#LIKE I GET ITS BEEN TEN YEARS SHE GOING TO FUCKING SOUND DIFFERENT

[maxthesillyy]

IT WAS PHOTOSHOP!!!!!!!!!! 😧😨 A DEEPFAKE MAYBE…… 😓😖 I DONT KNOW

[artsninspo]

FORGIVELSS -II - I DON'T CARE 'BOUT CONSEQUENCES, I WANT MY LICK BACK

Full Masterlist

RIO MASTERLIST

II - I DON'T CARE 'BOUT CONSEQUENCES, I WANT MY LICK BACK

Pairing: Rio (Good Girls) X Reader

Word Count: 2K

Warning: Mature themes and its 🌶 🌶 🌶 

Summary: The title says it all.

Previous Chapter

You step one good in front of the other. You can feel your pulse in your throat. Hear it in your ears. Your palms are hot and anger is what’s fuelling you. You keep walking. A patron swings the door open and you scan the establishment. The venue is different to the previous restaurant, less upscale and easier to disappear into. You’re looking for one person and one person only. Sighing out of frustration you head to the bar, a bartender materializes in front of you in a minute.

“Is Rio here?” You ask.

“Anything to drink?” He asks.

Letting out a long sigh you take a look over the top shelf contemplating it. “Nothing for now, is he in?” You ask liable to blow any minute now and the bartender steps away whispering something to another. You watch closely as they disappear. You feel like breaking dishes, trashing the house and vandalising the car. You wish you could scream.

“He’s upstairs” the bartender says, snapping you from your daydream. Standing, you head up the long staircase. You emerge into an office with a Birds Eye view of the establishment. Rio is sitting in the middle of it behind a wooden desk with money piled high on the corner of it. His calm is in stark contrast to the mania you’re feeling.

“Let me guess, you want to commit a murder” he says breaking the silence with his naturally cool demeanour and that distinct voice. 

“Don’t mock me” you warn and he smiles, pouring a glass and setting it in front of you as you take a seat on the couch in the sprawling space. You take a sip only for the liquor to burn your throat due to inexperience. You make a face and the liquor quells your temper a touch. When your eyes reopen Rio’s amusement is clear as day. You spent three hours getting ready for date night the night you met Rio. Your husband's new role at work was demanding and there’d been distance so you were trying to mend fences and reignite a spark. He’d left and for your pride you picked at what was left of your food from the bar. Rio had been forward antagonistic and amusing, but he hadn't lied.

“Don’t be too mad, she’s not sexier than you are” he says sipping from your glass.

“We’ve been married five years,” you confess to the stranger. Anyone else and your life would be blown up forever. 

“No kids?” he asks.

“Not yet, kids are a part of the ten year plan” you confess meeting Rio’s eyes. You have nowhere else to go. No one else to talk to. Sometimes secrets are safest with a stranger. He holds out the glass again and you take a shot of the brown liquor feeling the burn.

“Ten year plan, where the fuck do you find a guy like that?” Rio muses at your expense. Sighing deeply you look down into the club's festivities as people start to dance. “How’d you find out? She came to you as a woman?”

“Worse, I saw it on his phone. Text thread full of nudes and videos…” you sigh wishing you could unsee the messages from both ends. It was clear your husband was absolutely feral for another woman and vice versa.

“So you’re here to have him killed or beat up or what?” Rio asks, misreading you.

“No” you respond not wanting someone to get a charge for your husband's poor choices.

“Then how can I help you? It’s getting late.” Rio says draining the glass. Your time is up for his thin patience.

“I told you we can’t hang out because I’m married.” You respond by holding up your left hand. The ring is on your dresser at home. 

“So you want me to fuck you as get back. But if we start you’re not gonna want him and I’m not marriage material” Rio says candidly. 

“Perfect” you smile liking the sound of that. You’re going to make your husband pay for his recklessness and absence. You imagine the shock when it hits him that Rio has had you. The thrill is your medicine. It’s the only thing that quells the pain of your husband's betrayal.

“Bet” Rio stands holding out a hand. You take a deep breath taking it as you stand. You use another staircase to a back entrance. You hate the city a little less from inside of his G-Wagon. The ride to his place is short. The home is too perfect to be his home.

“Is this where you bring all your girls?” You ask.

“Mhm” he nods. His honesty is a relief. 

“Where’s the bedroom?” you ask, trying to get your bearings.

“I don’t do crazy, you don’t show up at my job or here if we do this” Rio sets a boundary misunderstanding how your pride works.

“Understood” you nod. He closes the space between you with a raised brow.

“But do you?” He asks as you crane your neck back to meet his gaze.

“Mhm” you nod.

“Yes or no,” he asks, putting his hands in his pockets. For some reason it makes you want his touch.

“Yes” 

“Good, because you're beautiful and I want to do this” he says.

Feeling unsteady you stop yourself from getting lost in his brown eyes. “I don’t do crazy either. You stay out of my relationship outside of when I come to you”.

He smiles, “I dont have the time sweetheart, I have my own shit.”

“C'mere,” Rio says, stepping back. You indulge his cat and mouse game. “Last chance to run, or stay and give him hell” he smiles clearly the devil on your shoulder. Just the thought of James losing it is fuel enough for you to place a palm on Rio’s chest. His smirk is golden and all hesitation ceases. He lowers in a flash, lips crashing into yours. His mouth claims yours pulling back with hard suction like he’s trying to drag the nasty out of you. He’s artful with it and unlike James it’s so hot your brain overrides instinct when his hand holds your neck possessively to get better leverage. You feel your body relax, your mouths sync and the feverishness settles into something slower and more seductive. His tongue crowds your mouth before he goads yours into a dance. You find yourself moaning as he sucks your bottom lip before dragging his teeth gently down your neck. His other hand supports your back while his thumb rubs circled into your hardening nipples. You feel yourself pooling from his touch. Under his grip.

“What a clown, to play with a woman as bad as you” Rio mutters, turning you on even more.

 “Tell me how you want me to take care of you baby?” He asks, pouring fire on the blaze he’s set. Your eyes open to him, your breathing levels out and you look to him for guidance. His lips find yours again. This time the kiss is reassuring and gentle, his hold loosens.

 “Tell me how you want me to fuck you mama” he whispers against your ear and you sigh. “He’s never asked you that huh?” Rio scoffs a smirk falling on his lips. “Shame some men treat their wives like the Virgin Mary when they just want to be slut out. That’s what you want right? I ain’t ya man you don’t have to pretend to be a good girl with me” he taunts. Disgustingly right once again. You find yourself nodding before it can register. He takes you to the bedroom and dims the lights sensing you’re nervous. His shirt comes off and his toned frame is a refreshing change from James who spends several hours a week in the gym.

“I thought you’d have more tattoos” you reflect as he sits on the edge of the bed.

“You have any?” He asks as you straddle him.

“Not one” you smile feeling a little more comfortable. His hands slide under your shirt ridding you of it. He can’t fathom what the fuck your man’s problem was. Why did he cheat so openly when he clearly had more than he could effectively handle at home. You get lost in another kiss with him that ends with his head between your legs.

He’s so good that he’ll always be the person you’re comparing James to. He holds nothing back fully attentive to your every moan like it’s second nature. Your effects on each other are electric. You are both trying to bring the other to their peak without inhibitions or restrictions. He talks you through your orgasm praising you like you’ve accomplished something monumental. You lay at his side catching your breath needing more. It’s like a switch has been flipped and the dam of your desire has been opened. All the neglect coming to a head. You feel hellish as he tosses the used protection. Reaching over you stroke his manhood. Rio watches in awe not expecting it. His eyes close from the sensation following an already incredible orgasm. He kisses you rolling onto his side, rolling onto yours you hold your leg over him guiding him back into you slowly.

“Fuck” he groans once fully sheathed. It’s a final fuck you to James. 

“Come inside me” you plead and Rio nods kissing you deep before obliging completely turned on by the levels of fucked up. He could say no to pussy but not yours. He knew that now in you raw, there’d never be another way and pulling out wouldn’t be an option. Instinct kicks in and his thrusts pick up.

“Don’t stop” you continue getting you right at your spot. His size is perfect, it’s the perfect rhythm, the perfect feeling. 

“Like that?” he asks.

“Rio” you moan, finding comfort in your voice.

“Shit” he groans, closing his eyes firmly to remain in control. He could feel the tension building in him from the slickness and suction of your walls. 

“Right there” you moan loving every second of it. And you feel him inside you. The warmth of his climax fills you before overflowing. Rio looks to see his work completely spent. Fucking another man’s wife raw was a first for him. Enjoying it as much as he had was a surprise. He doesn’t pull out right away leaning it in as you lean in needy for a kiss. He obliges doing another first when he doesn’t send you home right away.

…

Rio leans against the counter watching as you take the plan b. It’s another first there’s been no scares during the course of your relationship. Once you finish he places the glass in the dishwasher.

“Want me to drop you home?” He asks as you turn your phone back on. You see thirty missed calls starting at one in the morning all from James.

“I gotta go,” you smile.

“Need a ride?” he asks.

“To the club, sure, that’s where my car is” you tell him and he grabs his keys happily to oblige.

“When’s the last time you let him hit?” Rio asks.

“Two maybe three months” you tell Rio honestly and he laughs.

“Don’t let him, call me if you need some” he says handing you his phone. You give him your number. “Text me if things get crazy. I don’t need anything crazy happening after we just had sex” he says and you laugh.

“Will do” you nod, getting out of his car and into yours.

Authour's Note: Sound off in the comments, I want to hear what you guys think happens next. THANKS FOR READING AND AS ALWAYS LIKE, COMMENT & REBLOG.

NEXT CHAPTER

[lvnleah]

002. | two lines

word count: 3.9k

find the masterlist here!

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July 30th 2023.

It had been two weeks since your embryo transfer and they’d felt like the longest two weeks ever. The days seemed to drag on and like they were never going to end. All you and Leah wanted to do was grab the box of pregnancy tests and see if your little embryo had stuck.

You’d heard about how tough the two-week wait was but you didn’t expect it to be so tough for you and Leah. The urge to take a pregnancy test bubbled up inside of you more and more each day, it was all you were thinking about.

The two weeks had been hard for both you and Leah. You found yourself more emotional and tired than usual and you were getting overwhelmed more easily. You weren't sure whether it was from all the hormones being pumped into your body or just the stress that the wait was causing.

Half way through the two week wait, Leah’s rehab began which meant you focused on something else for a few days. For a few days your mind was taken off of the pregnancy tests that sat in the cupboard daunting you but the same urge to test soon came back. You were in the bathroom when you heard the front door open and Leah’s voice soon followed the sound.

“Love?” Leah called out as you heard her bag drop, “I’m home!”

“In the bathroom!” You called back, your voice shaking with emotions.

A few seconds later the bathroom door opened. Leah’s mouth dropped open as her eyes darted between you sitting on the toilet lid and the four different pregnancy tests lined up on the bathroom counter.

“Did you?” Leah trailed off, pointing at the pregnancy tests, “Did you take them?”

You nodded, tears welling in your eyes, “about five minutes ago but I’ve not looked.”

It had been ten days since your embryo transfer and today was the day that you were allowed to take a pregnancy test. Although you and Leah had agreed to wait until she was home from training, you just couldn’t wait to take the test.

You and Leah exchanged a nervous glance. Leah stepped closer and pulled you into a hug as you stood up.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Leah mumbled as she placed a kiss on your forehead.

Leah cupped your cheeks and softly kissed your lips. “I want you to know, whatever the test says I love you okay? Our family will grow in its own time whether it’s now, next month or in a year. I love you and we’re gonna be okay, if it doesn’t work we can always try again.”

You nodded your head, a few stray tears slipping down your face. “Can you look?

“Yeah of course,” Leah nodded, running her hands down your waist before picking up the test. “Everything’s going to be fine, I promise.”

You watched closely as Leah picked up the two digital pregnancy tests and one normal lined test that laid face down on the bathroom counter. She counted down from three before turning the tests over.

“Holy fuck!” Leah gasped, turning the tests around to face you. “You’re pregnant, we’re having a baby!” Leah laughed as tears welled up in her eyes.

“No way?!” You said in disbelief, taking the tests from Leah’s hands. “Holy shit, I’m pregnant.”

Tears slipped down both your and Leah’s cheeks as you laughed in disbelief. All three tests were positive. The normal ones had faint but still visible lines on them and the digital ones read 2-3 weeks on them.

“I can’t believe it worked.” Leah laughed as she picked you up, “We’re really having a baby.”

You buried your head into the crook of her neck, nodding as tears fell down your face, “we’re going to be mums! Oh my god, that’s crazy.”

You couldn’t believe it. After years of dreaming about it, you were finally going to have a baby with Leah. A little life was growing inside you, something your mind couldn’t comprehend.

Your legs wrapped around Leah’s waist as she carried you out of the bathroom and into your bedroom. She gently laid you down on the bed before lifting your (her) shirt and revealing your stomach.

“I love you so much,” Leah whispered, kissing your lips gently, “I love you both so so much.”

You laughed as you both wiped your tears, “I love you so much more.”

“Can I talk to them?” She questioned, her hand resting on your stomach.

“Of course, Le.” You smiled, propping yourself up on your elbows, “they’re still tiny though.”

“I don’t care.” She said, moving down so her head was level with your stomach. “Hi baby, I’m your Mumma!”

Leah began to rub small circles just below your belly button while your hand rubbed over her blonde hair.

She lifted her hand and placed a soft kiss on your stomach, “I’m your Mumma, I can’t wait to meet you. You’re so so loved already and I’m so proud to be your Mumma, little Gooner.”

You laughed, “Le, baby what if they’re not an Arsenal supporter? What if they follow in your Dad and Jacob’s footsteps and support Tottenham?”

“Over my dead body will my child be a Tottenham supporter!” Leah said, disgust jokingly written over her face. “No way will my brother or dad brainwash them into supporting Tottenham, they’ll be a Gooner through and through!”

You cupped Leah’s and pulled her lips up to your own, “Whatever you say baby.” You laughed.

The next day, your IVF clinic confirmed the pregnancy through blood tests. You were officially pregnant, 4 weeks to be exact, and they soon booked you in for your first ultrasound at 8 weeks.

A week before your ultrasound, morning sickness began.

A wave of nausea washed over your body the second your eyes peeled themselves open. You fought to get the duvet off your sweaty body before dashing to the bathroom, Leah following closely behind you.

You threw yourself down on the ground and lifted the toilet seat, spilling the contents of your stomach. It soon became part of your daily routine. You wake up, throw up and get back into bed and then throw up again for most of the day.

You were constantly nauseous and throwing up, your boobs ached like anything and soon the food diversions settled in.

“Deep breaths,” Leah said, her voice soothing as you threw up. “It’ll pass.”

“I hate this.” You groaned in between throwing up, “Is this what it’s going to be like?”

Leah sighed, “Only for a few weeks, it’ll be okay, I promise pretty girl.”

The morning of your first ultrasound, August 24th, you woke up the same way you’d woken up for the past week. Leah comforted you just like she had done every morning before making you some plain toast, one of the few things you could stomach.

While getting ready, waves of nausea overtook you and you found yourself spending more time next to the toilet than actually getting ready.

Eventually, you were able to tear yourself away from the toilet and leave your apartment. The ultrasound clinic was a short drive away. You sat in the passenger seat, clutching your stomach as if that would somehow ease the nausea. Leah drove carefully, glancing at you with concern every now and then.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice gentle.

You nodded, unable to speak. The waves of nausea were relentless, and you wondered how you’d manage to get through the ultrasound without throwing up.

When you arrived at the clinic, the waiting room was surprisingly empty. A receptionist greeted you and handed you a clipboard with forms to fill out. You tried to focus on the basic question which asked your name, date of birth, and medical history but your mind kept drifting back to the queasiness in your stomach.

Leah sat beside you, holding your hand. “Almost time to see our bubba,” she whispered, placing a kiss on your temple. “Just a few more minutes.”

