window, eyed her landing carefully, and jumped down. She didn't know Steve had already triggered the trap over the door, and she was entirely unwilling to be pranked again.

"Alright," Natasha dusted off her sweatpants and met Inessa's eyes. It was a weird feeling- looking straight into her eyes without a flinch or really any emotion save rage. If nothing else, taking away her powers had pissed off the kid enough to get her past the worst of her fear. She was out for blood now- a whole new kind of dangerous. "First things first, I want to see how you fight. Or even if you can fight." she kept her tone cold, emotionless. No babying- Inessa was the one who said (signed) that she could handle training, it was up to her to keep her end of the deal.

Without further warning, Natasha attacked. She kept her movements deliberately slow, made stupid mistakes, anything to give Inessa a challenge, but keep the advantage in her court. That didn't mean she let more than a couple hits land though- and those that did were to gauge her strength. Several Avengers watched from the porch, intrigued.

Inessa opened with a swing to Natasha's head- quickly countered by a strike to the stomach. She kicked out at Natasha's knee- a move that, if it had landed, would have dislocated or even broken the kneecap- not that it would ever land against more than an untrained street thug. Inessa spun around her, keeping her feet moving at all times, forcing Natasha to spin as well. It was a good strategy, but there was a lag in her movement while she spun. Nat made a mental note.

After five minutes of the mock-sparring, Natasha swept low and knocked Inessa's legs from her. The girl fell, panting. "You're keeping your hands too far from your body, you go from move to move too slowly and in a predictable sequence, there's no force in any of your hits, and I can tell that spinning move is one you use with your abilities, and you don't have those for now so don't rely on it. Also," she checked a bloodless scratch on her arm, "you fight with your fingernails. It's probably something you picked up when you were with the wolf. Only a good idea if you have blade-tipped gloves, otherwise you'll break a nail off and then you're the one in pain. With your abilities, could you form talons like what Nadya had and have them as strong?"

Inessa nodded. She wasn't speaking still, but more out of spite than fear.

"Good, I'll train you with the gloves after you've mastered basic hand-to-hand. You fight like a kid used to living on the streets, it's my job now to fix that. We'll start building muscle first. Now, put your leg out in front of you." Inessa did as she was told, "No, straight out, right angle to the other leg." it was difficult, but she managed something close enough for Natasha. "Good," Nat pulled a timer out of her pocket and set it on the ground in front of Inessa, "That's going to go off every five minutes for the next half hour. When it beeps, switch legs, then switch back. Keep them up though, or I restart the entire thing. It's how I started, and it'll feel like hell, but you'll build muscles you never knew you had."

Natasha turned away and called Sam down for his regular training. Mallory's mouth was hanging open, "Wait, so I have you to thank for that? They made us do that for weeks at SHIELD! Worst three months of my life!"

"But it worked, didn't it?" Natasha smiled.

Mallory considered it, "Actually, yeah. Still sucks though." she winked to Inessa who already was having trouble balancing and lifted her own leg in a show of support.

"Tip among friends?" Tony stopped Bucky as he walked into the barn, eating from a large tub of mayonnaise. "Vanilla pudding in the mayo jar is too cliche, everyone knows that one now. You've got to modern-up your game or you're toast."

Bucky grumbled, "I was hoping to get Sam with this one."

"You've got a handicap- you and Thor? You're the weakest team. At least Steve has Natasha to help, you and Thor just swirl around the bad ideas." he patted Bucky's metal shoulder, "You'll get there, not in time for this prank war, but maybe in the next."

The Winter Soldier just sighed, disappointed. He picked at he pudding some more, then offered it to Tony, "You want some at least? It's a shit-ton of pudding, and I grew up in the Depression. Something like this was beyond gold to us back then, I'd hate to see it go to waste."

"Sure thing," Tony took custody of the pudding tub. On an impulse, he sniffed it, then laughed at Bucky's confused expression, "Just in case you were crazy enough to eat actual mayo as a prank." Tony took a small scoop, then a much larger one. A fowl taste filled his mouth and he began to choke.

Bucky jumped out of the way as Tony hurled the mayo jar at him, "Vanilla pudding in the mayo jar was old when I was young, sonny boy, but a layer of vanilla on top of garlic mayonnaise? Your father taught me that little jewel." he walked away, cackling.

By midday Inessa was considering taking a knife to the implant again. Anything but this new torture. Her legs were jelly, and Natasha was fast on the way to making her arms useless as well by having her hold them out to the sides with a small bag of sand in each. Mallory, familiar with this one too, assured her it would get easier- around a month from then when the bags were filled to weigh five pounds. Natasha was brutal.

"SON OF A BITCH!" Clint came running out of the house with nothing but a towel wrapped around his bottom half. He was a slight green-yellow color, and it was dripping onto the towel as well. "WHICH ONE OF YOU DID IT? THE SHOWER IS A SACRED SPACE!" Steve covered his nose at a strange odor.

Banner stood up from one of the lawn chairs around the fire pit and walked over to high-five Sam in the sparring ring. Natasha raised her eyebrows, amused, "Chicken bouillon in the shower head?"

"A whole brick of it," Sam said proudly.

Before dinner every Avenger had scored more points (though no one was really keeping track).

Bucky and Thor duct-taped an air-horn to the pedestal of the computer chair in the main farmhouse, then raised it to maximum. When Steve sat down and adjusted the chair, he nearly broke the desk jumping back up. A few moments later, when Sam was trying to shake out some indoor rugs during clean-up duty, Thor summoned a thunderstorm to drench only him- and it followed him whenever he was outdoors for two hours.

Banner and Sam got their revenge on the two though- Thor left his sandals woefully un-defended, and were he not a God, he would have broken his neck in the fall down the stairs when he rushed down to stop a fight in the workshop, slipped on the sandals, and found that the tips were nailed to the floor. The resulting crash and screams of rage sent the two into hiding until dinner time. It didn't matter- they'd already left a box of chocolates sitting out next to the groceries on the porch (left there by Clint as he unloaded the car for Natasha to use). The only catch (which Clint discovered instead of the intended target- Natasha) was that once you opened the lid of the box, the bees imprisoned inside made it very clear how un-funny they found the joke to be.

Clint's partnership with Tony didn't bear as much fruit as both expected. The shield in the middle of the running path that morning had pretty much been their best idea. Banner's afternoon nap on the porch gave them the opportunity to field-test a new heat-activated adhesive (which performed above expectations. Banner's newly-waxed back as a result almost ended with a Hulk-out). Beyond that though they were mostly on the receiving end. Tony went through nearly his entire tube of toothpaste, wondering all the while why it wasn't putting a dent in the garlic overdose in his mouth before he realized Bucky or Thor had also gotten to it with the spices. Clint's bowstrings had been covered in some sort of wax which ended up making his fingers slip off the string mid-draw and made him give himself a black eye.

Natasha and Steve were the golden team, or so everyone thought. They hit Sam with the hunting trap (though that one was meant for Bucky), stapled the collar of Tony's shirt to his worktable when he fell asleep on it (the fall out from that is what sent Thor head-first down the stairs), re-packed the shower-head with glitter as soon as Clint thought it was clean (now he was sparkly and smelled like chicken soup!), covered Banner's back in honey instead of aloe after his little waxing experience, replaced Thor's insect-repellant with sugar water (which would pay off later that night), and, of course, Steve had already gotten Bucky the day before with a well-spent three hours arranging and then attaching tiny magnets to his arm while he claimed to be out looking for Inessa (Mallory wasn't as good of a liar as she thought- he could see Inessa sneaking around in her room from outside).

By the time May showed up to collect Mallory, everyone was exhausted and ready to declare Natasha the winner- the only one to be pranked just once.

Inessa walked (as best she could) Mallory out to the helicopter hand-in-hand. "Give it a chance, alright? I promise you, it's not going to be as bad as you think."

"I'll try," Inessa promised.

Mallory pulled her into a tight hug and kissed her on the cheek, "Thank you for not being dead," her eyes welled up with tears she couldn't suppress, "I really thought I'd lost you, little sister."