You nodded and a few moments later your name was called. You and Leah followed the nurse down the hallway and into the small room. Leah pulled up a chair beside you and held your hand as you laid on the examination table.

“The gel will be a little bit cold.” the young nurse warned you, a gentle smile on her face.”

As the nurse spread the cold gel on your abdomen, you felt Leah's grip tighten around your hand. The room was dimly lit, and the hum of the ultrasound machine was the only sound breaking the silence.

You held your breath as the nurse moved the wand over your skin, and then, there it was.

The first glimpse of your baby.

The image on the screen was grainy and indistinct, but it was enough to make out the tiny heartbeat flickering steadily.

"There's your baby," the nurse said with a smile, pointing to the screen.

Leah's breath hitched, and you turned to see tears welling up in her eyes. She was smiling through her tears, a look of pure joy and wonder on her face.

"Oh my goodness," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "There's our little bubba."

You squeezed her hand back, equally emotional by the sight in front of you. The waves of nausea that had plagued you all morning faded away as you both watched in awe, already in love with the little life that was just starting to grow.

The nurse’s voice was gentle, "Would you like to hear the heartbeat?"

Without hesitation, you both nodded eagerly. A rhythmic thumping filled the room, Leah's tears spilled over as she listened, squeezing your hand even tighter.

You smiled, feeling a tear trail down your cheek as you looked at Leah, "It's our baby's heartbeat,"

Leah brought your hand up to her mouth before placing a soft kiss on the back of it. You watched as the nurse took measurements and did basic checks on the baby.

"Would you like to take some pictures home?" she eventually asked.

"Yes, please," Leah responded, her voice still thick with tears.

The nurse printed off as many photos as she was allowed to while you cleaned the gel off of your stomach. She also told you your date, April 4th, which was just a few days after Leah’s birthday.

As you settled into the car, Leah cradled the ultrasound photo in her hands, her eyes never leaving it. You glanced over, your heart swelling with love.

"Look at how tiny they are," Leah whispered, tracing the outline of the image. "I can’t believe that’s our baby." Her voice held a mixture of awe and tenderness.

“We’re really having a baby,” you smiled, your eyes meeting with Leah’s as she looked across from you.

Leah's smile was radiant. "I can't wait to meet them," she said. "These next seven and a half months are gonna be long."

“Imagine they come on your birthday,” you laughed, “It’ll be your best birthday gift ever.”

Leah’s smile somehow grew, “It’d be the best, a little birthday buddy.”

The next couple of weeks blurred together and you felt like pregnancy was overtaking your life. The following days after your first ultrasound were spent throwing up all day long and sleeping a lot.

You hoped it was just a bad sickness spell that would soon pass but by the time you were eight weeks along, in late August, it was your daily routine.

You’d wake up, be sick, take a nap, wake up and then be sick again. It was a vicious cycle that was on repeat and you could barely keep food and water down, everything you ate was beige and plain and almost identical to Leah’s plain diet she had.

It was even worse trying to avoid your family and friends. Your closest friends that you shared with Leah were trying to make plans but you always had to come up with some lame excuses, most times using Leah’s ACL as a reason. When it came to family, Leah’s mum knew you were doing IVF but everyone else still had no idea.

No one apart from you and Leah knew you were pregnant despite you being ten weeks.

“Le, please go out with your mum.” You begged your wife, “I’ll be fine, I promise. I’m just going to get back into bed.”

You and Leah had arranged to spend the day with Amanda, you were planning on telling her about the pregnancy. It was the start of September and Leah had a day off from rehab. Her rehab was coming along well and despite you being asleep most of the time you spent together, you were proud of her.

“Pretty girl, I’m not going to leave you when you’re struggling,” Leah said, rubbing circles on your back, “How’re you feeling?”

You sighed, leaning against the cold bathroom wall as you sat next to the toilet, “I think that sickness spell is over, I’ll probably get another half hour before I’m sick again.”

Leah sat down in front of you and passed you a cold bottle of water, “Wanna sit on the couch and cuddle for a bit?”

You nodded, feeling weak and tired. You gave yourself a few minutes before standing up with the help of Leah. You and Leah cuddled underneath your favourite blanket and switched on your favourite movie.

The doorbell rang and you knew it was Amanda. You lifted your head from Leah’s chest and let her answer the door, a few seconds later she returned with Amanda following closely behind you.

“Hey love,” Amanda greeted you, “Leah said you’re under the weather?”

You sat up, “Yeah, I think it’s just a cold or something.”

“Oh Mum, we’ve got something for you, Leah said before she wandered off into the bedroom.

A few minutes later returned with a small Arsenal shirt. It was this season’s one with the number six on the back.

She held it up to Amanda, “What do you think about the new shirt?”

Amanda laughed, “It’s a bit small, Le!”

Amanda’s eyes flickered to you and then back to Leah, and you saw the realisation dawn on her face. “Wait, are you…?” Her voice trailed off, and she pointed at you.

You nodded, “Yeah, I’m pregnant. Ten weeks, due at the start of April!”

Amanda’s eyes widened, and then she enveloped you in a tight hug. “Oh, darling! That’s wonderful news!” Tears welled up in her eyes. “I’m going to be a grandma? The IVF worked then?”

She stood up and hugged Leah, “Yeah it did, Y/N’s been having a rough time with morning sickness. No one warned us it’d be all day!”

“This is amazing!” Amanda smiled, “I didn’t want to say anything because I wasn’t sure it worked, oh darlings I’m so happy for you! How’ve you been, love?”

You sighed, cuddling back into Leah as she sat down on the couch beside you again, “It’s been tough, I’ve had bad morning sickness that lasts all day. My diet is basically identical to Leah’s plain, beige and boring!”

“If you need anything, I’m always here.” Amanda said, “I mean it,” she pointed her finger and gave a classic mum stare. “If Leah’s at rehab and you need anything, don't be afraid to call me.”

You curled into Leah and smiled, “Thank you, Amanda.”

Over the next few days, you and Leah planned out how you were going to tell everyone else. You ended up telling her Dad the same way as you did her mum and for her grandma and cousin’s, you showed them the ultrasound photos.

Your favourite reaction out of all of them had to be Leah’s brother, Jacob.

“Dinners ready!” You announced, setting the three plates of your homemade chicken pie down on the table.

“Thanks Y/N.” Jacob said, sitting down at the table, “Love your cooking, Leah’s cooking is on the verge of being poison!”

Leah gasped, “What! No it’s not, my cookings just as nice as Y/N’s!”

“Yeah right.” Jacob rolled his eyes as he began to eat his dinner.

You all fell into conversation like you usually did, having Jacob round wasn’t unusual and usually happened a few times a week. Your eyes made contact with Leah’s and she gave you a subtle nod, suggesting that you tell the news to Jacob.

“Jacob, have you got any plans for around early April?” You asked.

You knew Jacob was travelling quite a lot at the moment and had different trips planned, he’d recently just returned from a few months in Australia.

He shook his head, “Early April? No, but I was thinking about travelling around Europe again at some point. Why are you planning a trip?”

“No, that’s when the baby will be here,” Leah casually said, shrugging her shoulders like it was nothing, “We don't want you to miss out on your first niece or nephew arriving.”

Jacob’s eyes widened before a wide grin spread across his face. “A baby? Seriously? That’s amazing!” He set down his fork, excitement bubbling over. “I’ll be here, no Europe trip can beat that!”

Leah smiled as her brother stood up and engulfed her in a hug before hugging you, “They’re due around the start of April so you better be!”

“A good few months to plan out how I’m going to make them a Spurs fan,” he teased, “Me and Dad need someone to support Spurs with us!”

Leah sighed and jokingly patted her brother on the back, “I’m not going to let my kid go through the pain that a Spurs fan experiences. They’re going to be a little gooner, mate!”

Jacob shrugged, “I guess we'll just have to see, they’ll know who’s the best team and that’s Spurs.”

Leah shook her head, “No way! Arsenal through and through!”

You laughed, shaking your head and the two siblings bickering like children, “I say we let them decide! They might not even support either of them, love.”

“Don’t you start!” Leah huffed jokingly.

The rest of the evening was filled with Leah and Jacob bickering over how they were going to get your baby to support either team. You sat on the couch, cuddled into Leah, and watched as they went back and forth with different ideas and bribes.

A few days later, you and Leah decided it was time to tell the girls at Arsenal. They’d started to become suspicious as to why Leah was leaving training early and why you weren’t joining them when they went out in the evenings.

“How’s Y/N?” Beth asked Leah as they stretched on the floor together in the gym.

The gym buzzed with activity as the other players stretched and chatted. Today was a gym day for Leah meaning that she got to be around the other girls and not isolated inside.

Not everyone was in the gym but most of the team was. Beth, Steph, Lia, Jen, Laura, Victoria, Kyra, Caitlin, Kim, Alessia, Katie, Viv and Leah were all spread around the gym doing their own things.

Leah nodded, “She’s doing good, just really tired at the moment.”

“Aww no,” Steph said, “Is she sick? I heard there’s a flu going around at the moment.”

“Not exactly,” Leah laughed, shrugging her shoulders.

Just as Leah finished speaking, you walked through the door. “Here you go, love,” you said to Leah, holding out a tiny Arsenal shirt, “forgot this at home.”

All of the girls exchanged confused looks, “Aye Y/N, I don’t think that’s gonna fit yer missus!” Katie pointed out.

Viv gasped, dropping the dumbbell and running over to you. She quickly engulfed you into a side hug, “Oh my god, this is amazing!”

Puzzle faces spread across the room, and all of the girls exchanged confused looks with one another. You and Leah bursted out laughing as Viv rolled her eyes.

Kyra’s face looked the most confused, “This doesn’t make sense…why’s Viv congratulating them? It’s just a shirt.”

"Come on guys, make the connection. Y/n has been really tired, and she's holding a small jersey." Viv pointed out, sighing in disappointment.

The room stayed silent.

She shook her head, "Some might say a baby jersey.”

Gasps echoed around the room, “Are you pregnant?!” Beth was the first to ask, smiling like a child on Christmas.

You nodded and pulled out ultrasound photos from your jeans pockets, “Yeah, I’m eleven weeks!”

The room buzzed with excitement as everyone stood up and congratulated you and Leah. You and Leah exchanged smiles, your hearts swelling with joy. The girls gathered around, their laughter and hugs filling the gym.

“Eleven weeks!” Lia exclaimed as she hugged you, “That’s amazing!”

Steph, still recovering from her initial shock, wiped away a tear. “I can’t believe it,” she said. “A little gooner on the way!”

“Are yer having three?!” Katie asked, looking at the ultrasound photos.

Leah laughed, shaking her head, “No you idiot, we’re just having one thankfully!”

“This is amazing,” Alessia smiled as she took her turn in hugging you, “When are you due?”

“Early April,” you smiled, “there’s a chance of the baby being born on Leah’s birthday.”

Victoria gasped, “That would be so cool, a little birthday twin for Leah!”

The girls laughed, “I’m sure Leah would love that, she’d never shut up.” Jen playfully joked.

“This is amazing,” Kim said, “If you need anything don’t be afraid to tell us, we’re all here for you and I’m sure we can take turns babysitting when your wee one arrives.”

“I’ll babysit anytime!” Kyra announced, “I’ll be the best babysitter ever!”

Caitlin rolled her eyes, “Yeah, no chance! Leah and Y/N probably won’t let you babysit till the baby’s like four!”

“Maybe supervised,” Leah said, throwing her arm around Kyra, “but not on your own till they’re about six!”

Kyra rolled her eyes before Laura spoke up, “Are you finding out the gender?”

You nodded, “Yeah we are, we can find out in a few weeks. I think we’re just going to do a little intimate gender reveal but we need someone to find out the gender and sort it for us.”

“Well, definitely not Beth because we know how she slipped up on the engagement!” Kyra teased.

Beth rolled her eyes, “It was one time and I was excited! My best friend of over ten years was getting engaged!”

“It’s something we need to think about,” you laughed, “we’ll probably do a private one for me and Leah and then something for you and our family.”

The rest of the training flew by and you ended up staying, it was nice for you to catch up with the girls and answer their questions about your pregnancy. A lot of them were interested and excited, they talked about all the moments they couldn’t wait to experience with your little baby.

Later that evening, as you and Leah laid in bed, you ended up talking about your baby once again.

“Le?” You said, getting a hum in response as the blonde completed her sudoku, “Do you want a boy or a girl?”

Leah set her sudoku book down, “Pretty girl, I don’t mind. I’m just so excited to experience being a mother with you that I couldn’t care.”

The blonde slid down the bed and rested her head beside your small bump that was mainly just bloat, “What are you hoping for?”

You shrugged as your hand found home in Leah’s hair, “I don’t mind, I’d love a baby girl though. I feel like it’s a boy.”

Leah placed a soft kiss next to your belly button, “I think it’s a girl. I don’t care though, as long as they’re happy and healthy, then it doesn’t matter.”

[tafferling]

Dying Light: The Beast Demo Impression

Imagine, if you will, a Taff who finds a life saving sort of affection in a game named Dying Light, followed by nearly ten years of dedication to one Kyle Crane. If you’d told that same Taff she’d get to go to Techland HQ after Crane’s return was announced in Dying Light: The Beast, she’d have called you silly. 

And yet.

I had the privilege (the WHAT ON EARTH, how) to watch about forty minutes of Dying Light: The Beast today. It was prefaced by an in-person intro from Tymon Smektała (which was about the most heartfelt thing I’ve ever heard, genuinely), and shown to us on a big-ass screen. 

During those forty-or-so-minutes I might have shuffled in and out of this here physical realm a few times. 

The demo covered an early mission in the game. Here’s what happened:

We start in a small village and tightly forested woodland, a fading day around us. Crane is off to follow a lead, given by the new voice in our ear, named Olivia. The lead will take him to an industrial area. Eventually. But FIRST I get to feast on a gorgeous sunset, lots of smooth as heck parkour, and honestly when we ducked through a small apartment on the way, I wanted to say “Babe, pls stop I GOTTA TAKE PICTURES!”.

I don’t kid. Techland was not fibbing when they mentioned handcrafted; the attention to detail I was criminally denied the chance to rub my face all over has my hopes so far up, they’re tap dancing in the clouds. And then those very same hopes were given wings when two insanely talented artists walked us through how these environments have come together.

Seriously. I can’t wait to get absolutely nothing done in the game because I Must See All And Perceive All.

Anyhoo— back to the demo.

Night falls—as it so likes to do—and we’re warned about how the Volatiles and Freaks (at least I think I remember this right, I was often distracted by, you know, I mean, yeah) are difficult to avoid out here. All that dense woodland makes for shit sight lines and all. But Crane can be subtle and that means I will finally get to hide in the bushes with him come game release. Yay me!

One sec. Spacing out.

What was I saying?

Oh yeah. Stealth. Volatiles. 

OKAY, LISTEN— the sound design in the night-time section of the game was sublime. The snuffing and clicking of the Volatiles. The snap of twigs. The rustle of leaves. Stealth is the jam I like to put on my various bread-adjacent baked goods and this was delicious.

And pretty. Crane’ll be craning (hehe) his head up a lot ‘cause those stars need gazing.

But it’s also a night full of creepy crawlers and so we head towards the nearest safe house, which, in good old Dying Light fashion, needs a bit of TLC. Secure. Remove Infected. Find a spare fuse. Mess with a Charger and his buddies (the handgun came out at that moment and while I do not approve of wasting bullets, I approve of the reload animations). And, finally, plug the newly acquired fuse in and Let There Be Light.

The layout of the safe zone and the tasks to complete brought me back to Harran. I loved the safe zones there; each had its unique look, unique vibe; and was just different enough in what you had to do to secure it to make them their own little experiences. I hope we’ll see this make a comeback.

(Yes, I have not yet mentioned much about Crane. Stick with me. I’ll get there.)

After a snooze (well deserved), we continue to the industrial area, where the demo shifts to showing off guns even more so than before. Honestly, I liked the Dying Light (1) guns. I liked Crane with a gun. He’d always struck me as the type of man who’d know about 500+ ways to kill his fellows; and firearm mastery would’ve been right at the top. So. Yeah. I do like their inclusion.

I also fucking know he’ll keep them holstered for the majority of my game time, because pssst, the bow is right here, darling. We’re using that, quit pouting.

(Hey, she’s still not talking about Crane, is she okay? you may ask. Ha. No.)

We fight our way through a bunch of the Baron’s men, which eventually leads to one of those idiots shooting out some sorta electrical box. There’s a bit of a ruckus over something escaping, a few angry roars thrown in from a distance, and as we decide to investigate we run into a— scientist type? At least I think I’m remembering this right. 

And now I’ll talk about Crane. 

Beware: loads of personal thoughts here; not based entirely on canon. 

Kyle Crane might have once been a man who thought murder is still a big deal. Kyle Crane also might have once been a man who’d roll with the punches, always coming up swinging, but, you know. First he rolls. Then he swings. 

Now? After whatever happened to him between the Following and his capture, leading to thirteen years of being experimented on in what I suspect’ll be a cage of sorts? 

First of all, is murder still going to be a big deal? (No, henchmen don’t count; ludonarrative dissonance wants a word).

Yeah, he doesn’t straight up kill our new scientist friend. Just threatens him. Effectively. But there was a bit of disconnect in how Crane behaved leading up to the solution of the interrogation (him getting what he wanted) and what he eventually did. Namely punch the guy out, rather than kill him. 

I expected our scientist friend to die. I was surprised when he didn’t.

And I expect Crane to no longer roll, but to swing first and not give the narrative the chance to get the first lick in.

All of which I’m deducting from how they’ve leaned heavily into giving him the voice of a man who’s been thoroughly wrung out by that very same narrative. His tone is dark. Clipped. Gone are the expletives; the colourful fucks; and how everyone’s an asshole because that’s just a mood and a half.

And honestly? I don’t know how I feel about it. Yet. Sure, I’m all for the pent up anger we hear whenever he swings a weapon, but—

I love Crane because he wasn’t the moody, broody post-apo dude. You know the Imma chew some nails for breakfast and then get all growly over my (insert trauma here). The Joels, basically (and I gotta hell to the no on him). 

So, no, I don’t know how I feel about this yet. I’m approaching this with trepidation over how they might have removed what made Crane Crane; all in the pursuit of being darker and ‘more mature’, as it’s been said.

BUT— this was just forty minutes. That’s not much. And even if it ends up being true, I’ve still got, like, I dunno— at least another ten good writing years in me to bring that man back to the light. 

. . .

You know what, I am beginning to warm up to this idea. Please. Carry on.

EDIT: Since I’ve originally written this, the new dev blog came out and through that (along with what I’ve heard on site) have made me a lot less anxious about Crane having gone the way of the Complete Grouch. And just as I’ve been getting ideas.

ANYWAY

Our scientist friend got punched out, though not before he’s given us intel in how there’s a Freak here—the thing that just escaped, I presume, I was too busy collecting all the marbles I kept dropping whenever Crane opened his damn mouth to be sure—and how we can lure it.

Next stop(s): get freaky science gas, hop into a truck, drive freaky science gas around the countryside, and then jam it into a freaky science apparatus! 

(I have theories.)

But wait! Ambush! By more of the Baron’s men, no less. They, much like any other good collection of henchmen, have not learned from their rag-dolling buddies’s endless corpses and continue to think attacking Crane is a Good Idea.

Ah, well.

Then, finally, boss time! A Behemoth enters the arena (which is a junk yard, by the way) and it’s bringing with it a certain 10/10 Demolisher vibe paired with more freaky science. Someone’s obviously been tinkering on this gentle-boulder, leaving it with tubes attached to its body that give it this wonderful bioengineered look I’m so endlessly fond of. 

We fight!

It’s not going so well. 

Now I’m suspecting we’re seeing a method on how to build Crane’s fury up enough to unle— 

No. I am not writing that. You can’t make me. You cannot make me say the line, I refuse. I’ll just use increasingly silly alternatives, how’s that?

We get run over one too many times and Crane finally pops the lid off his fury. This applies the same orange filter as the one we got whenever Aiden redlined his biomarker (during a scripted sequence) and allows Crane to literally pick up a concrete barrier and lob it at the Behemoth. 

(You know, I bet that feels really good; delicious payback after getting car after car after car and fridge after fridge after fridge thrown at him before.)

Then he goes toe to toe with it, only to wrap up the fight by pulling the Behemoth’s head off its shoulders. Not cleanly, I’d like to add.

Soooo— what? We’ll be building fury in a number of different ways, then get unhinged and unlock the opportunity to finish with a flair? Cool cool. I’m in. Or so I’m thinking this��ll go. I genuinely do not know the ins and outs. 

What I do know though is that I lost all my remaining marbles after the fight. The camera fucking zooms out and I get to see the whole Crane. And, look, you can’t expect me to go to this event and be perfectly reasonable about this; about seeing this man I’ve dedicated nearly a decade to and remain normal. If you do, why are you even reading this. HAVE YOU MET ME?!

I have no clue if this means we’ll get third-person cutscenes or if this is a cinematic choice done solely for the demo, but a Taff may dream. Right?

The cutscene ends with Crane extracting something from the Freak into a jet injector. 

(Again, I have theories. Fury Power Progression? Fury Power Suppression?)

But anyway. Third-Person Cutscene. Taff is on the floor (not literally, but metaphysically) and the lights come on again and I SWEAR TO GOD, I will play this game at day one come hell and high water, and I am so, so, so unbelievably grateful to every single person ever involved in creating this franchise because you’re all a bunch of heroes to me.

:exhales:

Thanks for reading.

EDIT: I forgot to mention the weather. How did I manage to forget to mention the weather. We got so sopping wet in the rain. It reminded me of the heavy rainfall out in the countryside which I missed so terribly. Cannot wait to see how they've improved the weather system in this one.

From The Following:

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

The Fuck Up Chapter 4

Summary:  Bucky fucked up.  A few times.  Will his best friend ever be able to forgive him?

Warnings: language, smut, mentions of war, injury, pregnancy

Previous chapter Next chapter

Becca scoured the internet, trying to think of anything that could help her find Y/N. She searched local records and tried to find state records to see if her name would pop up anywhere. As she scrolled through her Pinterest one day she had an epiphany. She went to Y/N’s deactivated Pinterest page and looked at her username. It was a play on the nickname “honey” Bucky had given her and her favorite band. Becca started typing things in the search bar of her browser with that username or a mix of the two until a website popped up. It was a photography studio that looked like it had been started a few years ago, but its contents had picked up in the last  ten months. Becca looked through the pictures then froze, gasping at one picture in particular.

It was a baby. A newborn baby with a full head of dark brown hair and bright blue eyes and Bucky’s nose. Becca stared at it, reading the short caption below it that just said: Avi. Becca looked for the contact information on the site and copied the email address. She made a new email under a different name and sent an email to the address asking about setting up a meeting to discuss pricing and ideas for a family portrait. She got a reply about twenty minutes later, and set up a meeting the following day.

Becca drove an hour away to the address the person gave her on the email. When she arrived she saw a small house that looked like one of the dream homes that Y/N had on her Pinterest and dream boards. She went up to the door, knocking firmly and waiting. She turned away from the door as she heard footsteps walking up to it on the other side, afraid of what she might see.

“Hello! You must be—” Becca whipped around to see Y/N standing there. Y/N gasped, her eyes widening and her body tensing. “Becca.”

“Y/N!” Becca cried and flung herself at her, hugging her tight. “We’ve been looking for you. Why did you…” she pulled away and held Y/N’s face, who looked like she was in shock. “I know what happened the night before Bucky left. He was such an idiot. But Mom and Dad and I have been worried sick wondering where you were. You’re family, you can’t just up and disappear—”

A baby cry came from inside the house, snapping Y/N out of her stupor and she closed her eyes as the crying continued. Becca froze at the sound. “Come in. I need to go get him,” Y/N instructed and turned back inside the house. Becca did as she said and walked in, closing the door behind her and looking around as Y/N moved to the side where a hallway led to some bedrooms. She went into one bedroom where Becca heard her speak softly. “Hey now, little man, what’s the problem?” Y/N came out just a few moments later holding a baby that must have been about a month old.

“You…you have a baby,” Becca said.

“Yes,” Y/N said as she walked past her to the kitchen on the other side of the house, opening the fridge and grabbing a bottle.

“And it’s your baby?”

“Yes.”

“And he’s…a month old?”

“He will be in three days,” Y/N said, putting the bottle in the baby’s mouth, his little whimpers dying down as he ate.

“Is he…Bucky’s?” Becca finally asked, though already knowing the answer.

Y/N breathed deeply before looking back up at her. “Yes.” She walked over to Becca and moved so she could see him. “This is Avriel James Barnes. Avi for short.” She looked down at the baby and cooed at him. “This is your auntie Becca.”

Becca’s tears flowed freely as she held a finger out to Avi and caressed his soft, tiny hand. “Hey. Hey little guy,” she whispered. “He’s beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Y/N said, giving Becca a small smile.

They both sat on the couch in the living room. “Do you want to feed him?” Y/N asked.

“Yeah, can I?” Becca asked. Y/N nodded and moved Avi into her arms, helping her get into a position comfortable enough to hold him and feed him. Becca stared down at him. “Why didn’t you tell us?” she whispered, sniffing hurriedly. “We would have helped you. We would have supported you.”

“I know,” Y/N said quietly, looking away. “I just…after he left without saying goodbye I couldn’t face anyone. I understand why he did it the way he did, I just couldn’t do it again. Writing the letters, doing the weekly family phone calls, waiting to hear if he’d made it another week. He promised me he was done, and he lied,” she stopped, fighting back the lump in her throat. “So I kept my distance from everybody. I needed a break. But then I started to feel off, and I realized we hadn’t been smart that night.” She laughed bitterly. “It was just so spur of the moment, we weren’t thinking. I got tested and…here he is,” she gestured toward Avi.

Becca nodded. “I get it. But, we miss you,” she said, looking at Y/N pitifully. “Mom has been freaking out, Dad’s always looking so dejected. Bucky is beating himself up real bad about how he handled it. And I’ve missed my friend.  I don’t expect you to come home but…”

Y/N sniffed as a few tears of her own fell. She wiped them quickly. “He fucked up. I fucked up. It’s all just a really fucked up situation,” she chuckled. “I planned on telling him, but I didn’t want to distract him while he was out there.”

“Can I tell everyone?” Becca asked as Avi finished the bottle. She pulled him up to burp him as she looked pleadingly at Y/N. “Just to put their minds at ease.”

Y/N looked hesitant but nodded. “Yes please. And depending on how he reacts, you can give Bucky my information and he can reach out when he’s ready.”

Becca smiled wide, nodding enthusiastically.

“I found her,” Becca announced later that night.

“Y/N?” George asked, Winifred gasping and Bucky standing up from the couch.

“Where is she? Is she okay?” Bucky asked, his eyes widening as he walked toward her.

“Buck, sit down and let me explain,” she instructed. He frowned but sat back down and waited. Becca sat across from them all and took a deep breath. “She’s fine. After you left she said she needed a break. She was upset and just needed some time, and moved about an hour away from here. Then she found out that she was pregnant.”

Bucky felt like he was going to throw up. He thought back to their night together and realized that they hadn’t protected themselves. It had all been so unplanned, so passionate, that it hadn’t even crossed his mind. He let out a shuddered breath as he felt his mind short circuit. Winifred and George were speechless next to him.

“She gave birth about a month ago,” Becca said, watching Bucky intently. Bucky looked back at her, his eyes filling with unshed tears. “It’s a boy,” she said, looking at him with a small smile on her face. “She named him Avriel. Avi for short.”

Bucky broke down, his tears spilling over as he hung his head in his hands. Winifred held him, whispering soothing words to him as George reached over and put a hand on his knee. Becca moved toward him, kneeling in front of him. “She didn’t tell anyone because she wanted to handle it, she didn’t want to be a burden, and she didn’t want to distract you while you were out there.” Bucky shook his head, crying harder thinking of the fact that Y/N had been alone the whole time, going through a pregnancy and then giving birth by herself with no one there to help or support her. “He’s beautiful, Buck. Look,” Becca pulled out her phone and held up a picture to him. Bucky and his parents gazed at the picture of the baby, curled up in Becca’s arms. He looked like a carbon copy of Bucky, and he took the phone from her and stared at the picture, a small smile lighting up his face.

“Y/N is still angry, but she wants to see you. She says you deserve to know and be a part of his life if you want. She wants all of us,” she looked at him and their parents, “to be a family again. But we need to take it slow and do this right.”

“Please,” Bucky said as his finger grazed the baby in the picture. “Tell me where they are.”

Becca gave him a small smile and took her phone back and texted him Y/N’s contact information. “Text her, don’t call, and see when you can come over.”

Bucky nodded as he received the text and stared at her name on the screen. He contacted her there and then, with his parents watching him:

Y/N? It’s Bucky. Can I please come see you?

He waited until three dots popped up.

Yes. Tomorrow at 3?

Ok. See you then.

[weaselthing]

OKAY REMADE RAINFOREST FLOODS INTRO POST. YOU WANT TO LEARN SO BAD

rainforest floods is an ocverse made by me and @jamescarpenterhooper. its about a waterpark in new mexico and all the horrible people and circumstances it has born witness to. oooo you want to click the read more button so bad PLEASE IM BEGGING

i'll try to keep this as brief as i can so as not to waste your valuable time but just know theres so much i wont be covering here.

rainforest floods is the name of a waterpark that was established in 1971, but dont let that fool you! theres been shit going on for sooo many years beforehand. meet these freaks

^these are the founders of rainforest floods! i dont know how exactly to explain it. patrick and joanna are married. patrick and phillip have had an affair going on for over ten years. which happens to be about as long as patrick and joanna have been married. how strange. anyway

IMPORTANT: for some fucking reason patrick sets a curse on the park that makes it unable to close. KEEP THIS IN MIND FOR LATER BECAUSE IT IMPACTS A LOOOT.

patrick has a favorite little guinea pig among his employees whom he has been trying to teach how to run the park because one day he wont be able to run it anymore. and eventually when 1976 rolls around she gets the chance to do so!

SUUUUUUUUUUE you love her. she takes over the park in 1976 and manages it until 1990. shes a little bit my favorite. she actually does a much better job of managing the park!

but things cant be great forever. in the year 1986 something a little bit crazy happens. one of her employees, bruce krelborn (remember him), is a lifeguard at rff during the summer. just before closing on august 7th, a young woman (remember her too) comes to the park to go on one of the waterslides. but there arent any rafts!!!! oh no!!!! so bruce goes to ask sue about getting more rafts but sues like Um its fine.that doesnt matter.

so then the woman goes down the slide and she gets flung off and dies because she didnt have a raft. and then sues like OKAY.WELL YOU HAVE TO COVER THIS UP NOW. BURY HER RIIIGHT HERE. so he does. and the death is still covered up to this day. surely this will have no long term consequences.

(also semi important to note: sue had a weird favoritism thing with bruce in a similar way that patrick had a weird favoritism thing with her. #cycles)

in 1990 sue decides shes done with this shit and tries to burn the park down and get out of dodge. but unfortunately THE CURSE prevents the park from actually being destroyed. so it looks completely burned from the outside but on the inside its pretty much fine. awesome!

in 2004 two shitheads decide to start the park up again. THEY DONT LOOK LIKE THIS YET I JUST DONT WANT TO PUT IN THEIR 30S IMAGE

"hey bruce krelborn?? that name sounds awfully familiar" YES that is because just a few paragraphs ago he was the lifeguard that had to cover up that poor womans death! he's back now! and also hes like mean and jaded or whatever. the faggot on the right also worked at rainforest floods in the 80s but he wasnt involved in that at all and he is completely oblivious to the fact the coverup is going on despite the fact that one of his employees is the ghost of the woman that died.

also bruce and andy have horrible awful toxic yaoi together and theyre also not dating or anything. what do you get when you combine "insane need for control" (bruce) and "insane need for validation" (andy). and dont say macdennis because thats different. barely.