Inessa smiled as she pulled away. Ever since they were five they'd called one another 'sister', she didn't realize it until Mallory spoke, but she had never thought she'd hear that again- and it meant the world to her. "Be safe, big sister."

"You too," Mallory wiped her eyes quickly and called out to the Avengers watching from the porch, "Take care of her or I'll come back here and kick all your asses!" they waved and she climbed into the helicopter next to Agent May. The older woman picked up a box and handed it to her with a wink. She passed it to Inessa, "Make me proud."

The chopper blades began to churn and Inessa backed away quickly. She waved and watched until the chopper vanished from sight. She had been afraid when her friend left she'd go back to how she had been- more closed off, scared, disconnected. But the strength was still there. Inessa just had to be reminded of what it felt like to be Nadya again. There was still a lot of work to be done, but it didn't seem so overwhelming now that she knew she had a friend. Before the others came to her, she opened the box and looked inside- then suppressed a wicked grin.

"The food truce still stands, right?" Bucky asked wearily as the group picked at their stew.

"Yeah, why?" Tony was the cook of the day, and he was actually very proud of the fact that he resisted tampering with everything- especially after what Bucky had done to him.

Natasha lifted up a spoonful and let it drip back into the bowl, "So it's supposed to taste like this?"

"I told you all I'm not a cook, it's never been my forte, you insisted my name be in the hat."

As one, the Avengers and Inessa took a dinner roll. "Would it offend, Tony Stark, if I had pop-tarts for dinner?" Thor enjoyed the little pastries still.

"I would be offended if we didn't order some pizzas instead of choking this down," Tony wasn't ashamed to admit it tasted like shit.

Steve stood up, "I'll call, who wants what?" It took twenty minutes more to sort through everyone's orders and find compromises, then Steve went down the hall to the study. No sooner was he out of the kitchen than they heard a bizarre scream. Everyone jumped up and ran into the hall. Steve was laying on the floor, twitching. Natasha checked his pulse, he was fine, but his whole body was in spasms. He groaned as they subsided, "Who... Put... Nat's... Tazer... Darts... On... The... Handle?" he had to pant the words out.

Clint's mouth fell open. He inspected the door carefully- no evidence of any of Natasha's lovingly named "Widow-Bites". Banner retrieved a pair of rubber cleaning gloves from the kitchen and pushed through the crowd. He opened the den door quickly and slipped in. Sure enough- on the back of the doorknob was a small blue disk. Banner hit the center of it and deactivated it. He peeled it away from the door and held it up. "Natasha, come on- we already voted you the winner!"

"I didn't do it!" she protested, laughing now at Steve.

"I'm your teammate!" he grumbled as he got to his feet.

"I swear! Come on-" Natasha waved for him to follow, "You order pizza," she called to Banner. She led Steve, Sam, Bucky, and Tony upstairs to her room. When Natasha grabbed the handle of her door (to retrieve her case of the "Bites" and prove none were missing), she was launched back into the boys. The shock wasn't at any sort of dangerous level, but it was enough to smart and piss her off, "WHAT THE HELL?"

Three more shouts came from downstairs- more victims. "How many doors did you booby-trap?" Tony was incredulous.

"THIS ISN'T ME!" Natasha snapped.

Another angry scream came from downstairs a moment later, "WE WERE JUST IN HERE WHO PUT A WIDOW-BITE ON THE KITCHEN SINK?" Poor Clint- for someone who enjoyed playing pranks he had certainly been the victim of several that day.

By the time the pizza boy arrived every Avenger was on the rampage, trying to figure out who had trapped all the doors. Banner had taken his rubber gloves off to dial the phone- and they promptly vanished. Even sitting on the couch became a hazard- that was how Sam and Tony were finally hit. Inessa had the right idea- at some point in the chaos she simply sat in the middle of the livingroom on the hardwood and refused to budge. The pizza had to be retrieved by Bucky- who's metal arm had fallen off and vanished- he still didn't know how or where it was. He'd gotten it jammed in a door and the next thing he knew he came away but it didn't. When he'd broken into the room (and been severely shocked for his pains), there was no-one there and the window was open.

The pizza boy was slightly afraid of the manic look in Bucky's eyes, either that or by the screams of those still being hit with wave after wave of electric shock. "Electric short of some kind," Bucky tried to explain, "Nothing major."

"Oh," the kid nodded, pretending to understand, "Um, ok. Hey, this was in the middle of the front gate, by the way- I think the mail man just got lazy this time. It happens." he handed Bucky a round metal tin- an old film reel?

"Thanks, keep the change," Bucky tipped generously enough that he hoped the boy wouldn't draw too much attention to the farm.

"Thank you, sir!" he grinned from ear-to-ear, "Oh, and hey! I like the lightning rod, very 'Terminator'!" the kid ran back to his car and Bucky frowned.

"Lightning rod?" he walked out of the house and looked up. On the top of the highest peak was his metal arm, "SON OF A BITCH!"

Inessa kept her poker face throughout the mayhem. Mallory had given her twenty of those darts (donated by SHIELD for the prank-war). Bucky's arm? Well, that was just a matter of seeing an opportunity and taking it (literally). After he struck her, when she went to bring him out of the loft, he'd removed his arm. Inessa had a photographic memory, and it turned out she had just the right touch too. She sat in the middle of the floor, a picture of innocence, and accepted her dinner while the others tried to find all of the tazer darts.

"Pizza guy thinks the mailman left this, anyone claiming responsibility?" Bucky held the film canister up as though it were alive and dangerous.

"Not mine, scouts honor," Tony was exhausted- they all were- from the stress and strain of the day. In all they found twelve of the little darts, and prayed that was the end of them. The other Avengers denied any sort of involvement with the canister as well.

"I think I've got an old projector upstairs," Clint gingerly stood and went to retrieve the heavy case from the attic.

Bucky pried the lid off the case and braced for something horrible to happen- but inside was, as advertised, a reel of film. He picked it up and read the label on it, "Projekt Rebirth, German spelling, dated 1938."

"Huh?" Steve came over to check the reel, "I'm Project Rebirth, and it certainly wasn't 1938." he thought through it for a moment, "Wait- OK, I might know what this is. Before he worked with SHIELD, Doctor Erskine worked in a lab with Red Skull, it's how Skull got his powers. He tested the serum on himself."

"Got it!" Clint came back into the room with the large hard-sided case. He stood back and let Bucky and Steve figure out how to make it work and load in the film- it was from their era after all.

"Why is someone sending us Red Skull's old home tapes?"

Natasha rolled her eyes when Bucky pointed the projector at a blank wall and focused the reel, "What the hell kind of a joke is this? Which one of you two monkeys thought it would be funny to play with photoshop?"

"Do you know that kid?" Clint asked, incredulous. She looked very familiar, but he couldn't quite pinpoint it. She'd have to be at least in her late 80s, early 90s now, she looked to be ten in the footage. The girl was bone-thin, probably some kid brought in from the streets. Erskine and the Doctor who would one day be Red Skull- Johann Schmidt- appeared to be discussing something. The kid coughed and what could have been blood sprayed out. Erskine immediately went to her to dab at her mouth and comfort the sick child.

"You did this one, didn't you?" Natasha glared at Clint, "It's not funny, just weird."

"What's weird?" Tony was incredulous. The footage jumped- now the kid was in a machine.

"That looks like what they put me into, just a more basic version," Steve frowned as the doors closed and lights began to flash around the girl. When it opened, when the smoke cleared, the girl looked less skeletal. She looked strong. Almost like a different child.

A man went into the machine next, but Natasha ignored the video, "Fess up, which one of you thought this would be funny?"

"What are you talking about?" Sam was thoroughly confused.

"Like you don't know that's me. Come on, even SHIELD doesn't have pictures of me at that age to use for an edit. Who found what where?"

"Nat, I don't think any of us-" Steve looked around at the others. Everyone shook their head. Even Inessa looked confused and concerned.

Natasha was just pissed, "Look, by that age I was already in Black Widow training in the Red Room, and I didn't leave until I was twenty at least. So which one of you found Red Room footage? Huh? That was a horrific place. You shouldn't even use that stuff as a joke."

"JARVIS, send a suit in to check the footage for edit points," Tony spoke into his comm. Everyone watched the footage in silence until the suit arrived- young Natasha fighting the older man, improving day by day. There was a shot of her standing with one leg out in front of her- just like she'd had Inessa do.

A memory jumped out at Steve as the suit turned off the footage and collected the reel for scanning. They'd just gotten Bucky sedated (very much against his will) for the operation that would remove the metal arm Hydra grafted to his flesh. He was talking to Coulson, hung up, and suddenly Natasha was dragging him out of the Tower to go on some idiotic shopping trip- a thin excuse to just get him out and take his mind off of things. He'd tried to wrench free from her grip, but couldn't. Bucky and I are the only super-soldiers, right? he remembered being suddenly unsure of that. The thought sent chills down his spine. In a way, he knew the answer before JARVIS even spoke.

"There has been no tampering that I may detect. This is the original film strip. Cuts made to the footage and tape reconnecting several different scenes is consistent with the date indicated on the label."

Natasha couldn't accept that, "It's not real. I know it's not. I was trained in the Red Room in the 80s, I worked for the KGB for twenty- no wait-"

"We met on-mission in the late 90s," Clint prompted softly.

"Well I know I worked for the KGB for twenty years, at least, before that, and I trained for at least ten-"

"The math doesn't line up. You'd be in your 40s, 50s at least." Bucky looked down at his hands.

"No, but-" Natasha ran through her memories quickly, trying to find the point of error. She must have miss-counted time at some point, doubled something. It had been a long day, she was frazzled, she'd made a mistake. The video wasn't possible. It just wasn't.

"JARVIS, you have Nat's DNA on file?" Tony wouldn't look her in the eyes either.

"Yes, sir."

"Compare it to Bucky and Steve's. Specifically the super-soldier anomalies."

No one spoke for the full twenty minutes it took JARVIS to run his tests, then re-run them when the Avengers rejected the results. "With a 0.00001% error probability, Miss Romanoff's DNA does include the same genetic abnormalities as Mister Barnes, yet lacks the same mutations as Mister Rogers. It would appear at some point she was subjected to the unfinished version of the super soldier serum."

Banner chose to be the voice of reason, impossible as all this seemed, "For Red Skull to know the serum worked and test it on himself, he had to have seen it in action. Natasha, I'm sorry, but considering the number they did on Bucky, is it possible they did the same thing to you too? Once upon a time?"

"No, no, it's not- it's not possible. JARVIS, play back the reel, the last cut."

The suit turned to face the wall and projected the newly-scanned footage from it's internal memory. The last clip came up- Natasha, dancing. The Red Room, as a cover, doubled as a dance studio. Every Black Widow agent was part of the same ballet class- grace and death, all they'd been taught. She had hoped the last clip would show that place. She studied the dancers faces as closely as she could given the age of the footage. She remembered all of them- most died before their training was complete. Duels to the death were a weekly occurrence, and Natasha was top of her class. She was perhaps twelve in this clip. She remembered that day, that dance. Every detail was perfect- but it couldn't have been that long ago. She tried to remember exactly how long she'd been with the KGB, the time seemed much longer than it could have, yes, but- she wasn't that old.

"If it was real, I'd remember. No matter what they did. I've been around Thor's healing stones just like the rest of you. Bucky remembers. If it was true, I would too."

"Not if you suppressed them yourself," Thor's voice was soft.

"This is a shitty prank, you should all be ashamed of yourselves!" Natasha stormed off up the stairs, leaving everyone in silence.

Clint waited until he heard the bedroom door slam, "Let's call it a night- yeah?"

"I'll try to find what I can," Tony promised as the group disbursed. The cheery mood was gone.

Even Inessa was too shaken to hold on to her rage- when Sam held her bedroom door open for her she actually thanked him- it was a whisper, but it was something.

Over the next few hours there were several shouts and a "NOT COOL!" from Clint as the Avengers found the other eight tazer darts Inessa had hidden in their beds. She was just grateful no one knew she'd been the one to plant them.

Chapter 16: The Shrink

[supercoolgamesstuff-blog]

Google Stadia Reviewed – Against The Stream

New Post has been published on https://www.coolgamingzone.com/google-stadia-reviewed-against-the-stream/

Google Stadia Reviewed – Against The Stream

Introduction

By the mid-2000s, Blu-ray felt like the future of media. Blu-ray video looked incredible and offered cleaner picture and sound quality than previous media formats. “Surely,” we thought, “the technology that comes after Blu-ray will look even more impressive!” But then something strange happened; as streaming services like Netflix took off, more and more of us ditched physical media in favor of the cloud. Streaming didn’t offer the same level of fidelity as Blu-ray – or sometimes even DVD – but it was good enough. More importantly, it was convenient. The desire to watch anything anywhere outpaced our desire for image quality.

Now it’s 2019, streaming services have come a long way, and tech goliath Google thinks it has figured out how to Netflix the gaming industry. The tech is surprisingly functional, but its ability to upturn the industry will depend largely on its ability to implement its grand blueprint. Sadly, Stadia’s current design is missing several important pillars.

Gaming on Stadia

Gaming on Stadia

Stadia’s concept still sounds a bit like science fiction: Earlier this year, Google sold a vision of players using wi-fi-enable controllers to communicate with a hive of supercomputers in the cloud, which would allow users to stream the most advanced gaming software to decade-old laptops and mobile phones. Google’s system worked well at trade shows, but those were highly controlled environments. How does the service work now that we’ve been able to test it in the wild? Surprisingly well … if you have a stable internet connection.

On the whole, Stadia performs better than I expected. The high-speed internet at the Game Informer offices regularly gets download/upload speeds of 280 Mbps, so I rarely noticed even a hiccup while playing games at work. Mortal Kombat 11 on a stable Stadia connection booted up in seconds and feels about as responsive as its console counterparts. I had no problem dialing in combos and Fatalities even though my inputs had to travel through miles of infrastructure to bounce off Google servers.

Unfortunately, the experience quickly degrades as your internet speeds dial down. At a nearby coffee shop, where I recorded download speeds of 38 Mbps, I noticed a few frame skips every couple minutes. At home, where my speeds regularly drop to 20 Mbps, I experienced some visual artifacting and a regular picture stutter. With these slower internet speeds, I didn’t feel competitive in Destiny 2’s PvP modes, but I was able to complete a strike without a problem. Everyone’s tolerance for this kind of experience will vary, but my frustration over the occasional hiccup was mitigated by the revelation that I could play Destiny 2 in public on my phone (see the controller sidebar for more).

Stadia’s service only dropped out completely on me once due to a poor signal, but an instance of my game was saved and I had five minutes to hop back online and pick up where I’d left off. I wish Google would extend that grace period and allow users to create their own save states (a feature called State Share, which is still in the works), but I never lost any progress in a game, and my experience was stable enough across the board that I didn’t live in fear of being unable to access my games.

Google’s service isn’t a one-size-fits-all streaming solution, and you should carefully measure your internet speeds before committing to the platform. Many will find Stadia’s occasional stutters unbearable, while others will feel that it’s good enough. Personally, I can’t imagine trading any of my game consoles for a Stadia stream anytime soon.

  What about that controller?

An online-only streaming service seems like a bold new direction for the gaming industry, but Google isn’t interested in reinventing the controller. The Stadia controller smartly hews close to modern controller design. The pad itself has a nice weight and feels a lot like the PS4 controller thanks to its ergonomic shell and symmetrical analog sticks. The buttons produce a satisfying click and feel sturdy, and I got about seven hours of use from a single charge. Of course, Google has its equivalent of the start, options, and home buttons. However, Google added a screen capture and virtual assistant button to the mix, and this creates a jumble of buttons near the center of the controller. I constantly hit the screen-capture button when I meant to pause a game, which was frustrating.

At launch, the controller also doesn’t work wirelessly with any device other than the Chromecast. This means that in order to play on a laptop or phone you have to connect your device to a controller using a USB C cord, which I found cumbersome. In fact, I was actually a little embarrassed to pull out my tangle of gadgets to play games at Starbucks.

I also wasn’t able to connect the Stadia controller to wi-fi that featured a web browser login, meaning you probably won’t be able to use Google’s controllers wirelessly in locations like hotels that -require a secondary login screen. The Stadia controller might be a nice piece of physical hardware, but these tech issues need to get ironed out as soon as possible.