WAIT WHAT WAS THAT ABOUT THE GHOST??

THIS IS KELSEY shes so awesome oh my god. she cant leave rainforest floods its part of ghost logic. trust me when i say she would leave if she was able to. her and bruce have crazy insane dynamic. when bruce first started reopening rff kelsey didnt recognize him. but he recognized her but didnt tell her he did. so they were actually friends for a little bit before kelsey found out it was the same guy. and now shes mad at him.

THE THING IS kelsey could probably find it in her heart to forgive him. but the thing thats keeping her a ghost is the unfinished business that came from her death being covered up. and shes so scared of actually dying that she cant let go because what if thats the thing keeping her around. LOL.

-> LEARN MORE ABOUT HER HERE. PLEASE READ THSI <-

ok theres like two other employees they dont matter as much

yay jeff and vincent. jeff is normal vincent is Weird. theyre kinda like pim and charlie smiling friends if charlie thought pim was stupid and annoying and pim was a little conspiracy freak. theyre fun i like them. theyre the only ones we're not THAT worried about doing themes and motifs with and even then.

onto side characters now.

^this is kelseys love interest aww. she doesnt have a name dont call her anytihng call her [REDACTED] or unnamed girl. its spoilers. dont worry about it. shes crazyyyy love her. its fun bc she dresses 80s inspired and kelsey died in the 80s so its like wooaahh

and thats [REDACTED]'s brother kyle who is always getting tormented by the staff at rff. he is cursed so that no one outside of his family will ever remember him so its not like they have a vendetta against him theyre all just freaks.

GINGERRRRR she's jeff's girlfriend and shes awesome. her and jeff do bits together theyre funny silly. theyre also kinda high school bullies that never got the chance to bully people in high school so theyre just kind of mean. but at least they dont have septic tank yaoi unlike SOME people

IS THAT IT THAT MIGHT BE IT. IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS PLEAPLEASPELAEPLALSPELAS PLEASE GO TO @rainforestfloods ITS OUR COLLABORATIVE TUMBLR BLOG WHERE WE TALK ABOUT THEM AND WE WILL BE ABSOLUTELY JAZZED TO ANSWER ANY QUESTIONS YOU HAVE ABOUT THEM. PLEASE.

okay bye thats it i hope im not forgetting anything. ooooh you wanna go to waterpark soooo baaaadd

[garmanarnarr]

Rickorty Week Day 3: Caught

1.2k | secretly married | warning for language

@rickortyweek

“Jesus Christ, Jerry, go get the accountant, would you?” 

Beth’s hands shake around the tax filer. She taps the sheaf of papers against the desk to try and straighten them but it ends up just making things worse, sheets fumbling out into her lap. W-2s. Proof of health insurance. Unemployment papers for Jerry. And that’s just last year’s; she’s pulled their last seven returns, which she keeps in big binders in a filing cabinet in the home office, like they always suggest. 

She can tell her husband is making a face without even looking at him. 

“He said he charged,” Jerry pauses, “what, two thousand flurbos an—”

“FILING ERROR. FILING ERROR,” the big stone head in the middle of the office says, again, thumping the ground for emphasis. 

“I don’t care. Call him,” Beth says. 

“We don’t know the conversion rate!” 

“I know that if we don’t file these correctly beyond a shadow of a doubt, our bodies, and our children’s, are going to get repo’d. That’s what I know, Jerry.” 

“Alright,” Jerry says. “Fine.” Shoulders slumped, he shuffles out of the room. The intergalactic equivalent of the IRS manages to be equally drab as its US counterpart– or maybe worse. Beth had no idea there even was an intergalactic equivalent of the IRS you could be audited by until she was pulled right out of her living room and into space like how cows got sucked up into flying saucers in movies. She’d had a nasty looking gun pointed in her face by an alien and ten minutes to gather ‘the needed tax-related materials’ to ‘rectify a filing error.” She didn’t even have time to finish her glass of wine. 

Now she’s stuck in this office under threat of losing her own bodily autonomy. With a lot of paperwork. And a big stone head in the middle of the floor thundering “FILING ERROR. FILING ERROR.” as it pounds on the ground like the Easter Island equivalent of a Turbotax fuckup. 

She has no clue what’s wrong. Maybe something lingering from the divorce? Unless Jerry has some bank accounts in Turks and Caicos he hasn’t told her about, she’s pretty much fresh out of ideas. She leans over in her chair, twisting her hands in her hair, wishing she had a glass of wine. Perhaps several. 

As she stares at her bare feet (she hadn’t had time to grab shoes) she hears Jerry come into the room, followed by small, light footsteps. When she looks up, a nerdy alien in a polo shirt and khakis is sitting down across the desk from her. He has weakly wavering gray antennae, like everyone else that works here, and a laptop under his arm. 

“Hello, Mrs. Smith. Sounds like there’s a problem you’d like my help with?”

“FILING ERROR. FILING ERROR,” agrees the stone head, loudly. Beth is starting to get a really bad headache and she knows it isn’t from the Cab Sav. 

“I think something is wrong with my previous tax returns? Or something?” she says, pushing her stack of papers towards the accountant, which the accountant eyes, twirling one of his antennae between his fingers. 

“What planet?”

“Uh. Earth?”

“Ah, I see. Earth tends to be a particularly tricky one. You humans can never make up your minds. Makes keeping accurate records a pain.”

“Frankly, sir, I have no fucking clue what’s going on. Pardon my language. This has never been a problem for us before.” 

“Well, Mrs. Smith, if you’re willing to go line by line with me…”

“For the last seven years?”

“I’m paid to be thorough.” 

Beth’s going to pull her hair out. 

“Isn’t there anything you can do to just, like, make it faster? Please.” 

The accountant does some sort of equivalent of pursing his lips that might translate more clearly with different mouth anatomy. 

“Alright. Let me check my system for any inconsistencies.” 

He opens up his laptop and begins typing away. 

Gingerly, Jerry rests a hand on Beth’s back. “See, honey? Look at him go. I knew he was worth it.” 

Her phone rings, inexplicably. But of course, anything is explicable, considering what her father is capable of. She picks up on the second ring. 

“Beth.”

“Dad?” she asks, as if it could be anyone else. She watches as the accountant pulls a small device out of his pants pocket and starts scanning some of the papers with it, seemingly at random. 

“B-Beth, sweetie, tell me something. Are your personal taxes being audited by the intergalactic equivalent of the IRS right now?”

“How do you know?” she asks, instantly, then winces, then hates herself for wincing. This is obviously some Dad shit. There are antennas and strange electronic devices and angry space bureaucrats, which means it has Rick Sanchez written all over it. 

“Ah, jeez, fuck, okay.” Her father sounds oddly panicked, voice strained.  “L-listen, don’t. Don’t tell those squares anything, just wait until I get there–”

The accountant looks up. “I’ve found something, Mrs. Smith.”

“Ooooh, he’s found something, Beth!” Jerry echoes excitedly. 

Beth takes her phone away from her ear and rests it against her shoulder. 

“Yeah?’ 

“You seem to have some kind of error with the status of a family member’s filing.”

“What do you mean?” Faintly, she can hear her father saying Beth? Sweetie? on the other end of the line. 

“Mortimer Smith is listed as a dependent, here.” He points at a line on his laptop screen that’s highlighted in red. 

“Yes, of his mother.” She shoots a look at Jerry, who’s gone quiet.  

“Hmmm,” says the accountant, squinting at his screen. Beth’s stomach feels strange. 

“He’s seventeen. He’s my son.” 

“According to our records, he’s been filing with Rick Sanchez since 2016.”

Two years ago. Beth’s stomach drops. “You mean, he’s like, what, Rick’s dependent now? Like Rick fucking adopted him?”  

Suddenly scenarios of Rick whisking Morty away for real, forever, without her knowing, are flashing through her head. Taking him away on an adventure that he’d never come back from, far away from her. Who knew what he could do. How he could make her sign papers and forget she’d ever done it. Her forehead and armpits start to break out in clammy sweat and she wipes her suddenly damp hands on her pant legs. 

“No, jointly filing,” the accountant says coolly, as if it is nothing. As if it is the most normal thing in the world. “As a spouse.” 

In a flash, a slimy green disk opens in the middle of the room. Beth watches as one long, long, knobby leg steps through, then another. The ratty edge of a lab coat and one gray hand holding a portal gun. 

“First of fucking all,” her father says, as soon as his head bursts through, “let it be known, I didn’t– I didn’t want you to find out like this, Beth . This is pretty m-messed up, even by my standards. Second of all, fuck the government and all the little snitching bitch peons that work for it. Third of all, before you aAAUGGHsk, it’s not, it’s not legal on Earth. So don’t worry about that, sweetie.” 

Beth is very still. 

“CORRECTION ACCEPTED,” says the head, mouth clacking. It had stopped shaking the table with its movement. It seems smug, in fact. 

“See, Beth? Not legal on earth,” Jerry echoes, cheerfully. His face falls.  

“Wait. What?”

[unhinged-summer-fun]

common grounds (oshamir) - chapter 6

Pairing: Osha Aniseya x Qimir "The Stranger" Warnings lol: blood and violence <3

A/N: Dividers by @firefly-graphics

series masterlist

chapter 6: the masquerade

Was going through her sister’s phone unethical? Sure. Was this whole thing a huge fucking risk she shouldn’t be taking? Certainly. Was she doing it anyway?

Hell, yes, she was.

After going their separate ways, Osha turned over the half-promise she’d given the stranger two days ago. 

I’ll think about it.

It was a curse. Here, in the unforgiving clarity of Wednesday, she could think about nothing else. Training with someone who saw potential and value in her sounded better than heaven.

But he’d left her with no way to give him her answer. He told her he couldn’t risk stopping by the Temple as often as he had been. I am banned, you know.

That was how she justified this insanity. I have no way of getting through to him like normal, and Mae was the only person who regularly met with him. She’s the best bet for finding him. And besides, she’s been lying to me for two years; I deserve to be a little ethically questionable.

Even still, the air was thick with tension—but that could’ve just been steam from the shower.

None of the contacts she scrolled through looked like they fit the stranger. Would she even save his number in her phone? She checked the text threads next, her eyes entirely focused on the unsaved numbers. Perhaps resignation had her gliding past the threads with Sol, and the multiple group chats Mae was a part of—places where Osha didn’t belong.

She must have deleted his shit the second she cut ties with him.

Osha bit down hard on her lower lip to bury her frustration. Where else, where else…

NYAAAAA!

“Fucksake, Pip, don’t be a fucking narc,” she whispered, removing the kitten from the room and resuming her shady behavior.

Mae dropped a bottle in the shower, nearly sending Osha jumping out of the window in fright. It was a miracle she stayed quiet. She refocused, ignoring the slight tremble of her fingers. 

Oh shit, why didn’t she check there first?

She found the list of blocked numbers in Mae’s call records and, instead of screenshotting it and sending it to herself, took a picture of the screen with her phone. It was old school, but it left no trace.

One of these better be him.

Mae shut off the shower, and Osha quickly put her phone back where it had been and walked out of the room without looking back. She was jumpy through dinner, but since she and Mae still weren’t talking, she didn’t have to explain herself.

Afterward, she retreated to her room and performed a round of isometric poses to steady her nerves. It helped soothe the persistent ache in her leg immensely. The pleasant burn in her calf licked flames across where her ligaments usually felt brittle and iced over. Doing the exercises before bed was a double-edged sword: on one hand, she’d be warm and loose all night; on the other… it made her think of him.

The dreams left her feeling hotter than the exercises did.

What was it Mae said? You’re playing with fire? It certainly felt like it—but in this weather, she didn’t mind a bit of heat.

To temper her obsession a little, she gave herself only ten minutes to research each phone number from the photo. She quickly ruled out telemarketers, spam numbers, and various persons who wanted to contact Mae about her car’s extended warranty.

The last number on her list felt… different. It brought up zero results online, not even on a reverse number lookup. She’d been about to type it into her phone to send a probing text, but her ten minutes were up. She couldn’t get in over her head, lest the stranger consume too much of her life before she knew his name.

And what if this wasn’t even his number? She didn’t want to go to sleep disappointed if the gamble didn’t pan out. She saved the number in her phone as ? and tried not to think about it.

Everything seemed to have lost its shine on her next shift at the cafe. The coffee smelled stale, and she could not ignore her sticky hands like she used to. Every painful hour spent on her feet felt like an eternity. She needed something new.

She’d needed a lot of something new for a while now.

The silence between her and Mae continued at home. The next time family dinner rolled around, she excused herself. She only saw Sol and Mae at the Temple.

Even the classes Sol led felt off. Try as she might to put in maximum effort, she’d grown out of Sol’s tentative instruction. Her jabs landed harder on the heavy bags, some sounding like thunderclaps that split the empty air. Her legs itched to kick and thrash beneath her despite the backlash it would yield in the gym.

She even tried a few kicks on the bag in the apartment gym, which saw more of her the following week than in the last six months. What it didn’t see was the stranger.

The stranger had her fucked up. Big time.

She couldn’t rely on luck or coincidence when she wanted to see him anymore. Next time she got lucky, she promised herself, she would get his damn number at the very least.

“This is a shit idea,” Osha muttered to herself as she walked down the street. “You’re fucking nuts, Osha.”

She’d been so focused on watching out for black ice on the sidewalk that she didn’t see that the Unknown Planet neons were all off until she’d opened the front door halfway, finding nothing but pitch-black silence within.

Every light was off, save for one at the far wall from the door. Osha stepped back a little, letting the door fall shut. The operation hours stared back at her: moonrise to sunrise.

Under the perpetually overcast sky of winter, she couldn’t tell, but she was pretty sure it was a new moon. You can’t have a moonrise with no moon, she reasoned.

But then, why was the door still open?

Osha retrieved her can of bear spray from her backpack and flicked off the safety with her thumb. She entered the empty bar quietly, on cat-light feet. When the door closed behind her, the cacophony of the city changed to a stark, screeching silence. She didn’t dare move a muscle.

Her eyes acclimated to the darkness, her ears to the silence. Very faintly, she made out the sounds of raised voices, cheers, and jeers. She stayed alert as she crept around tables crowned with upturned chairs. She stopped to listen again when she reached the singular lit sconce at the end of the cavernous bar.

The noise had grown louder, but Osha could still hear the familiar ding-ding! of a match bell. Was there a boxing gym upstairs? Nobody at the Temple cheered that loud at the events hosted there.

A set of stairs she hadn’t seen a week ago led up to a steel door on a small landing. A tattooed and bored bouncer wasn’t looking down the staircase at her; instead, he was peering through the small window in the door, looking in on whatever was happening inside.

Osha pulled back into the darkness. What was she doing? She was in an unfamiliar area of the city, chasing down hope of seeing a guy whose name she didn’t know, and she had no way of knowing where her damned curiosity would take her. She thumbed off the safety on her bear spray but kept the tube tucked in her sleeve just in case.

The bouncer frowned as she walked up the stairs. Up close, she could see two matching cauliflower ears, a split lip, and neck tattoos—and explicit confirmation that he was built like a brick shithouse. Osha met his eyes anyway, saying nothing.

“You’re coming in pretty late, miss. Half the fights are already done.” His voice was as gravelly and deep as she imagined, but the politeness took her a little off guard.

She tried channeling Mae as she told a small lie. “I was told the wrong time.”

The bouncer looked her over with a more critical eye, grunting. “Well. Hope whoever told you gets their shit rocked tonight.”

He opened the door for her, and she was instantly hit with a wall of noise. Hot air, humid from effort and shouting, hit her next, followed by the scent of sweat—and a little bit of blood. She tugged her hood over her head as she walked in, embracing a bit of stifling heat in exchange for a concealed appearance. It was doubtful anybody here would recognize her, though.