Under Construction

Under Construction  

Google’s streaming tech might be ready for prime time, but its service certainly isn’t. Many of the more exciting features either aren’t available for launch or won’t roll out until 2020. For starters, Google’s Pixel smartphones are the only phones that Stadia users will be able to use for streaming at launch. Achievements also won’t be viewable at this time, but Google says that Stadia is recording your progress, so once the feature is enabled, users will receive credit for everything they’ve done since then.

The Google Assistant is another exciting feature that is being kicked down the road. During the Stadia reveal event, Google said that with the tap of a button users could speak into their Stadia controller and pull up YouTube walkthroughs or other helpful advice for any game they played. This feature is absent at launch. Google says that the Google Assistant will be available soon, but even then, the Assistant will only be available from the Stadia home screen and only allow users to launch games or turn on their TV.

Stadia’s incomplete feature list is so long it’s a little embarrassing. What about Stream Connect, which is Google’s way of supporting multiplayer by allowing Stadia users to create local couch co-op experiences via split-screen? Coming later this year. What about Family Sharing, which lets you share games with other users in your family? Sometime soon. What about Crowd Play, which lets streamers play games with their viewers? Hopefully, sometime next year. What about streaming over cellular networks? I’ll let you take a guess. If Stadia had all these features, it might feel like the next big leap in gaming, but as it is, the platform is just a basic streaming platform that offers less than a home console. 

In the end, Stadia’s biggest problem is likely its lack of software. Stadia doesn’t have many dedicated experiences that will drive longtime gamers to the platform. The system’s launch lineup features some great games, such as Assassin’s Creed Odyssey, Rise of the Tomb Raider, and Red Dead Redemption 2, but those are all more than a year old and there isn’t a single triple-A exclusive on the horizon. This is a big problem for Google. If the company hopes to attract more people to the service, it needs to provide a reason to be on Stadia. In other words: It needs more games.

A look at Google’s data center that allows Stadia to run

Launch Lineup

Google Stadia Launch Lineup:

Assassin’s Creed Odyssey  

Attack on Titan: Final Battle 2

Destiny 2: The Collection (available in Stadia Pro)

Farming Simulator 2019

Final Fantasy XV

Football Manager 2020

Grid 2019

Gylt

Just Dance 2020

Kine

Metro Exodus  

Mortal Kombat 11

NBA 2K20

Rage 2

Rise of the Tomb Raider

Red Dead Redemption 2

Samurai Shodown (available in Stadia Pro)

Shadow of the Tomb Raider

Thumper

Tomb Raider 2013

Trials Rising

Wolfenstein: Youngblood

Reportedly Releasing Before The End Of 2019:

Borderlands 3

Darksiders Genesis

Dragon Ball Xenoverse 2

Ghost Recon: Breakpoint

The Bottom Line

The Bottom Line: 6 out of 10

Stadia seems tailored for a different crowd – the kind of game-curious individual who only pays attention to the occasional blockbuster release and isn’t willing to throw down a few hundred dollars on a dedicated piece of gaming hardware. Next year, when Google launches the free version of the Stadia service, the platform might find that audience. On the other hand, Stadia’s service isn’t currently valuable enough to justify the $129.99 early adopters price tag. Anyone devoted enough to follow industry trends probably cares enough about this hobby to spend the extra money on a console that provides a lag-free experience.

Still, I want something like Stadia to succeed. Purchasing a game and immediately booting it up without concern for downloads or updates is liberating, and when you have a stable internet connection, streaming games off the cloud feels like magic. Oddly enough, Stadia filled me with excitement for a game-streaming future, but it left me with less confidence that Stadia would be the platform to usher us forward.

Editorial Note: This review was conducted in a pre-release environment. We may revisit this review as we play more games after launch and as Google releases console updates.

Understanding Pricing

On day one, consumers can purchase the Stadia Premiere Edition for $129, which includes three free months of Stadia Pro, a Google Chromecast Ultra, and a Stadia Controller. Stadia Pro is Google’s subscription service, which costs $9.99 a month and gives players access to the highest quality streams (4K/60 fps/HDR/5.1 sound) as well as exclusive discounts on game purchases (TBA). Early next year, everyone will be able to stream games through Stadia at no cost, however, the streaming quality will be throttled to 1080p/60fps with stereo sound. No matter how you approach the service, games still need to be purchased à la carte.

Source link

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian one-shot - “The Pain” (Rated PG13)

While Sebastian evaluates new recruits for the Ice-plex's J.V. hockey team, one of his wannabes gets in hot water with Kurt when he cuts off a figure skater.

Tensions run high and secrets are revealed. (2093 words)

Part 12 of Outside Edge

Read on AO3.

“Alright! Thank you so much, guys and gals, for showing up to this year’s hockey team tryouts!” Sebastian glides down the line of potential recruits, dropping pucks in front of them while he speaks. “It’s been a long three days of drills, but we’ve finally narrowed it down to you guys.” Sebastian stops to give the kids in front of him - holding their sticks at the ready, waiting for their chance to be unleashed and show their stuff - a stern once over. “You should be proud of yourselves. That’s a huge accomplishment.” They hold themselves a little straighter, a little taller for Sebastian saying that. “Before we begin, a little background for those of you who may not already know ...”

Sebastian knows a handful will already know what he’s about to say. These kids have been raised at this rink. They could skate before they could walk. Sebastian has seen a few of them grow up here. He’s been their junior coach for the past five years.

God. He’s only a teenager and already he feels like an old man.

“Westerville Ice-plex has four leagues – junior boys, junior girls, and our two co-ed top tiers, J.V. and Varsity. J.V. are the Ice Dragons and Varsity are the Fighting Titans. You guys are here to become … Dragons.” The boys and girls clap and high five one another. “The Westerville Ice Dragons are not just any team. We don’t just win tournaments and bring home trophies. We also do exhibitions, volunteer workshops, charity events, community service, highway cleanups, you name it. Becoming a member of this team isn’t only about your skills on the ice, it’s about who you are as a person. Yes, we have only one captain and one co-captain, but all of you are expected to be leaders. In order to stay on this team, we need to see community involvement outside of the rink, and we need to see good grades. If you need help in either of these areas, we have more than enough people here to help you. But if you start to lag without asking for help, you’ll be removed to second string. Is that understood?”

“Yes, coach,” the kids say, staggered between nervous swallows.

“90% of the players who have ever been on either the J.V. or Varsity team have received offers of scholarships to some of the best schools in the nation. Ice Dragons and Fighting Titans from the past three decades have attended every Ivy League school in the country. Our players are so sought after that one of the Titans’ best goalies received the offer of a full scholarship to Penn State, and he only played one season.”

“Wow.”

“That’s amazing!”

“Who is that, coach?”

“Oh, you’ve all seen him if you skate here regularly, you probably just don’t know it.” Sebastian smiles deviously. “We call him The Pain.”

“Why? Is he a jerk?” one girl scoffs.

“No,” Sebastian says with a hint of glower. “He’s the best goaltender we’ve ever had. Faster than lightning, almost superhuman fast. He can anticipate most any move. And he’s fearless. No one could get anything by him. That made him a pain in the ass,” Sebastian grumbles, acknowledging that that means he couldn’t get anything by him either. “Anyway, we have five spots opening up and seven of you, so obviously a few of you will not be making first string.”

“Make that eight.” Another boy, suited up and with stick in his hand, slides to a stop at the end of the line. “Sorry I’m late, coach. I had a little trouble making my way over here.” He jabs a thumb behind him, but Sebastian doesn’t follow it, focused on the boy who skidded in over fifteen minutes late as if that kind of behavior would be excused.

“You know, we value punctuality on this team,” Sebastian says, arms crossed, “so this doesn’t look good for you.”

“Sorry,” the boy says, not sounding all that sorry. “Like I said, not my fault.”

“Hey! Hey you!”

Sebastian looks over the boy’s shoulder when he hears his boyfriend’s voice, and even though he sounds madder than hell, Sebastian can’t help smiling.

“Hey, Kurt. What’s up?”

“Your little latecomer there almost knocked over a figure skater!”

Sebastian looks at the boy for a reaction. There’s really only one acceptable reaction in this situation … and the boy doesn’t give it.

“Well, they need to learn to get their fruity asses out of our way,” he says with a superior smirk.

Kurt slides to a stop – a hockey stop in his razor sharp figures - spraying the boy’s skates with snow, which makes him seethe. “They’re practicing in their section!” Kurt says, leaning in to talk into the cage of the boy’s helmet. “You have no right to cut them off! We’re sharing this rink until the other one’s resurfaced! No sport takes precedence on the ice here!”

“Uh, I’d check again,” the boy has the nerve to clap back, “because last I looked, hockey has the tallest trophy in the case after last Friday’s game.” He glances to the side, expecting support from the other hopefuls in line, but they’ve already started to back away.

Sebastian can see Kurt getting steadily angrier, but he manages to keep his cool. “Well then I’d get your eyes examined because technically, after last Sunday’s competition, figure skating has the tallest trophy. I know because it happens to be mine. And I’m telling you that no sport here takes precedence on the ice. You knock over one of my skaters, and you’re out of this rink. I don’t care who you are or what team you’re on. And there isn’t a single coach here, junior or senior, who won’t back me up.”

The boy rolls his eyes but Kurt doesn’t let that rile him. He looks at Sebastian, staring back at the two of them with hard eyes, and says, “Keep your boy in check, Smythe. This is the only warning he gets.”

Sebastian nods. “You got it.”

Kurt turns on his blades and heads across the ice.

“That’s right,” the boy mutters. “Sashay away.” The boy flips his stick and taps the heel on the ice, knocking one of the pucks into another. He takes a peek around. No one’s paying attention to him. Coach is watching that obnoxious figure skater skate towards the penalty box while the other kids trying out for the team have clustered as far away from him as possible, not even trying to be inconspicuous.

Then there’re the line of pucks, sitting on the ice, in perfect firing formation.

At that moment, he decides that there’s no reason for him to be the outcast here. He didn’t do anything wrong. Everyone knows that hockey is where the money is for any rink worth a shit.

So he’s not about to be told off by a frickin’ figure skater.

Sebastian doesn’t know how Kurt sees it. Sebastian didn’t see it, too preoccupied with watching Kurt skate and trying to decide how best to handle his newest troublemaker. The odds of him being Ice Dragon material are slim, but he can’t just cut him loose now. But what if he causes problems later on? With that attitude, how the heck did he even make it this far?

However Kurt sees it, thank God he does, because a hit from a puck at speed anywhere on the body can devastate a skater, hence the full body armor hockey players wear during every game. Rink management even requires that their hockey players wear skates with Kevlar guards after one player’s career ended when a shot to the ankle shattered the bone. A strike anywhere on Kurt’s body could be a career ender, and if not, the amount of time it would take him to recover might derail him regardless.

But Kurt swivels out of the way just in time to avoid a puck to the thigh. He storms back over, a glare in his blue eyes that would stop a charging bull elephant in its tracks.

The boy chuckles nervously, backing away in surrender with arms raised. “Oops! Sorry about that. That one just slipped.”

“I’ll bet,” Kurt says. Sebastian arrives at his side in a second without any idea if he skated over to hold Kurt back, or to hold the kid down while Kurt punches him. “Shooting a puck with the intention of striking another skater is grounds for immediate disqualification from any team at Westerville Ice-plex. Get off the ice.”

The boy’s smile turns into a scowl. “What!?”

“He’s right,” Sebastian says. “Get to stepping. Now.”

“No way! This is bogus!!”

“No, what’s bogus is you thinking you could assault another skater and get away with it,” Kurt says. “You’re lucky I don’t report you to the police!” The boy looks relieved until Kurt adds, “But I am reporting you to the league. Don’t expect to skate in competition any time soon.”

The boy stares for a second, mouth agape, searching for the right cutting remark that won’t just win his argument, but get him on the team. That would show up that stupid figure skater! It would shut him up real good. But, in the end, he decides it’s not worth it. There are other teams, better teams … somewhere. He’s sure that there’s no way they can make good on their threat. They can’t keep him from playing.

He’ll show them.

“Whatevs,” he says, taking his stick and skating off the ice. He cuts through the penalty box to avoid coming into contact with anyone else. Sebastian watches him go until he disappears into the lobby and he can’t see him anymore.

“I gotta send my kids to the other rink.” Kurt gives Sebastian a reassuring smile and skates away. Sebastian sighs. More than likely, that kid gets his attitude problem from his parents. Parents, in Sebastian’s experience, tend to be more aggressive than the players, and that’s really sad, because a player like that boy, with an admittedly kickass slapshot, might end up benched because he can’t get his ego or his attitude under control. But Lord knows he probably didn’t start out that way the first time he strapped on skates.

Sebastian’s mom used to say there are no bad kids, only bad parents. He used to think that was a stupid excuse, that everyone is responsible for their own actions no matter what their age. But the more bad kids he meets, the more bad parents he sees.

The more the saying fits.

“Now that that’s over, let’s get these tryouts rolling, shall we?” Sebastian says, finding his upbeat attitude again. “You’re going to give me ten laps around the ice. You’re going to give me twenty pushups on your fists. You’re going to show me your best shoot the duck, Russian lunges, belly slides, knees spins, and edge work. And after you’ve warmed up, you’ll be evaluated - individually and as a group. This isn’t the time for showboating. Your best chance at earning a spot is by showing us you’re willing to put the good of the team above yourselves. We wanna see how you handle the puck, how you pass, how you shoot, and how you approach the goal.”

One girl raises her hand, and Sebastian points to her. “Yes?”

“You keep saying we, coach.”

“Yup,” Sebastian says. “We.”

“Is that like … the royal we?”

“He would say so.”

The boys and girls look around, but they don’t see anyone else except a spattering of figure skaters exiting the ice, and Kurt, circling back their way.

“Who’s he coach?”

“Yeah. Who’s gonna evaluate us?”

Kurt stops beside Sebastian, giving the boys and girls a bright new smile and a wave, as if the tension from before had never happened.

“Hey, guys,” he says. “Let’s get down to business.”

The kids look down the line at one another, confused, but Sebastian puts a hand on Kurt’s shoulder and smiles.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I believe you all know Kurt Hummel - ten time gold medalist and the pride of Westerville Ice-plex.”

Sebastian hands Kurt his hockey stick. He weighs it in his hands, then flips it around his wrist. It spins three times before he catches it, slapping the blade on the ice. Only then do the kids notice that Kurt has changed out of his figures and into hockey skates.

“But around here,” Sebastian continues, “we call him The Pain.”

[audreycritter]

Fic for @cerusee​ Gen/Family Bonding Young!Jason Todd Rated: T

The massive clock ticked off the seconds of the fourth quarter and far below on the field, players were moving into formation at the Gotham Knights offensive twenty yard line. They looked minuscule from the windows, so the few people in the luxury box mostly watched the game on a huge flat screen television mounted in front of a curved leather couch.

On the other side of the room, a table with the remnants of catered h’or d'oeuvres was set back against the wall, beneath framed and signed photographs.

Bruce Wayne was doing three things at once, during the last quarter of the game. He was giving just enough attention to the score that he could react appropriately during plays. He was keeping up a buddy-buddy conversation with two executives that were considering merger deals that let Wayne Enterprises essentially buy out company control in return for shared accounts and research funding.

And finally, he was occasionally twisting around on the couch to glance at Jason Todd. The tiny thirteen year old could still pass for eight or nine despite the fact that he'd single-handedly cleared about a third of the catered snacks himself. The boy had been visibly excited at the prospect of the luxury box when Bruce had mentioned it, but the thrill had clearly faded when it became clear that Bruce was busy, in a way, and that there wasn't much to do other than watch a football game.

Jason wasn't, for all his protests, really that interested in sports.

A few times, Bruce had tried to draw him into conversation at least, to alleviate the boredom, but Jason was sullen and silent around the other men. Despite that, he had refused a quiet offer to have Alfred pick him up early. And now, while the last minutes of the game ticked away, Jason was lying on his stomach on the deep, plush carpet near the table, flipping through a Car & Driver magazine. Occasionally, his hand would snake upward and he'd snatch another miniature spinach quiche off the table.