Though the area was centrally lit to highlight the festivities, she could tell this wasn’t a boxing gym—a fighting gym, but not for any discipline she knew. What she thought were people standing on the wall turned out to be body-opponent bags lined up with military precision. All the equipment was set with evident respect and intentionality, not a thing out of place as far as she could tell.

And in the center of the room stood a cage.

She’d done some research into what he’d been talking about. She knew most MMA fights took place in a fenced-in open-air ring, but those rings never had a lid. The cage walls were pretty high, about twice the height of the average man. It seemed less like a fighting ring for humans and more like an inhumane, fucked-up snow globe full of violence.

Surrounding it was a crowd of around seventy-five people, bunched so close it almost seemed they were part of the platform. Three sets of bleachers held the rest of the observers, and a half-dozen more leaned on the rail of a balcony overlooking all at one end of the cavernous space.

Inside the cage, two men fought with wicked-looking spears—halberds, if she remembered correctly. The crack! of the shafts connecting jarred her from her drifting fugue, and Osha approached the crowd so she wouldn’t be seen as an outsider and garner unwanted attention.

Was this where the stranger trained and fought? It had to be—one of the fighters slashed the other across the chest in a small spray of blood. Instead of crying out or screaming, the injured competitor groaned in frustration over the sound of mixed cheering and grumbling. It was the single most confusing reaction to violence she’d ever seen.

She got closer despite her self-preservation screaming otherwise. The heady scent of spilled blood hung in the air like incense, and this brutal, lawless place suddenly felt more sacredly profane than anywhere else she’d ever been. This was no church or temple, but it was powerfully holy nonetheless. 

Osha found a place for herself in the stands.

As the previous fighters left the cage and melted away into the locker rooms, two more took their place. The announcer, a tall, pale man with spindly old-man arms, called their names like a pro wrestling emcee. Some matches had both fighters wielding weapons; others only had one weapon thrown in the middle to be fought over for advantage. Very few matches were unarmed, and when they were, it was indescribably brutal to see. The rules of engagement became clear in one of those bare-knuckle fights:

First blood wins the bout but doesn’t stop it—only the timer, submission, or unconsciousness did. Only one submission happened during the night, and when it had, the crowd was in an uproar, near-humiliating the poor soul who didn’t want his shoulder dislocated.

It seemed that for legal purposes, some holds were barred here.

She traded off between watching the fight and watching the audience, and she couldn’t tell who was more bloodthirsty.

After about an hour of fights, some unspoken signal rippled through the crowd. All at once, a hush fell over the entire space, reverent as a moment of benediction.

“For our final match,” the announcer called, “we have moved away from spears and swords to return to Pure! NHB! Fighting!” The crowd joined in his excitement, rattling the old aluminum seats beneath her. A quick glance at the balcony showed it empty. 

“—I’ve got eighty on White-Top tonight.”

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

“Smiley can’t win every time.”

Osha listened in on the conversation beside her, keeping her eyes on the announcer grandstanding at the center of the ring. He vamped while two expedient workers squeegeed off the blood from the floor mat.

“If you’re still betting on that, you’re welcome to lose your money. The thing place worth placing bets on is in the inner-ring particulars.”

“Like what?”

“—bring you eight of the finest fighters this gym has to offer! In one corner, the rookie in yellow—”

“—Who goes down first, who does Smiley take down first—”

“The Dizzykid!”

“—and how long it’ll take to put ‘em down.”

Mild applause started as a shirtless man bounced into the ring. He did a hopping lap before settling against one of the corners. Rookie confidence, Osha’s fighting mind said. The yellow balaclava he wore looked fucking nasty, half stained with old blood. The two gamblers beside her spoke in unison.

“He’s going down first.”

She probably shouldn’t have laughed. She’d done her best not to draw attention to herself for the last hour of fights, but at the unanimous and bored condemnation of the Dizzykid, she couldn’t help herself. Luckily, the gamblers didn’t seem to hear it; even if they did, they didn’t care.

The announcer spoke through the rest of the introductions, men and women fighting in one bout together. Most of the contenders were fresh to this competition, but many bore scars that must have come from previous fights like the ones she saw before.

They all had ridiculous names, too: Dizzykid, White-Top, and a handful of others she didn’t care remembering.

The final two were introduced as repeat champions from the month before. The penultimate fighter, who wore a purple hood, was called Daybreak. She looked well-sunken into her role in the ring, all quiet confidence and restrained power.

“Daybreak was one of our two-left-standing last month and will get to defend her name and title just like her final counterpart: your nine-month reigning champion here to make it ten, the undefeated, the terrifying, SMILEY!”

The eighth fighter walked into the cage, and it instantly felt like she’d gone into freefall. Distantly, as if underwater, she could hear the crowd going wild for him. The seven fighters in the ring were already honed to precision, each beautiful and strong, but this one was heart-stopping. She clung to one solid second of denial before accepting the truth of who those huge, beefy biceps belonged to—

That was her stranger in the mask.

He wore a black balaclava. Stitched in silver to make a horrifying toothy smile, Smiley’s moniker was straightforward.

God, she hoped Smiley wasn’t his real name.

“Welcome, gentlemen—welcome, ladies.” The announcer addressed them directly, shifting from entertainer to referee. Osha did not need to strain to hear him speak because the room had gone quiet as a crypt in respect and anticipation.

The rules were simple: 30 minutes on the clock, eliminations by knockout, submission, or heavy injury.

“When you hear this whistle—” he blew a whistle four times.  “You will grab the cage with both hands and stand still until we drag out the fallen. When you hear this bell—” Ding! “The fight resumes. If you make it to the final two, congrats. If you don’t, it’s not my problem. Now: Fighters!” He blew his whistle four times.

Sixteen hands found the fence.

The announcer left the ring.

The crowd’s excitement built.

And when the bell went off—

Chaos.

Four of the fresh fighters descended on the stranger, hunting the biggest game in the cage. Osha watched in awe as he leaped straight into the air and grabbed the top of the cage. Two of the fighters whiffed their punches beneath him, and he came down right on top of them.

There were probably other things happening in the cage, but she could only watch him.

Brash and eager, the Dizzykid went down first, knocked out by the kick to the face the stranger gave him. White-Top went down next. One of the gamblers beside her groaned. Osha grinned.

The stranger was a blur in the cage, all his punches and kicks coming too fast for her to track at times. When he paused, facing away from her, her breath stuck in her throat at the sight of the thick, purple-white scar tissue slicing across his back. It made more sense now: why he was so dedicated to injury recovery and proper form.

Wouldn’t you, if you had your back broken in four places?

Her chance at melancholic reverie passed as her stranger continued to put down his remaining opponents. The other two had gone after Daybreak—if she went down, they might make it to the cage next month.

The bubbling energy of the crowd was infectious, and Osha gave in to the temptation to get a little reckless, joining the cheers. “Let’s go, Smiley! Put ‘em the fuck down!”

The stranger froze mid-swing.

Fortunately for him, the ref blew his whistle four times right then, and the fight paused.

Unfortunately for her, the stranger stalked to the closest fence near Osha. He held onto it but pressed closer, forehead against the chain links. He’s looking for me. The other fighters faced inward, but not him, readying themselves for the fight ahead.

His eyes blazed with heat as he scanned the crowd. He was like a rabid animal, an overheated gun, a bloody, jagged edge digging deep wherever he wanted to cut. When he found her, she felt it in her bones. She raised a hand and gave a cheeky wave, smiling.

He tilted his head to the side before sticking his fingers through the fence, waving as much as possible.

The body haulers left the ring.

The cage door closed behind them.

The stranger was still not looking away—

Ding!

The stranger took less than fifteen seconds to put down the remaining rookies, leaving him and Daybreak standing. The crowd rippled with unease. Even Daybreak seemed baffled, staggering a few steps back from the sudden total violence.

The stranger returned to where he’d been standing fifteen seconds before, pressing his face fully against the fence like Osha was nothing but inches away from him.

The crowd around her was stunned. “How’d he do that so fast?”

“Smiley is just playing with his food whenever the fights go longer than five minutes, isn’t he?”

“I think his first fight lasted eight.”

“How long was this? I can’t see the—”

“Three minutes?! What the—”

“Five takedowns tonight? Daybreak looks like she just shit her trunks.”

“Nah, Smiley respects her too much to—”

“I don’t think Smiley even looked her way tonight.”

Osha could feel eyes on her, but she didn’t look at them. She was still staring at the stranger. As the last bodies were dragged out of the cage, he drifted backward to the center for the results. After they were announced, he said something to the emcee, who nodded but didn’t seem surprised.

Daybreak and Smiley disappeared when they left the cage, and the crowd dispersed to mingle or otherwise leave. To avoid the curious stares, Osha found a dark corner to stand in. She’d become damn near nose-blind to the scent of blood, but the sight of it being squeegeed off the mats was still slightly morbid.

Someone approached her hiding spot.

“Are you Osha?”

It was the announcer. This close, he loomed—even taller than the stranger. Only then did she remember the bear spray in her sleeve.

“Who’s asking?”

“You can call me Mr. Wise. Smiley asked for you.” She could see the glint in his eyes. He was dangerous but in a different way than her stranger. “Will you come with me?”

Alarm bells rang like hell in her head, but she chose to dance along to the tune. “Lead the way.”

Mr. Wise led her to a small door near where she’d come in; stairs led to the level above and the bar below. It smelled more like cigarettes than blood in here. “Just up there. The black door at the end.” Then he left her alone.

At the end of the long, twisting flight of stairs, Osha found... dressing rooms? The landing she stood on was connected to a hall of doors, as well as an open archway to access the balcony from before. The doors she passed matched the balaclavas of the cage fighters: yellow, white, blue… and black at the end of the hall.

The first six doors were open and empty, but the black and purple doors for Smiley and Daybreak were closed. The second she stood before the black door, it swung inward, and there he was.

He’d taken off the mask. His hair was damp from the shower he must have taken, and some of it was twisted back out of his face with little fasteners, just like the night she met him. The body heat radiating off of him was felt even standing out there in the hall. It’d been six days since she last saw him, and the bright smile he gave her had her insides scrambling around like a game of musical chairs. Six days, and he still looked just as good as he did in her memory.

“Osha.”

His eyes burned with a fire she knew well—the last time she felt it, she’d been given a great shiny trophy and belt. Her stranger’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and she spotted the darkening bruise forming on his jaw. The cut on his cheek from several days ago had healed, and the bruise around it had faded from a red-purple to a pale yellow-green. One bruise out, one bruise in. That was the price of fighting.

“Tell me your name isn’t really Smiley,” Osha blurted out.

His smile widened. “I’m only Smiley sometimes. Come in; I was doing cooldown.”

He opened the door wider for her to come in. His dressing room was sparse but not gross like the others she’d seen in the hall. After all, this room had been solely his for the last ten months. She spotted a few things she recognized on the small table: the black hoodie, backpack, and glasses. Hanging off two small clips was the mask he’d worn to fight, dripping wet.

She approached it curiously. “It’s a little freaky, isn’t it?” she said over her shoulder.

“I didn’t choose it.”

She turned to look at him. He was in a pair of low-hanging sweatpants, barefoot. Red blotches bloomed across his body, lucky shots while he made felling blows. He was holding his hands over his head, stretching his biceps, triceps, and other muscle groups that looked too good for her to think straight. He stood very still for her while she looked at him, and a little zing of pride and power zipped down her spine.

“But… I have to win it again every time I wear it.”

She didn’t know what to say when she met his eyes again, her gaze snapping up from where it had drifted to the waistband of his sweats. He was smirking a little. Caught.

He moved them away from the potentially awkward silence by sitting on a yoga mat and resuming his cool-down stretches. She took a seat on the only chair in the room.

“How’d you hear about the fights?” he asked, falling into a deep stretch. His flexibility shouldn’t have set her heart to stutter, but she’d never seen a man go so deep in her life. The scars on his back stood out in sharp relief from this angle, and this close, she could see that they were a mix of traumas: surgery and injury twisted over themselves in a snarling knot with no end.

It’s what her ankle looked like.

“I, uh, didn’t,” she said after a few seconds of silence. He turned his head to peek an eye at her. Go on. “I didn’t even know there was a gym. I just wanted to go to the bar, but the lights were off.”

“And you just went in?”

“The door was open. And…” She pulled the bear spray out of her sleeve and showed it to him before putting it in her bag. “I wasn’t without protection.”

“Smart girl.”

She nearly choked on air but quickly recovered. When her bag was zipped, she crossed her legs and cleared her throat. “You don’t live in the city this long and feel safe without a can of bear spray,” she said.

“You could carry an actual weapon.”

“I’d prefer not to.”

“Why?”

“I’d probably hurt myself before I hurt anybody else.”

He released the pose and adjusted his grip to stretch his feet and ankles. She recognized the different stretch combinations he was doing—she did them every night before bed. Her mind threatened to teeter into that can of worms, but he pulled her out of it.

“Don’t count yourself out, Osha. What’d I tell you? You’re a lion.” When he gave a breathy laugh and showed her his languid smile, she recognized more than the exercises—she saw more of herself in him than anticipated. His goofy grin wasn’t just part of a conjured persona. This was how he truly smiled when he hit that fighter’s high. It was how she smiled.

“I didn’t mean to distract you earlier.”

He laughed at the half-apology, pulling his feet in for a groin stretch. He tugged his shorts up his thighs for better flexibility, and he watched her reaction from the corner of his eye. His expression said, now, who’s distracted?

“You didn’t distract me,” he said, giving her a break and looking down. You surprised me, sure. I thought I got my bell rung and was hearing what I wanted.” He leaned into the stretch, groaning softly at the deeper burn. “I was glad to see you,” he said tightly. She wondered how much of it was from muscle strain and how much was from emotion.

Her heart galloped behind her ribs. Hearing him speak like that, make sounds like that—god, she was in trouble. She took a shuddering breath and held it to try and get her shit together, but it only half-worked.

“I was glad to see you, too.” She could only see a sliver of his face, but she saw him smile. “I liked, uh, seeing you fight. I’d been wondering about it for a while.”

“Oh, I’ve been on your mind?” he smirked at her, but his expression wasn’t remotely malicious.

“Can you blame me?”

The stranger seemed pleased with her answer, a shared refrain from several conversations together. He released the stretch and rolled seamlessly onto his back, holding one knee to his chest. He lolled his head to the side to look at her, self-satisfied. “Why did you come to the bar tonight, Osha?”

He was going to make her say it. Bastard.

“Well, Yord hasn’t broken the espresso machine, and you said you weren’t coming around anyway. You haven’t been at the apartment gym, and I couldn’t find anything about you on the internet to track you down. You’re very hard to get ahold of, you know.”

“I know.”

“So the last place I knew you might be… was here. Well, downstairs.”

He nodded, idly tracing his thumb over his kneecap. It was distracting. “You’ve been looking for me, then?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Damnit, hadn’t she said enough for him? He blinked at her, lazy as a cat but twice as sharp.

Fuck it.

“I wanted to see you.”

He made a pleased noise, switching to hold his other leg. He settled into the stretch, breathing slowly like he was savoring those five words he’d dragged past her lips. “Have you thought about my offer?”

She supposed she’d gotten what she wanted. If she was pursuing him this hard, she had her answer. Why did she go looking for him? She wanted to see him. Why did she want to see him? Because she wanted to train—or perhaps another reason she wasn’t being honest with herself about.

He released his leg and sat up fluidly, kneeling before her. He rested both hands on his thighs and tilted his head to the side, considering her openly. Messy-haired, skin still bright and flushed from the fight, kneeling on the floor, he looked penitent, beseeching.

“What do you want, Osha?”

“In order?”

“If you wish.” His lips twitched, suppressing a smile.

She held up three fingers, ticking them off one by one. “In order: I want your number, I want a drink, and I want you to train me.”