With a frustrated slant to his mouth, Bruce turned back around when the others cheered, just in time to see a touchdown victory dance on the screen.

Half an hour later, the Knights had won their game by a narrow margin and Bruce Wayne had informally closed two separate deals, bolstered with good spirits from the scoreboard and expensive wine. The last of the guests in the Wayne luxury box shook hands with him in turn and left by the private hallway, on a tour to meet the team post-showers.

Bruce declined to join them, claiming he was tipsy and didn't want to slow them down. He was not tipsy. He'd had one glass of wine to their three each.

Once the door closed behind them, he turned to find Jason standing at the window overlooking the field and pressing his face against the glass to take more of the view in.

“This is so high,” he breathed, despite the fact that they went higher when they patrolled.

Bruce joined him at the window.

“It's pretty far up,” he agreed.

Jason breathed on the glass and wrote his initials in the fog, and before it had even faded, he tore himself away from the window and flung himself across the leather couch.

“That was so boring,” he complained. “Do you even like those guys?”

“It's not my job to like them,” Bruce answered, loosening his tie. “It's my job to make them think I do.”

Jason flopped backward and somersaulted off the couch and sprang to his feet. He walked through the sitting area in front of the television, trailing one hand on the leather of the couch arms, and then hopped up the step to the kitchenette.

“That seems slimy,” Jason said bluntly, opening cabinet after cabinet and peering inside. He punched buttons on the shiny microwave and then cancelled the beeping operation. “Man, I could live here.”

Bruce was content to let him explore, now that he realized this is what Jason had been waiting to do and wouldn't do in front of guests. He stretched out on the couch, thinking maybe he could doze for ten minutes before heading back to the Manor and suiting up for patrol.

It wasn't long before he was half-asleep, listening to the opening and closing of drawers, debating facing Jason’s wounded anger to insist that the lad stay home and sleep after a long day. Alfred would come around with the car when Bruce called and maybe the ride home would be a good place to deal with the reaction in a contained way.

“Hey, B,” Jason said, from close to Bruce's face. Bruce opened one eye. The boy was hanging over the back of the couch, his eyes mere inches from Bruce’s. “I'm not kiddin. I could live here.”

“You're not going to live in the luxury box,” Bruce said, yawning.

“It's got everything,” Jason insisted. “A bathroom. A kitchen. The best carpet. A TV. I could sleep on the couch.”

“Jay-lad, you have a bedroom at the Manor. This kitchen doesn't even have a stove.”

“Don't need a stove for Spaghettios,” Jason answered, balancing on his stomach on the couch back. He slipped and toppled onto Bruce’s head but didn't rush to leap off, like he might have a year ago. “Puhleeeeeese, just a week. I'd do so much homework, I swear.”

“You do all your homework now,” Bruce answered, his voice muffled by Jason’s shirt and belly.

The boy slid to the floor in a heap and rubbed fiercely at his stomach. He craned his neck so Bruce could see his angry expression.

“That tickled. I hate being tickled.”

“I hate being suffocated. Call it even?”

Jason grumbled.

“I don't know why you'd have an awesome place like this and not wanna use it.”

“We did use it. Today.”

“For boring stuff!” Jason yelled, throwing his arms in the air and falling from sitting on the floor onto his back next to the couch. “One night. Just one. We can rough it like Robinson Crusoe.”

“I don't think Crusoe had deep-pile carpet,” Bruce said wryly, closing his eyes again.

“Like the Swiss Family Robinson, after they built their tree house,” Jason said, sitting up again. Bruce sensed, rather than saw, the motion. “Please, just one night. One night and I won't complain about anything for a month. For the rest of my life.”

“That's a pretty big commitment. What if you live until you're ninety-seven?” Bruce asked, resigning himself to no dozing. He sat up and rubbed his face.

“Eww,” Jason said, his lips curled in disgust. “I'm not getting gross-old. I'm gonna die when I'm like normal old, like forty-five. I'll have a dozen cars and a shit-ton of money and a girlfriend.”

Bruce bit back a laugh and tousled the boy’s hair.

“Normal old, huh,” he said. “Don't let Al hear you cuss.”

“Yep,” Jason said. “I got it all planned. So, can I stay the night?”

Bruce unknotted the tie he'd loosened earlier and pulled it all the way off. He threw it over the back of the couch and stood. He mussed Jason’s hair again and went to the box phone on the wall by the kitchenette. He was acutely aware of Jason’s eyes tracking his every moment.

“Alfred. Yeah, we’re done. No, change of plans. I need a few pizzas and two sleeping bags. Maybe a book or two.”

“Stuff for s’mores!” Jason shouted. Bruce turned. The kid was standing on the back of the couch like it was a balance beam.

“And stuff for s’mores. No, I know. No, I'm not going to light a fire in the box. Yeah, I'll see you in a bit.”

Bruce hung up and Jason whooped loudly and jumped from the couch onto Bruce’s back. Bruce kept his balance and Jason leapt back off.

“I can't believe this,” he said, pressing his hands to his cheeks and smooshing his own face together. “This is gonna be the best thing ever. I promise. You won't even want to go home after.”

“I doubt that,” Bruce said. “But one night might be fun. Did you want to explore the stadium while we wait for Alfred?”

“Are we gonna have to pretend to like boring old guys?” Jason asked suspiciously, glancing over his shoulder toward the glass with a guarded frown.

“Not if I can help it,” Bruce said. He was about as done playing nice as Jason seemed to be. “I'll race you up the steps. From the field to the peanut gallery.”

Jason’s suspicious gaze turned immediately disdainful.

“I shoulda known,” he muttered sourly.

“What?” Bruce asked, bewildered.

“That this was a ruse to get me to exercise,” Jason grumbled. He sank to the floor with a dramatic sigh. “B, I ate like, an entire whale. If I run I'm gonna hurl all over the whole freaking stadium, like so much it'll make even you sick.”

“We don't have to run,” Bruce said, shrugging a shoulder. “I just thought you were probably fast enough to beat me by now.”

Jason moved his arm off his face to squint up at him.

“You think so?” he asked.

Bruce shrugged again.

“Maybe. It's okay. We can find out some other time.”

Jason was at the door by the time Bruce blinked. The boy tugged the door open and yelled over his shoulder, “C’mon, slowpoke! You make snails look fast!”

Despite the sound of rushing feet in the concrete hallway, Bruce took the time to peel his suit jacket off and leave it behind on the couch.

“How the hell do we get down? Heck, I mean,” Jason yelled from outside the box. “Never mind! I'm gonna jump this railing!”

“Don't--” Bruce shouted back, but he was interrupted by the sound of a body landing on a hard surface and then rushed almost-nervous laughter, followed by a whoop.

By the time he emerged on the lower platform above the steps in the empty stadium, Jason was already turning cartwheels on the field. Bruce went down the steps, taking his time. He'd barely set foot on the bottom path before Jason scaled the concrete barrier to join him in the stands again.

“OnetwothreeGO!” Jason yelled, sprinting past him as soon as he'd vaulted over the rail. He was up a dozen steps by the time Bruce turned and started up them by twos.

He hung back a little until Jason started lagging, halfway up, and then quickened his pace until he was beside him. Right as he was going to pull ahead to see if Jason would push himself to keep up, the boy ducked his head drove forward, then launched himself off the edge of a stadium seat and onto Bruce's back.

For a moment, Bruce staggered, slipping sideways with the force in his slick dress shoes that weren't exactly made for running smooth cement stairs. He regained his balance and picked up speed.

“Uuughhh,” Jason said from near his ear. “This was a bad idea.”

“Should I stop?” Bruce asked, slowing a little.

“Not unless you're too weak, old timer,” Jason retorted.

A minute later, they were at the top and Bruce turned to survey the stadium. Jason was draped across his back and after a nerve-wracking hiccup, he sighed and said, “Okay, I swallowed it. I think I can hold it down.”

“That's gross, Jay,” Bruce said affectionately, heading for the elevator. “C’mon, you can lie down on the couch.”

Back in the luxury box, Jason sprawled out on the leather and didn't move until Alfred knocked on the door. Bruce opened it to see the older man standing with two pizza boxes and a sack of supplies.

“The sleeping bags are still in the car,” Alfred said, as Jason rolled off the couch.

“I'm starving,” Jason said, taking both of the pizzas. “All we had for lunch was snacks.”

Bruce faltered under Alfred’s stern glare of reproof and he turned to the boy, who had already flipped back the cardboard lid of one pizza.

“Ten minutes ago you were complaining you'd eaten too much,” he said, hoping to salvage himself in Alfred’s estimation.

“That was like, forever ago,” Jason said. “We were waiting for half my life.”

“It was finger food,” Bruce said firmly, deciding to take the offensive. “He ate.”

“Hm,” Alfred said in a noncommittal way. “I'll return with the sleeping bags. Should I remain available this evening?”

“I think we’ll be fine,” Bruce said, watching Jason hold a piece of pizza with his teeth while he searched cabinets for plates. “Take the night off.”

“No post-midnight activities, I presume?” Alfred asked from the doorway.

“I think we’ll skip tonight,” Bruce confirmed.

In the kitchenette, Jason froze. He took the pizza slice with one hand to free his mouth, so he could ask, “Do we have to?”

“One or the other, kid,” Bruce said, glancing out the window at the skyline beyond the stadium walls. It was actually right inside the city and a lot closer than the Cave.

“No,” Alfred said sternly from behind. “We are not relocating.”

“One or the other,” Bruce repeated with a small sigh. “A night off is okay.”

When Alfred brought the rest of the supplies up and said farewell, Jason took a break from wolfing pizza down to shove the couch back and unroll the sleeping bags. Bruce ducked into the bathroom to change out of his suit, and when he reemerged, Jason was lying on the bed he'd made with more pizza, flicking through channels on the television.

“I didn't even know that had cable,” Bruce said, sitting on the floor with him and taking another piece of pizza. Jason found a B-list action film and tossed the remote aside.

“Eew,” Jason said a few minutes later, covering his eyes but continuing to watch through splayed fingers. “Does it really look like that when someone’s head is blown off?”

“Give me that remote,” Bruce said, reaching over the boy. He changed the channel and then added, “Yes. It was pretty close.”

“Ugh, you know the coolest shit,” Jason said, fighting half-heartedly for the remote. “Go back, I wanna see if they win.”

“They win,” Bruce said, holding the remote above his head. Jason apparently didn't care enough to stand up and really go after it. “It's the formula. We're sticking with something less likely to get either of us in trouble with Alfred.”

“Brown-noser!” Jason moaned. “You just hate it if I have fun.”

“I do,” Bruce replied, leaving the TV on an old sci-fi show instead. “I hate when anyone has fun.”

“I'm gonna make a s’more,” Jason said, pushing himself up. “I'll even make one for you, just ‘cause you'll hate it for being delicious.”

Bruce leaned back against the couch and watched the dark sky out the window. The microwave hummed and Jason whistled and drummed his hands on the counter until the whistling and drumming both cut off abruptly.

“Fuck,” he heard the kid say under his breath. Bruce looked over toward the kitchenette. Jason’s face was a picture of panic and he was reaching for the microwave door with a towel. “Shit! Shit, shit, shit,” he yelped while Bruce was climbing to his feet.

“What happened?” Bruce asked, jumping over the couch. The microwave was steaming and he snagged Jason around the waist and pulled him back while it hummed then beeped. White ooze seeped from the edges of the microwave door and the whole glass was a solid pale gray.

“Uhhh,” Jason said, his eyes wide.

Bruce scanned the counter and took the towel from Jason. The marshmallow bag was half-empty already.

“How many did you put in there?” Bruce demanded and Jason stepped back.

“I don't…” Jason said, his hands clenched into fists. “I didn't count. I was gonna…”

Bruce unplugged the microwave just in case and gingerly sprang the door open, jumping back as steam and goopy, sagging marshmallow oozed out onto the counter. He turned and Jason was gone.

“Jay,” Bruce said, trying to keep the edge of annoyance out of his voice. He hadn't heard the door open or shut. He studied the room and there was a telltale lump inside one of the sleeping bags. He gave the marshmallow mess a rueful frown and abandoned it for the moment.

Across the room, he knelt next to the lump and prodded it.

“Do we have to go home?” Jason asked from within, sounding wretched and embarrassed.

“No. Come help me clean this up. Maybe we can save some in a bowl and make a dip.”

Jason’s face peeked out of the sleeping bag, his cheeks tear-streaked and his eyebrows bunched in a worried, angry glare.

“You can just say I'm stupid,” Jason said stubbornly.

“Why would I lie to you?” Bruce asked, offering a hand. “Come help me find some spoons.”

Jason let himself be pulled to his feet and he dragged himself to the kitchenette and started opening drawers to look, slamming each one shut after.

“At least you didn't start a fire,” Bruce said. “First time I tried to make tea for Alfred, I caught the kettle on fire.”

Jason grinned suddenly and looked up.

“I bet he was mad.”

“He was mostly worried. We took care of it.”

Jason handed him a spoon and a bowl.

In the end, it took forty minutes to clean the mess. Half of it ended up in the bowl, another fourth Jason ate straight with a spoon while they worked, and another fourth was scraped off with damp paper towels and soap.

Bruce rewarmed the hardening mass in the bowl and Jason gleefully stirred in broken chocolate bars. Bruce would have preferred to just try from scratch with the rest of the bag, but after twenty minutes of indirectly encouraging Jason back to a good mood, he was reluctant to undo his work.

They sat in front of the television and used graham crackers like chips until even Bruce was feeling a little ill. He expected Jason to need to go run off the sugar rush, but the boy had the opposite reaction and was nearly tipping over with sleep-lidded eyes.

He curled up in the sleeping bag when Bruce took the bowl away and yawned.

“B,” he said, in a sluggish voice. “Are you sure we can't live here?”

“I'm sure,” Bruce said. “But a night’s not bad.”

“A night is the best,” Jason mumbled. “Did Al pack my Nancy Drew book?”

Bruce tugged the monogrammed duffle bag closer to him from the end of the couch and rifled through it.

“He did,” Bruce said, pulling the book out.

“I'm on chapter seven,” Jason said with another yawn. “I'm too tired to read.”

“You want me to read?” Bruce surmised. After a second’s thought he decided it wasn't the right time to prod Jason into just outright asking, considering how well the boy had done during the day.

“Yeah,” Jason said sleepily. “Chapter seven. Do the high voice for Nancy.”

“What high voice?” Bruce asked, acting falsely affronted.

“That one you use when you tell Alfred things Selina said that annoyed you,” Jason insisted. “I’ve heard you.”

Bruce sighed and opened the book and resolved to be more careful in the future about conversations he assumed were private.

“Chapter Seven,” he said.

“We really could live here,” Jason interrupted. “It's right in the city.”

“Don't tempt me, Jaylad,” Bruce warned. “And hush. You wanted me to read.”

Jason giggled every time Nancy had dialogue and was asleep before the end of the chapter. Bruce set the book aside, turned off the light, and stretched out in his own sleeping bag.

He looked around the dark room and then over at Jason, sleeping with his face smashed into the little nylon pillow. Drool trickled out of the boy’s mouth and onto the bag. Bruce reached over and used Jason’s own shirt to wipe it off.

Then he leaned back and closed his eyes. It was actually nice to go to sleep before midnight for once.

He woke with the sun streaming through the huge windows and Jason leaning over him.

“Get up!” he ordered. “We’re nearly out of supplies. I'm making marshmallow dip for breakfast so we don't starve.”

“We’re not going to starve,” Bruce said, grabbing Jason’s ankle when the boy tried to rush off. “Call Alfred. We’ll get breakfast on the way home.”

“Marshmallow dip or we waste away!” Jason shouted, kicking at Bruce’s wrist with his other foot. “Lemme go!”

Bruce resigned himself to his fate and released the kid. He rolled over and buried his face in his arms.

“When Alfred gets here, we pretend we haven't eaten yet.”