CHAPTER 7

[justaboot]

fine okay HBO human DT would be like

(tw blood, gore, drugs, suicide mention)

Beakley's husband was killed by their daughter, who was a FOWL big bad. Beakley loved her more than anything but, in the end, they couldn't stop her, and she locked her in an uncrackable limbo pocket dimension, took newborn Webby, and told everyone she was dead. Every night, she doesn't think about how she's still in there, alive and rotting. (I hc this regardless)

Gladstone signed away his soul for glitz, luck, and luxury when he was young. He rains gifts and affection down on the kids, decked in the best money can buy and bored by all of it, surrounded by designer drugs and sex and fancy friends and desperately lonely when he's not with the fam.

Pre-series, the boys' father was a traitor who sold them out, nearly to Donald and Scrooge's death. Della goes alone to a standoff in an abandoned plane hangar, fucks him good one last time to get close before beating his head in with a socket wrench.

Goldie told her how.

The kids figure out Gyro's fallen into a brutally accelerating addiction to a stimulant chem of his own design, bc its producing incredible results. Scrooge has been looking the other way. Because results.

Actual Scary Girl Webby in a real way. She wants answers, and has no understanding of taboos. Stares at her first dead body way too long. Asks della too many questions about self-amputation, what it smelled like, if she could feel the difference between muscles and tendons when cutting. Did the ligaments snap back? did the bone splinter? did you see marrow? She just wants to know. The next day she asks bentina if they can get a whole pig to pit-roast and if she can be the one to carve it. Watched Scrooge and Goldie from the vent in his bedroom, looked too long at the line of Goldie's back as she moved and thought about it all night.

We see Beakley actually homeschool them. They have a library thats the school room, and Huey and Webby practice cello in Webby's room. They test themselves on new languages they're learning together by talking through music theory in them while playing.

Huey made Della a teak shower bench. Not HBOcore but its true and you should know it. It replaced the chrome one, and on bad nights, she hands out in there in the steam at 4 in the morning bc the room is bright and warm and the fan is loud and beakley'll be up in an hour which means the house wont be Still and Quiet.

Louie actually gets caught up in the underground crime scene. He slowly builds confidence gets too cocky, and gets in deeper and deeper shit until it goes south. Fast. His tricks dont work, because hes TEN, and Goldie has to pull him out of a human trafficking ring. He doesn't think to ask what she was doing there until much later, and she's already gone.

We see Donald's therapy sessions. He loves the boys more than anything or anyone in the world. He tells his therapist that he hates his sister for what she did to his future. His therapist asks if he hates the children, too, and Donald hesitates. He loves the boys.

Magica has Scrooge for weeks during the Shadow War. Plays out all his failures in shadow puppets on the wall for him. The spear, his parents, his sisters, goldie, everything. she was there in the dime for the whole ten years he was alone, and she plays out all the ugliest things he said and did. Shapeshifts through all the friends he's lost to taunt him, spitting words as young Donald. She shifts into Della, asking in her voice why he'd do that, telling him how painful it was, how it feels to freeze to death, what human lungs sound like when there's no oxygen to breathe. You'd think they'd be quieter, but there's a wet crackle that sounds like a sponge. She tells him how he was going to kill the boys, too, because he's too selfish, but it's not a problem now, because they've left again. They're safe now. But she says it all so kindly. He's exhausted and hes starving and hes half out of his mind, so when he asks what she wants from him and she puts a knife in his hands and tells him to end it, he does. Until the knife turns to smoke, he's unharmed, and it's not della but Magica who's laughing at him. Lena sees the whole thing, and later on, when the kids find out, Scrooge omits details, and the kids laugh at how Magica would ever think Scrooge would go through with it, just give up. He'd never give up. Lena doesn't say anything, and Scrooge doesn't look at her, and he has to cope with believing that'll be the last time he'll ever hear della's voice.

Lena Comes Back WrongTM

anyway you get it. everyone has a really rough duality. feel free to add.

(this post got too long, ask me later about the boys' birth and scrooge's secret s1 curse)

[roxyjean82btsoneshots]

Legs For Days

Legs For Days

✏️Jimin x female reader ✏️Friends to Lover AU 🛑 Rated 18+ 📖WC: 4102 ⚠️Warning: talks about insecurity of being tall, mentions bullying, cursing, heavy make out session turning into dry humping⚠️

Summary: Y/N is insecure about being tall. Jimin doesn't mind the height difference, he just wants to be by your side.

Also on:

Ao3

Wattpad

My Masterlist

Authors note: This story is a little more personal than I usually write and I’m aware that some might relate. But I hope you enjoy.

A big thank you to @downbad4yoongi and @star-my for being my beta angels. 💜

To say the two of you were being loud was an understatement. Yours and Jimin’s usual unserious bickering always got louder the drunker you got. Thankfully, the group was in a private room this time, or else the whole restaurant would look at you the same way your waitress did every time she came into the room. Your friends either watched the both of you with the same look of amusement as they always did, or they did their best to ignore you.

Tonight's topic of discussion was whether or not Jimin should be your date to your company party in two days since the person you were originally supposed to go with backed out.

“Jimin, if I take you, then my whole work life will be just people asking me how I know The Park Jimin! I like my quiet work life. I don’t want people knowing I’m friends with one of the world's most famous models!”

Jimin put his hand over his heart, scrunched up his face like he was in pain, and sucked in a sharp breath. “Are you ashamed of me, Y/N? Have the past ten years of our friendship meant nothing?” 

You leaned your head back and groaned in frustration before taking another shot of soju. This argument had been going in circles for almost thirty minutes now. “Jimin,” you took a deep breath before turning to face him, “I love you. You know that, right?” You bit the inside of your lip to stop the smile that wanted to show when he sniffled and wiped a nonexistent tear. “I’m not ashamed of you. You are one of my best friends, and I would do anything for you, but you know how I prefer to fly under the radar. If I show up with you, people won’t leave me alone. All I’d hear about is the handsome friend I have.”

“You think I’m handsome?” Jimin’s fake hurt turned into a victory grin.

“You’re such a pain in my ass!” You laughed, unable to control it anymore.

“$100 dollars, Taehyung.” Jimin reached across the table to collect his winnings.

“You bet against me, Tae?” Your eyebrow shot up as you ran your tongue across the inside of your cheek. “I guess you’ll be paying for your own dinner.”

Taehyung stopped mid-transaction. “Wait! What? No! Come one, Y/N! That’s not fair! It’s not my fault you fell into his trap again!”

Jimin snatched the money from his fingers. “He has a point, Y/N. It’s not his fault you lost.”

Your head snapped to Jimin, who had a cheeky grin on his face while he got his wallet out and put away his prize. “I should really kick your ass one of these days.”

He turned in your direction, rested one arm on the table, and looked you over. “Sounds like a fun time to me.”

You laughed while the temperature of your body soared, “Get away from me,” you stated, playfully shoving him away and grabbing your chopsticks.

“How have you two not fucked yet?” Jungkook piped in from across the table.

The piece of meat you’d been chewing on quickly found its way to your throat, causing you to choke.

“Damn, Jungkook.” Jimin chuckled, patting you on the back while Hoseok got you a glass of water and tried to calm his laughter so that he wouldn’t spill it. “You can’t just say shit like that out of nowhere.”

“We’ve all been wondering.” Jungkook pouted and shrugged his shoulders. “The two of you have so much sexual and non-sexual chemistry between you, it's only a matter of time before something happens.” He took in a sharp breath and turned his head slightly, taking both of your reactions in. “Unless it's already happened…”

You put up your finger stopping him, “Him and I,” you wiggled your finger pointing at you and Jimin. “Never have. Never will.”

“I wouldn’t say never, Y/N. One of these days you might.”

“I’m up for it if you are.” Jimin smiled and ran his tongue across his bottom lip out of the corner of your eyes.

“He’s not my type, Jungkook.”

“You don’t have a type, Y/N,” Yoongi yelled from the other end of the table. “You’ve always said you would give anyone a chance as long as they aren't assholes. And Jimin, although he’s a pain in the ass, he’s not an asshole.”

Jimin’s lips tightened and he nodded. “I am not an asshole.”

You sighed, annoyed at the conversation. “That is true, but I would also prefer someone taller or as tall as me.”

“I’m a whole two inches shorter! And that’s if we are both barefooted!” Jimin stated, before quickly realizing it wasn’t helping his case any.

The conversation was beginning to upset you. You’d always been self-conscious about your height, thanks to being teased about it growing up and the numerous times you were turned down by a guy. Did you find Jimin attractive? Yes, extremely attractive. But you promised yourself many years ago that you wouldn’t put yourself through the pain of rejection again, so that’s why you placed him in the friend zone the moment you met him.

“Two inches isn’t that bad, Y/N.”

You took a shot of soju and poured another while the table agreed with Yoongi. “Although he has legs for days, Jimin is still too short for me and that's that.” You quickly tilted your head back, taking the last shot, and slammed the glass on the table. “I’m going first. I have a lot of things to do tomorrow.” You stood up and collected your stuff. “Dinner is on me!” You waved your hand over your shoulder before shutting the door and going to the counter to pay.

The second you stepped outside, you rolled your neck and shoulders to help ease the tension that had started to build. You flagged down the first available taxi that you saw and got in. But as you were closing the door and giving him your destination, the door was stopped.

“What are you doing?” You asked Jimin, who had a hand on the top of it.

He didn’t say anything, just waved you over so that he could get in. The driver gave you a concerned look in the mirror, and you let him know it was fine. This wasn’t the first time one of the guys had ridden home with you, especially after a night of drinking.

The ride was silent except for the music coming from the radio. You stared out the window, listening to the sad love song that was playing. It was definitely not the kind of music you needed right now.

“Say something, Y/N.” Jimin finally spoke up after twenty minutes of silence.

You took your heavy head off the window and spoke to him, “Stop flirting with me.”

“Wh..what?” He chuckled.

Your head leaned back against the window, and your focus went back to the world outside. “I said stop flirting with me. It hurts too much when you do.” You chewed on the inside of your cheek to keep your tears at bay that threatened to spill out.

Silence fell over the car again, breaking only when you told the driver thank you. Jimin followed quietly behind you. He didn’t say anything as the two of you rode the elevator up to your apartment and entered. You didn’t have the energy to talk; all you wanted to do was get cleaned up and go to bed.

After you’d finished up and climbed under the covers, Jimin came into your room. He had done the same, changing into one of the spare sets of clothes the guys had kept in your extra room. He was the only one out of the group that slept in the king-size bed with you. Jimin had taken care of you one day while you were sick and accidentally fell asleep. When he woke up, he complained about how your bed was more comfortable than the one in the guest room and claimed the empty side as his.

You turned so that your back was facing him. You inwardly cursed yourself and let a silent tear fall when your body relaxed to his closeness and smell.

Jimin sighed and turned off the lamp on his side of the bed, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

・❥・

You’d just finished putting on your makeup when your phone pinged with a notification. It was a text message from Jimin telling you that he was on his way up to your apartment. You sighed and put down your makeup brush. You were way too busy right now for interruption. The buzzer to the door went off, and you double-checked your robe to make sure it was secure before you opened it. On the other side of the door stood a smiling Jimin, who was wearing a black tailored suit and had a bouquet of flowers in one hand.

Your eyes raked over him, taking in his perfectly styled hair to the tip of his Chelsea boots. “What are you all dressed up for?” you asked, folding your arms.

“I’m your date!” He proudly exclaimed, puffing out his chest.

“I never agreed to that,” you rolled your eyes and walked away.

“Careful, Y/N. You’ll scuff my shoes!”

You looked behind you and saw Jimin’s foot wedged between the door and the frame, stopping it from closing. “Well, that’s what you get for using your damn foot to stop the door.”

“Man, you’re in a mood today.”

You stopped at the couch and grabbed the garment bag resting on the arm that held your dress. “I don’t have time for this, Jimin. I still need to get dressed.” You jumped when the bouquet was suddenly put in front of your face.

“It’s a present from the guys. All six of them picked out a flower to say sorry about the dinner the other night.”

“What about you?” you lifted an eyebrow and took the bouquet.

“There’s no better present than me!” He sat down on the couch and stretched out his arms across the back. “I am all yours tonight. I promise to be a gentleman and stay by your side like a good date.”

Jimin pouted when you didn’t argue. His eyes stayed on you and watched you walk away. When you emerged from your room twenty minutes later, his heart stopped, and his breath hitched. You looked beautiful. He had never seen you dressed up like this before. The black dress was tight, putting all your curves on display, while the high neckline perfectly showed off your clavicle. The long sleeves helped to keep you covered until the dress ended mid-thigh, showing off your well-toned legs. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t ever thought about them in ways that would make you blush. You had joked a few times, saying that he had legs for days, but yours really did go on for days. When you stopped to use the mirror in the corner of the living room so that you could put your earrings in, Jimin nearly slid off the couch. The dress was backless, stopping just above your bottom.

“Jimin?”

“I’m sorry. Did you need something?” He asked, snapping out of his thoughts.

“I asked if you could help me with my necklace.”

“Yeah, sure.” Jimin got off the couch and walked over to you. The heels you had on only added an inch or two to your height. You weren’t a fan of wearing heels that made you too much taller than normal. He knew it was because you didn’t want to stick out more than you already did. Your height was one of your biggest insecurities; you liked to pretend that it wasn’t, but he knew.

You turned to face him after he’d finished. “Do I look that bad?”

“What? No!” Jimin blinked rapidly and shook his head. “You look amazing! I’ve just never seen you in something like this before. It’s taking me a bit to get used to it.”

You ran your hands over your dress and pulled the skirt down some more. “I wanted to try something new. But I feel almost naked. I should go put something else on. I’m not mentally prepared for the attention this dress might come with.”

“No, you don’t!” Jimin grabbed your arm, stopping you from leaving to go change. “We don’t have time for that!” He kept a hold of your arm while he walked to the closet by the front door. “We just need to find…” He trailed off while he sorted through the coats. “Ah! Here we go! I knew I’d left it here.” He pulled out and shook out a black trench coat. “It’s unisex, so it will work perfectly.”

“Are you sure? Isn’t this the jacket you got from a photoshoot? It’s pretty expensive.”

Jimin hummed and helped you put it on, “I’m sure. It will keep you warm, and it will keep random men from staring at you while we go outside to the car.”

・❥・

The two of you were currently sitting in the back of the car, laughing and chatting about the happenings of your company party while Jimin’s personal driver drove. Jimin did just as he said he would and stayed by your side for the most part.

“I gave SunHee your phone number, by the way.” You laughed when his face scrunched up in disgust when you mentioned your boss's secretary's name. The woman had practically bulldozed everyone down when she saw you and Jimin walk through the door. Sunhee was one of the least liked people in the office; she was the head secretary, and she let everyone know it.

Jimin’s body shook as he remembered the way she kept putting her hands on him while she flirted. “God, I hope you’re joking. I can’t deal with any more crazy stalkers in my life.”

“I’m only joking. I couldn’t do that to you or me. I mean, if you two started dating, that means I’d have to see her outside of work.” This time, it was your face that scrunched up in disgust.

“That’s good because I told her we were dating.”

“You didn’t,” your laughter stopped when you saw the serious look on his face. “You didn’t, Jimin…Jimin. Please tell me you are joking.”

“What was I supposed to do? She kept trying to get me to leave with her. At one point, she even tried to get me into the supply closet!”

You groaned in frustration and let your head fall to the window. “Monday is going to be hell.”

Jimin patted you on the shoulder, “That’s what you get for leaving us alone at the table.”

“I had to pee,” you groaned. “Why did they have to pick a place that was so far away?” You weren’t looking for an answer, but he replied anyway.

“We still have about forty minutes until we get to your apartment. My place is closer if you want to just stay there.”

You turned your head and glared at him. “What makes you think that this date went well enough for me to go home with you?”

Jimin copied your earlier move and looked out the window. “I just thought you’d want to get out of those shoes and into some comfortable clothing as soon as possible. Plus, I live close to your favorite fried chicken restaurant.”

Your lips and eyebrows tightened while you thought. Once you’d come to a decision, you nodded and got the driver's attention. “To Jimin’s house, please. Also, can we stop to get chicken, please?”

・❥・

Jimin laughed while he poured each of you a glass of beer. You looked so cute sitting there in his shirt and a pair of his boxers, wiggling as you chewed on your food across the coffee table from him.

“I think that’s your twelfth piece.” He joked.

“I think you should shut up.” You replied in a singsongy voice.

Jimin sat back and watched you as he drank. His mind was swirling with questions that he needed answers to. “Tonight went pretty well, didn’t it?”

“Except for the random fan girls, yes. I’d say it did.” You wiped your hands on the napkin and took a drink.

“Is two inches really that big of a deal?”

You were mid-drink when your confused eyes looked at him. “I guess that depends on the location of the two inches you’re lacking in.” You smirked.

“I am not lacking there, you perv,” he laughed.

You shrugged your shoulders. “If you say so.”

“I was talking about my height, Y/N.”

“To some women, it might not,” you shrugged

“I’m not talking about some women. I’m talking about you.”

You were hunched over with your mouth hung open pre-bite. Your eyes looked up at him. He was being serious. Now the question was, did you want to have this conversation with him? Did you have enough liquid courage to let everything out in the open?

Jimin sat there on his side of the table, watching you. The expression on his face told you that he wasn’t going to give up until you answered him.

You straightened up and downed your half-full glass of beer. “Alright, let's have this conversation,” you sighed. “To me, it is. I don’t want it to be, but it is. I can’t tell you how many times I have been turned down because of my height or been broken up with because the guy I was dating couldn’t handle the rude comments. Not to mention all the names I was called. So yes, for me, two inches does matter.”

“It doesn’t to me.”

“Jimin…” Your words trailed off when he moved the table to the side so that he could scoot closer to you.

“Y/N, I understand that you are worried about our height difference. I would be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it. But I realize I don’t care. People are going to make comments because they are assholes. All that matters to me is that I have you by my side.”  You looked down at your hand, suddenly fascinated by your nails, while he continued. “So wear your heels, take pride in your height, and be my girlfriend.”

You sat there for a few minutes, just taking in the words that he said. Two inches didn’t look like that big of a deal to most people, but to you, it was. Could you do the same as him and push your insecurities aside one last time?

“Oh my god. Did I read things wrong? Are you not attracted to me? Did I just make a total fool of myself?”

Your head quickly snapped up. “No, it’s not that!”

“So you do think I’m attractive?”

“Yes, very. I just…I umm. Fuck. Okay.” The words came out even though you hadn’t intended them to.

“Okay?” The excitement he was feeling became visible on his face.

“We can give it a try.”

He leaped up from his seated position and hugged you. “You know what’s nice about us sitting down?”

“What?” 

Jimin pulled back a little, “Neither of us has to adjust our heights to kiss.”

Before you could say anything, Jimin put his lips on yours. Your body instantly melted, and your eyes fluttered close.

For a moment, you felt as if you were floating before you felt the floor against your back. After that, it didn't take much longer for the simple kiss to turn into a full-blown make-out session. The two of you in your own little world, taking each other in with your lips and hands.

Jimin’s apartment filled with the sound of your combined moans when you wrapped your legs around him, effectively trapping him against you. The hunger you’d both had trapped inside of you for years was threatening to take over with the movement of his hips and the touch of your skin on his.

The sound of Jimin’s phone going off snapped both of you out of your lust-filled haze. Jimin slowly lifted himself away from you. “I didn't mean for it to go that far.” He said, just as out of breath as you were. “I was just hoping for a little kiss. Not a…”

“Full-blown dry hump session?” you laughed.

“Yeah, that. Although I’m not complaining, I think we should stop for now.” He turned and glared at his phone when it went off again. Jimin pouted and looked back at you. “I hate to say this, but I’m going to need you to unwrap me from your beautiful legs so that I can yell at whoever is blowing up my phone.”

Before you could reply, both of your heads snapped in the direction of the front door when you heard the sound of his passcode being entered. “Fuck!” the two of you said in unison.

Jimin had just gotten himself straightened out, and you had just gotten yourself into the bathroom when the entryway was filled with the sound of your friends.

“See, I told you they’d be here!” Seokjin’s voice echoed. “Jimin! Where are you? Oh, you’re right there.” He laughed when he found Jimin standing in the front room with a confused look on his face.

“Where’s, Y/N?” Namjoon asked, walking around the older man with bags full of food.

“I was in the bathroom.” Before you knew it, Taehyung and Jungkook were standing next to you with their eyes squinted.

“Something’s different…” the youngest of the two spoke as they began to circle you.

“What the hell are you guys doing?” you nervously laughed.

“Something feels off. Don’t you think, Jungkook?”

“There’s definitely something.”

“Oh will you two cut it out!” Yoongi yelled while he and the other men watched the weirdness going on a few feet away. “We came here to eat, drink, and let them tell us about the party.”

“Is that a hickey?!”

Everyone else in the room froze except for you, who quickly covered your neck with your hands and looked at Jimin.

“What did you do?” Taehyung looked at Jimin, whose face was turning red. “Jimin? Why does Y/N have a hickey on her lower neck?”

Jimin’s mouth opened and shut a few times while he tried to figure out how to respond. “What makes you think I did something?” he asked defensively. “Who's to say she didn’t do it?”

“What the hell, Jimin? I didn’t give myself a hickey!”

“Well, I didn’t give it to you! My phone interrupted us before I…” Jimin stopped talking and glared at the younger two who were smiling from ear to ear.

“There’s no hickey, Y/N.” Jungkook put an arm around your shoulder. “But Jimin’s dress shirt is crooked.”

You elbowed him in the side and slapped Taehyung on the arm. “Assholes! The both of you are assholes.” You slid out from under Jungkook’s arm and went to the kitchen where Namjoon and Hoseok were standing, trying their best not to laugh.

“Welp,” Yoongi clapped loudly, breaking up the staring contest between the three youngest. “Guess that means we are going to eat, drink, and talk about the party along with whatever the hell we interrupted.”

You groaned and let your torso fall to the island to hide your embarrassed face. This was not at all how you saw your night going. “Get off the island, Y/N,” Jimin said, pulling you up and into his chest. “I take full responsibility and won't let them interrogate you too much.”

Your eyes snapped back to Taehyung and Jungkook when you heard ‘aws’ coming from them. “I really don’t like you two right now! I knew I should’ve slammed the door on your damn foot.” You couldn’t help but laugh when Jimin started laughing behind you.

“Does that mean I’m finally going to get that ass-kicking you promised?”

“Get away from me.” You laughed harder and gently pushed Jimin away.

“So you and the pain in the ass, huh?” Yoongi asked when you joined him and Seokjin at the table.

“Yep, me and the pain in the ass.”

Jimin was different from the other guys you’d had a crush on. Looking back, you could see that now. He nor either one of your friends had made you feel like a freak for your height. And he was right. Those who did have a problem with it were assholes. The thought of being with Jimin made you feel anxious, but strangely, in a good way.

THE END

[evita-shelby]

Congratulations in your milestone!

I'd like to send you a 🏹

I hope this suits your celebration theme and that you have fun with it!

All my best, Val xx

Thank you Val 😊

This was fun to write

Your Dead and Mine

Chapter 2

Prev

It had been his mouth that moved, but it was a woman’s voice she heard.

Eva gets into the car and doesn’t waste any time in asking him, “Did your mother just possess you?”

“I think so?” he is unsure of it himself and he looks at his mother through his rearview mirror.

Does he know she can see her too?

“Did you?” he mouthed to the ghost.

“Yes, yes she did.” The gangster confirmed as the ghost sat back looking very proud of herself. “She said she is tired of having to watch us miss our chances.”

“Oh, great that makes it a total of three women in your family who think we’d suit.” The witch points out drolly. “I suppose we should give it a try since your mother possessed you and all.”

“Do you want to go for a drink?” he asks and she wasn’t sure how to respond.

“I can’t be held liable for whatever I do or say after one drink.” How do you say, I am a former alcoholic and can only drink one glass socially once every blue moon without sounding weird?

Its after an awkward silence after two more tries ---he has no patience for pictures, silent or no and the next race won’t be anywhere worth taking her--- his mother intercedes and whispers something to him.

“We’re taking Finn to the park for his birthday on Sunday, would that work for you?” he asks and his mother nudges her gently.

“Sunday works for me.” Eva tried not to smile as they agreed on the date.

-----

“Does it snow in your country?” he asks as she shivered under the fine black coat Mrs. Changretta had given her.

“Not this much, I swear even the Sierra Nevada isn’t this cold.” She answered as they lagged behind Finn and the eldest of John’s brats.

“Look, Evie, I caught a crow for you!” Finn, well meaning, but incredibly stupid --- even for an eleven-year-old boy— said holding a shiny black crow he and John Jr had trapped.

“Finn, put that do---” Tommy begins to reprimand the boy while their mother stands behind little Finn and makes sure the damn crow doesn’t peck his little eyes out.

“One for sorrow, Two for joy.” Eva said petting the fucking bird and taking it in her arms like it was a tame thing.

“That’s magpies not crows.” He corrects and attempts to pet the crow only for it to screech at him.

Its screech somehow calls the other crows, and one by one they flock to him and the witch beside him.

“They’re both corvids.” She countered and he conceded. “Same family, different birds.”

“Do you know how the rest of the rhyme?” he asked stopping and seeing his mother count the crows and signaling nine behind Eva’s head.

“Not really, what do nine crows mean?” she asked clearly lying and trying not to look at his lips just as he does the same.

“Get rid of the fucking bird and I’ll show you.” He gave her a teasing smile and as if by command the bird left her arms and they stood in a murder of ten crows.

Nine for a kiss, ten a surprise you should be careful not to miss.

[casspurrjoybell-26]

💖Sweet Revenge💖 - Chapter 20

*Warning Adult Content*

Blake Welling

Aaron's been working hard lately, as usual.

Both sides of our business are doing great but his is legitimately booming and as if the candy wasn't enough, he's expanded to catering as well.

Some other business refused to cater a lesbian wedding and Aaron stepped in and offered to give it a shot, pro bono.

It went so well, he ended up booked through the end of the year.

I understand and it's not like he's been neglecting me or anything but sometimes I just want to take him away somewhere, tie him up, fuck him hard and teach him to relax.

Not necessarily in that order. 

Ten minutes of wallowing is enough and I force myself to get up and decide what to do with the rest of the day.

I'd taken it off and I'd thought Aaron would too.

Now I don't know what to do with myself.

I decide to go for a ride.

I love my bike.

It's a top brand and I got it at a steep discount through a promo deal with the shop.

It's way beyond anything I'd be able to afford otherwise.

Besides Aaron, it's my baby.

I can't ride like I once did... a hundred miles at a time, pushing through pain and fatigue just for the reward of knowing what my body can do... but recently I've at least been able to get back into the rhythm of regular rides.

I take a series of back streets and side roads, skirting the busier areas.

When it comes to traffic, I'm still a little gun-shy but there's a paved bike trail on the edge of town and it's peacefully deserted at this time of day.

I ride its whole ten-mile length... farther than I've gone so far.

Taking my time, with plenty of stops to rest my leg, I get back home around noon, hang my bike up in the garage and go in for a shower.

When I come out, wrapped in a loose towel, a noise makes me freeze.

It sounds like someone dropping something in the kitchen but I'm the only one at home.

Heart in my mouth, I creep forward down the hall.

On the way, I grab a framed picture from the wall.

It's not much of a weapon but it's the only thing at hand.

In the frame, Aaron laughs up at me while I grin at the camera.

My mom took it the last time she visited.

Rounding the corner, I prepare to defend my home with life and limb, deadly picture-frame in hand.

What I see sends all thoughts of violence... all thoughts of any kind, actually... fleeing my mind like doves released en masse.

Aaron stands at the stove, stirring something in a small saucepan and humming to himself.

That isn't so odd.

I've seen that plenty of times.

What's different is that he's wearing nothing but his candy-making apron.

It's tied loosely around his slender waist, the tails trailing over his bare ass and swaying between his legs as he rocks gently to whatever tune is playing in his head.

I make some noise... probably a sort of choking, gagging sound and he turns towards me, lips spreading in that beautiful smile I love so much.

His bare shoulders and arms look pale and graceful and I don't know why the hell  it turns me on so much, seeing him like this, except that it's the two things I love most in this world reduced to their barest elements... this man and his candy.

"Aaron...?" my voice is strained and breathless.

He lifts a silicone spatula from the saucepan.

It's dripping chocolate in silky strands.

He gives a quick twist with his wrist, twirling the ribbons and then brings it to his mouth and licks it, red tongue turning dark with molten sweet.

He swallows and bites his lip.

"Almost ready," he says, eyes locked on mine.

On the counter, a plate of strawberries waits.

I move towards him, wondering if maybe I've had a heart attack and my body is lying dead in the shower or something because this looks like heaven.

He turns back to the pan, stirring the contents with the lazy self-assurance of the professional.

I come and stand at his back, breathing in the scent of him and trail my fingers from his shoulders down his lightly muscled arms.

"Uh-uh," he chides, prying my hands off with the handle of his spatula.

"No touching. Not yet."

He smirks.

"What? Did you think I forgot?"

"Uh... yes."

He laughs.

It's a low, sinful sound.

"Now back off, before you get burned."

I do as he says but instead of heaven, now I'm in some kind of chocolate-themed hell, watching and not allowed to touch.

I realize I'm still wrapped in nothing but the towel and that I'm painfully erect.

Two can play at this game.

I let the towel fall and wait for him to turn.

When he does, his eyes drop and go dark.

He licks his lips.

"Well... dip me in chocolate and call me a banana pop," he says.

I should be used to it by now but it still makes me choke and I have to yield the victory.

As ever, he wins.

"Not long now," he assures me.

The strawberries are perfect... long-stemmed and just the right size for a single bite, plump and red.

He takes each by the stem between his finger and thumb and dips them expertly in the melted chocolate.

Then he sets them on a sheet of wax paper cool.

When the last is done, he dips his own fingers in the cooling chocolate and comes towards me, rolling his hips.

He slides his fingers past my lips, across my tongue.

"Suck," he demands.

I suck him clean.

When he withdraws his fingers, a string of saliva trails from my mouth.

He wipes his fingers on his apron and then his mouth is on mine, hot and wet and hungry.

"Do you want me?" he asks, when he comes up for air, lips swollen and slick.

The question is rhetorical.

"God... yes."

His smile stretches a little wider.

"Did you really think I forgot?"

"I... yes."

"I love you Blake Welling but you're an idiot sometimes."

I can't argue.

Most of my blood is below my waist, for one thing.

He takes my hand and pulls me into the living room.

There, he kisses me again, sucking my tongue like it's one of his strawberries.

"Lie down," he says, hands on my shoulders, pushing me to my knees.

I do as he says, lying back on the carpet.

He kneels over me.

I can't see what he's doing behind the drape of his apron but I feel it when he takes me in his hand and guides the head of my cock to his hole.

"Wait..." I gasp.

"Are you ready?"

He grins.

"That was a long ride you went on, babe. I'm more than ready and now it's my turn."

He throws his head back and impales himself on my length in a single, swift motion.

I can't breathe.

"Oh God... fuck," I gasp, struggling for air.

"That's the idea," he says, smirking.

He rides me, taking his own pleasure, slow and sensuous.

I see the red tip of his tongue against his lips and he gasps softly as he moves with me inside him.

Finally, I can't bear it anymore and he knows it.

He gives himself to me hard and fast.

A cry... tears itself from my lips... as I come and he thrusts down, taking me deep.

Slowly, he pulls off me, my softening shaft slicked with lube and my own spill.

His mouth finds mine once more.

"Happy birthday, you sick fuck," he says.