“Deal,” Jason agreed. “But he’s gonna know anyway.”

“Yeah,” Bruce nodded. “But we can go down fighting.”

“Or live here forever!” Jason crowed, jabbing microwave buttons. “Luxury box kings!”

Bruce laughed and tried to go back to sleep.

He did not succeed.

[darnloveablecharacters]

Far From Home, Part Five: Called It!

Series Summary: Reader is torn from her reality and dumped into the middle of a war. Will she make it home? Or will she find where she belongs? A Rogue One Reader Insert Fanfiction. Gifs and recognizable characters are not mine, but the story and all of the mistakes are!

Far From Home - Masterlist

Chapter Notes: Away we go again! I’m realizing now that I stopped it right before the story was starting to get fun. Lame... haha. Anyway! Sooner than expected, jet lag and all, here is part 5!

Warnings for this chapter: none

We entered a dark room with a dull green glow. The glow was coming from a group of monitors that appeared to be tracking flight paths. The center of the room hosted a massive circular table with paper and smaller monitors scattered around it. The chairs around it were empty except for one. He was an older gentleman, with receding blonde hair and wore a scowl that could melt the face off an average person. His clothing was similar to what the pilot was wearing, the only difference being that his badge contained five dots.

Definitely a rank designation.

The pilot led me to a separate chair that had been pulled away from the table. He removed the handcuffs just long enough to restrain my arms behind the chair. 

They must view me as very dangerous. Ha!

I looked around as he worked and noticed another woman in the room. She wore a long white gown and had cropped brown hair. She wore no rank badge, but held herself in a way that made it obvious she held a position of leadership. The expression she wore as she watched us enter, however, is what caused me to pause. In it, I could see the mixture of sadness, determination and even a brief shade of hope.

A very strong woman, I think we should be friends.

I shook the thought away as the pilot finished with his task of restraining me to the chair. I couldn’t help but watch as he walked away and leaned against one of the green monitors. He seemed to slump against it, and closed his eyes as if he was trying to center himself.

He even looks good exhausted.

Oh great, now even my brain can’t focus.

The man with the scowl leaned back in the chair, resting an arm on the table. He considered me for a moment then started the questioning. “Who are you?” he asked me.

Straight to business, I like that.

Not that I’m going to play along. “No one of importance.” I answer with a smirk.

His brows furrowed for a second before continuing. “Are you with the Empire or the Alliance?” he pressed.

Called it! They’re at war!

“Neither” I say smugly, delighted at the small bit of information that I had received.

The man stared at me with a raised eyebrow, as if he was internally questioning my sanity. If I’m being honest with myself, it’s probably a valid question. Here I am, handcuffed to a chair, being questioned by possibly the grouchiest man in the universe and all I can do is answer his questions with sarcasm and a smile.

“What is your name?” He tried again.

“Why does that matter?” I ask, trying to sound sincere.

His eyes narrowed, “Because I need to know if you pose a threat to my people.”

My people? A commander then, general maybe?

“I can assure you that I am no threat to you or your people. I had no intention of coming here in the first place. It just sort of, happened.” I say truthfully for once. I glanced toward the pilot to see if he would confirm my story. He hadn’t moved, just stood there with his eyes closed.

Maybe he fell asleep like that. Have a good nap I suppose.

“Then why are you refusing to tell us who you are?” the angry-one asks straightening in his chair.

“Because I don’t like you very much.” I said still smiling.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

It’s possible you could have imagined it, but you could swear you saw the woman-in-white smile out of the corner of your eye.

The seemingly permanently angry man stands from his chair and leans down in front of me placing his hands on the arm rests of my chair, face inches away from mine. “You seem to have a problem with authority. Do you understand…” Mr. Angry stopped mid-sentence as I burst into laughter. I couldn’t help it!

You’re right, you are insane. You’re on your own.

Should I be concerned that my brain just bailed on me?

“You’re fighting in a rebellion! Is it really such a shock to you that someone may not follow your command without question? Is that not why all of you are here?” I managed to choke out between giggles. I glanced around at the others in the room, eyes stopping again at the pilot. His lips had quirked into a grin briefly, but immediately dropped back into a frown as he finally opened his eyes, and caught my gaze.

Stop that, why are you looking at his lips?

My attention was drawn quickly back to the man invading my personal space, as he tightened his grip on my chair. “What makes you think we are part of the rebellion?”

I smiled at the interrogator, knowing I was in dangerous territory, but still unwilling to back down. I chose my next words carefully. “I may not know anything about your world, but I know the history of my own. Empires come and go, and as far as I’m aware they do not take kindly to any other governing bodies. They attempt to dominate everything and make an example of anyone who stands in their way. You asked me if I was part of the Empire or the Alliance. I believe an imperial soldier would refer to any opposing force as a rebel… don’t you?”

I think that’s the most intelligent thing you’ve said since you got here. They’ll probably kill you for it.

The man straightened, finally removing himself from my personal space. He was staring at me with a look of complete loathing. I maintained eye contact with him, willing myself not to look away and allow him to win his little dominance game.

After a few moments of the staring contest, the woman who had been observing quietly from the other side of the room spoke up in a soft, but surprisingly commanding voice. “General Draven, I think we are finished for now.”

Called it again! I told you he was a General!

General Draven seemed reluctant to look away, but eventually turned to the pilot and said, “Captain, take her to her cell.”

The woman spoke again, as the pilot…

He called him Captain

Right, as the Captain unlocked me from the handcuffs and helped me stand.

“No Captain, take her to one of the empty rooms.” General Draven’s head snapped toward the woman, and I could feel the Captains grip tighten on my arm. The woman ignored this, and continued addressing the Captain directly. “She could do with better living conditions and some new clothes. Post a guard outside of her door until we decide what to do with her.” At this the General looked so angry he could spit, but he simply nodded and briskly walked out of the room.

I couldn’t help but smile for my small victory as the Captain gently, but firmly pulled me toward the door.

I told you we should be friends with her!

To say that I was grateful to the woman for rescuing me from my prison, and not to mention my filth, was the understatement of a lifetime. Not that I would let anyone know just yet. The Captain led me to my room as she had requested, and lingered at the door as I inspected my new abode.

“Bathroom is there.” He said gesturing to a small door on the left side of the room. “Someone will drop by shortly with some clothes and towels and,” he hesitated for a moment, eyes taking me in again, “other necessities.” He finished slowly.

He’s hinting that you smell and should take care of it.

“Thank you, Captain.” I said formally.

His brown eyes snapped back up to meet my E/C eyes for a moment, as if shocked by the sentiment. “There will be a guard outside, just let him know if you need anything else.” With that he turned to leave.

Before he left, I called out, “I meant to thank you by the way.”

He stopped at the door. He turned back to me and cocked his head to the side, confused. “You just did.”

I looked down and shook my head. “I mean for the blanket. I don’t remember having one when I, um, fell asleep on the ship.”

Yes, let’s not talk about the fact that you passed out.

He graced me with a small smile, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. “You’re welcome.” And he left the room, the door sliding closed behind him.

That’s it, the end. Okay bye Captain. Good talk.

I walked to the door and made sure I heard the sound of his footsteps die away before I let out a squeal of delight. I immediately ran to the bed and pressed on the mattress. “It’s real! Still small, but its real! With a frame and everything!”

Oh good, you can identify a bed. I was starting to worry your mind was slipping.

“Shut up brain, don’t take this away from me!”

As promised, my new clothes and personal hygiene items were delivered to my room within a few minutes after the Captain’s departure. I thanked the small robot. Literally by saying, “Thank you, tiny robot!” Which elicited a giggle from the guard. I didn’t worry about it though, too excited to scrub the last few days off myself. It took me longer than I would like to admit to figure out how to run the shower. The controls are much different than what I’m used to. However, after pushing every button I could find and nearly scalding myself to death once, I was able to scrub myself clean.

Thank God.

“For once we agree.” I said giggling. I got out of the shower feeling immensely better, and dressed myself in the borrowed clothes. They weren’t flattering, at all. But they were comfortable and smelled clean, so I was happy. All clean, I collapse on the bed and immediately fall into a deep sleep.

Still a prisoner, but at least a clean one.