"Don't expect this every year."

~♡♡♡~ ~The End~ ~♡♡♡~

[pollyna]

AO3 First Lines Tag Game

Tagged by: @oftincturedwords (thank you for the tag! it looks like fun 👀)

Rules: Share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written fewer than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.

Did you see the drummer's hair? (wip, top gun, halo/phoenix)

Three a.m. in the morning, and even though the mission was over two months ago, insomnia clings to her body like a second skin she can shed away. It doesn't even matter how many times she calls Bradley in the middle of the night to make sure he's alive and she doesn't lose her best friend once and for all.

2. The adventures of Mr. Iceman and Baby Goose (wip, top gun, gen)

Mav says is good because they're going to bond, Carole nods and smiles and Bradley says Mr. Iceman moma always takes me to the candy shop on Sunday and Ice knows the kid is totally bullshitting him but then Carole asks if they can take some strawberries one and how Ice can say no, at that point?

3. You got MIA before our first (second) date (wip, top gun, warlock/cyclone)

Sicily sounds and looks like a dream after months of forced cohabitation in some bumfuck port in the northern part of Russia, with people who wanted them there even less than they did. Despite its name, Archangel doesn't have anything of the holiness the name promised if one doesn't consider the white of the snow that never seems to end, and when it does, it paves the way for the ice and wind. And even if it's just twenty-four hours before their new assignment somewhere in the world, everyone is hoping for a place with lenient weather. Something in the air makes Warlock carefully optimistic.

4. The good parts (complete, top gun, pre-relationship)

Ice knows there is something important because Slider's head is against his shoulder, but the man is watching the flowers on the table and not the match he had spent all day talking about. And when Ice says he spent all day talking about the match, he means Slider even doodled the teams' logos on his notes, but he has the nagging sensation something did happen between class and when he was on a date with Mav.

5. My kind of love (complete, top gun, halo/phoenix)

Callie doesn't really care about Valentine's day, she never has and probably never will. (When she was in primary school, Valentine's Day was when her favourite teacher baked chocolate cupcakes for the entire class and created silly and funny math exercises that always gave heart-shaped results.)

6. Say it first (complete, top gun, iceman/maverick)

Maverick is observant—maybe not all the time and about everything and everyone around him, but when he wants, he can notice things that most people miss. And Iceman Kazansky? He ends up on his radar for so many different reasons, and Mav can't stop noticing stuff about him, from his favourite type of gum to that little nagging fact that Slider's always asking Ice if it's okay to touch him.

7. Oh, you're the best friend that I ever had. (complete, top gun, iceman&slider)

It's a random morning when Ice writes down I miss flying and doesn't add anything else. Slider doesn't even know if he was supposed to see it or not, but he would take him up himself if Tom wasn't so tired these days. He can barely walk and has to use the wheelchair for most things, and it breaks Ron knowing his best friend is missing the only thing nobody can give him.

8. Halfway home. (complete, ncis, di nozzo/mcgee & di nozzo/david)

Sleep deprivation tastes like coffee with too much sugar on Timothy's lips, looks like three-day stubble and sounds like someone who shallowed an entire fucking encyclopaedia that's getting spewed up all together. It's hell.  

9. Lay be me. (complete, top gun, iceman/maverick)

It has been a day, or maybe a week or an entire year, and Ice can feel the tiredness setting in his bones, the way it makes space in every fragment of his being because he's simply done. Tired, over-stressed, over-caffeinated and sleep-deprived but he knows it's going to be worth it all in the long run, even if every day is a fight against people and his own capacity of not snapping and punching some fucking Senator in the face. 

10. Rise up (complete, top gun, callie halo shen)

The first punch feels liberatory and she feels even better when Bang doesn't stay down. The second punch is another hit because the man thinks he's a big deal but she can't remember him passing a single self-defence class.

No pressure tag: @redhead-writes, @the-ace-with-spades, @semperhuggs, @bearsinpotatosacks, @destinedtobeloved, @icemankazansky, @derpinathebrave, @ettaberrytea, @xihe1874,, @struggling-with-space

[fizzseed]

assorted thoughts on tma ep 142 while listening

the intro sounds different???? somehow????

"i'd like to talk to you about one of your staff" we're back to THIS?

"he" okay there's literally ONE male employee in the archive rn and he's a) on a boat to ny-ålesund and b) ??? has like ??? been locked in his office??? i don't think he's harassing anyone?? it's clearly not martin so?????

LMFAOOAOAOOO MARTIN IMMEDIATELY THINKING ITS JON STOP

i do NOT want to get my hopes up but pLEASE LET THIS BE TIM.

HOW did this woman know ?? that it's an archive employee? or this ?? dirt entity her stalker?

LMAO "and that's how you met J—" martin get a fucking hold of yourself

the way im immediately suspicious of G-names rn.

i don't think jon's been to a coffee shop in like a year. it CANNOT be jon.

he wants to hear her story??????? and she SITS DOWN? what the FUCK. what ??? the FUCK??? IS GOING ON???????? this really really really doesn't sound like jon, though. so it's either?? elias???? or there's an avatar of the eye that we don't know about. which is. terrifying.

"He is all eyes. He is all eyes." OHHhHhhH my fucking god!!!

the rustling of this woman's clothing as she presumably wipes her tears :(

"i suppose i'm just getting comfortable with the distance. cut off. lonely." martin martin NOOO!! this *cannot* end well don't like where this is going.

the knocking and "go away." and martin sounding SO unlike himself???? thank god for daisy just. sitting around. but martin being like "not really" because nobody's talking to him WHEN HE'S ACTIVELY ISOLATING HIMSELF FROM PEOPLE TRYING TO TALK TO HIM? scary!

"can he just not STAY SAFE for ten minutes!?" no martin i agree with daisy i don't think that's an option for him anymore. also THIS being what promts martin to kind of return to himself is so </3

[bmpmp3]

THIS is little late for the weekend sowwy BUT I must tell you the truth. I am the king of being late. I didn't used to be, but for the past two years I have been consistently showing up ten minutes late to everything in my life <3 I'm working on it but it will happen again LOL

Anyway, this week's (last week's?) focus is gonna be Show (唱) by Ado!!

Another non-vocal synth song, my favourite Ado tune!! Although again, vocal synth adjacent: Ado grew up doing utaite activities and so many of her songs are like the who's who of vocal synth producers; giga-p, deco27, syudou, the works really!! And specifically her work with Giga-P and Teddyloid (this song and also my previous favourite of hers, Odo, were arranged by them) has been so good, these dance tunes let her go NUTS all over the track, playing with all these cheeky vocal styles. She yells, she uses falsetto-type tones, she vocal fries, she flip-flops between head and chest voices, she growls, she fucking YODELS it's fantastic, it is just wonderful. I never get sick of her scratchy yet powerful "warning!!" no matter how many times I listen to it.

I'm also very fond of the video, the character designs and animation is SO so so fun, I love the dance and the design of the girl in the eyepatch and dress, I think she's so cute LOL

To start with the covers, most of the one's I'm going to highlight are actually going to be vocal synth covers interestingly. I wonder if maybe because this is such a vocally intense song it makes the sound of a synthetic voice sound particularly interesting to me with it? But of course I do love plenty of real people covers, it's just a fun song all around.

The first cover I want to point out is the only human singer in todays list outside of Ado herself, the utaite Eruno (えるの):

Big fan of this cover in particular and it's going to sound kind of odd why but it's because the dude sounds like he's having a BLAST lol This song is super hard to sing already because Ado is extremely talented and extremely good at soundly like she's having effortless fun while singing some insane shit, so it's fun to hear another cover where someone is still keeping up well with the range but playing around in different ways! He matches some of her tone switches, but he messes around with his own voice particuarly in the verses in different ways which sounds very nice!

Next I want to point out not just one, but two Teto covers! Yasutange's UTAU Teto (top) and SynthV Teto (below) covers:

Both are fantastic, I love that this producer put so much footage of not just their pitchbending, but also some of their parameter edits in both OpenUtau and SV, it's really inspiring seeing how people mess around with these things. I like to listen to the UTAU cover slightly more because I like the UTAU edge, but I adore watching that SV cover to see those breath and gender sliders go NUTS. And I have no clue how they did those vocal fries in SV, that's awesome. Both covers are really fun to listen to and look at the videos, check 'em out!

Another cover using a vipperloid that I want to show you guys is this Yokune Ruko cover by ナイトウ_UTAU:

Using both of Ruko's fem and masc vocals, it sounds so expressive its UNREAL. The beginning "yeah yeah yeah SHOWTIME" blasts you off into space and it just gets better by the second. Before the first chorus the fem vocal has this cool seductive tone, and all the interjections like the "hey"'s and the "uh"'s sound so natural it is WILD. Wonderful cover <3

I want to talk about one last cover, I'm doing what I did last week again, saving my absolute favourite for last LOL BUT this cover. This wonderful cover. A Kaito V1 cover by Persephone-p:

I've mentioned this before, I'm a V1 lover. And specifically, I'm a Kaito V1 FANATIC he's my favourite version of Kaito ever on earth <3 YES he's glitchy YES he's robotic but he also has these strong, deep vocals that still somehow keep their clarity, really love it - and this cover takes the fun roboticness to the next level: Persephone-p has leaned into the effect particularly in the lower parts and the verses, letting Kaito sound anywhere from his usual self to a MacinTalk-esque tone then all the way to deep 1970s Speak-n-Spell growl. SO GOOD so so so good. And all that's not even going to the actual expressiveness of the tuning itself, he sounds like he's having a blast LOL Really wonderful cover, my absolute favourite cover I've heard of this song!!

That is all for tonight, please enjoy these fun covers of this fun song!! (stands up and immediately dies and goes to hell and becomes a zombie in order to dance a choreographed dance in a orange prison jumpsuit)

[thesinglesjukebox]

JESSIE WARE - "BEGIN AGAIN"

This! Is a Review! Of a Jukebox! Favourite!

[6.73]

Frank Falisi: I spent all of 2012 writing to Jessie Ware's Devotion. Music you write to can earn the unpleasant designation as a productive space; nothing inverses the promise of desire like Chill Beats Fall Morning Relaxing Sweet Piano Jazz Music in Bookstore Cafe Ambience to Studying. Nothing is less sexy than work. But Devotion had sex in it, that Sade-Dusty percolation, and if you could make brain space for it while trying to form sentences in a university library, it was because it approached a body from a different, minor vantage point. It was desire theoretical, something you could activate and prove someday somewhere else, if you wanted to. Ware has spent the interim years interrogating that initial chill (Tough Love), removing the remove and sending the pure pop bubbling up (Glasshouse), getting plasticine (What's Your Pleasure?), and now fucking a funk (That! Feels Good!), sending sending it up all the way up. "Begin Again" is both obvious and surprising in that motion, all forky horns and whip ride cymbal, a further push of the pop past the unremembered disco of other such chanteuses into the kind of deeply uncool exaltation that wouldn't be out of step soundtracking seventies spy cheese, covered in shag. Or maybe it's just about and for now, Ware sending her throaty falsetto through faux-insights like "why does all the purest love get filtered through machines? "To be clear, pop music at its best is a faux-insight machine: don't you prefer a beautiful and inane and useless pop? All the better to un-write to. [7]

Jeffrey Brister: A lush, deliriously beautiful swirl of drums and strings and horns and keys rolls across the track, with Ware's voice layered over top, all yearning and need and desire, a gust pushing forcefully through and ever upward. The lyrics beg for something real and beautiful. Am I actually trying to critique the song? No. I love this one too much for that. [9]

Kat Stevens: It's been ten years since I had a nice time seeing Jessie in the dance tent at Glastonbury. Jessie and I have diverged paths since then, but I'm happy with the way I went. I'm less happy about the way Jessie went. I might be too old and tired for Glasto, but at least I'm not at the blimmin' Hootenanny. [4]

Alfred Soto: No album disappointed me in 2023 more deeply than That! Feels Good! From the misplaced exclamation point to the star's pneumatic enthusiasm, the songs amounted to a collective willed euphoria. "Begin Again" and its massed vocals embody the problem. Jessie Ware sounds good -- she always sounds good. [4]

Michael Hong: That! Feels Good! isn't just a rehash of What's Your Pleasure? but a progression. It's a more varied take on that disco sound, with grand proclamations instead of seductive teases. Maybe "Begin Again" is the most tasteful example: her voice sounds fuller, brighter, and plenty more soulful; while the horns and strings add splashes of colour -- that descending Samba melody is particularly bewitching. But blame it on Ware's consistent streak, blame it on the subject matter, "Begin Again" feels more impressive than fun or sexy or really anything other than grand show. [6]

Nortey Dowuona: If there's no colonialism, sure. [6]

Leah Isobel: "Begin Again" plays like the cartoon version of What's Your Pleasure? - it blows up that record's rich, libidinal ambivalence into unsubtle fun. It's not bad, but it feels like a downgrade. [6]

John S. Quinn-Puerta: This is my kind of maximalism. The horn hits speak to my soul. The build is constant, with so much percussion that it just washes over me in the most beautiful way. It also wins my superlative for "most likely to make me dance in my office job" (a lot has happened since the Jukebox's last undeath y'all). [10]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Richly appointed, exquisitely wrought, fucking boring. [3]

Ian Mathers: I'm not going to dock this a point for the fact that I can't quite place what it's making me think of, and how sure I am that other blurbs here are going to have me smacking my forehead going "of course!" That one's on me! I am going to dock a point for how much the repeated "why does all the purest love get filtered through machines?" makes me grit my teeth. There are plenty of times I've enjoyed the salty/sweet combo of this kind of sonic ebullience and foreboding lyrics, but here it just doesn't land for me. Nice horns though. [8]

Katherine St Asaph: I too wish to be reborn as a pulsating satin gown. [9]

Dorian Sinclair: There's a streak of the cosmic in the lyrics for "Begin Again," with imagery that in some instances feels pulled straight from Hair's "Age of Aquarius." But the celestial language is here paired with a succession of musical figures that are all about descent, both vocal and instrumental lines consistently pulling downward (most obvious in the prechorus melody and in the lurching piano walkdown that mirrors it). That tension -- the upward pull and the downward stumble -- is the engine that powers the entire track, right up until Ware breaks through four minutes in, forsaking words altogether as she spirals up into the stratosphere. It's a moment of pure exhilaration, and if the track doesn't seem totally sure of how to wrap itself up afterward, there are worse failings. [7]

Josh Winters: This is my "Break My Soul." [9]

Kayla Beardslee: Extravagance not as guilty overconsumption, but as joyous liberation. [10]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: A devastatingly beautiful song that gets necessarily ruptured partway through via syncopated piano rhythms. I keep waiting for it to evolve even more, but "Begin Again" just keeps getting bigger, more extravagant, and doing more of the same thing isn't exactly reinvention. [5]

Peter Ryan: So much of That! Feels Good! gave me the aural equivalent of "Great gowns, beautiful gowns." As much as anything on the album, "Begin Again" distills the virtues and constraints of the approach -- Ware finding new ways to transmute into sonic opulence, band allowed to cook just a bit, arrangement immaculate, ornate, expensive, careful. The chorus deflates the little bit of momentum gathered in the verses, but the execution is gorgeous enough to avoid the slightly embalmed, tasteful disco-by-numbers quality I find in other parts of the album -- self-consciously retrograde, but it's alive. [5]

William John: I've been a card-carrying Warewolf for over twelve years, but the That! Feels Good! era has presented its challenges, chief among them a need to stomach the idea that on it, the considered joys of Ware's previous album What's Your Pleasure? were Mighty Hoopla-fied to the extreme. And while there's nothing necessarily shameful about such aims, hitherto Ware has traded in either steely sophistication or very subtle vulnerability, and I'm not certain she can entirely shake those comfort zones when, for example, attempting flippant, Countess Luann-like artifice on a song like "Shake The Bottle." The result is an album comprised of a kind of kitsch that isn't quite kitsch enough. "Begin Again" is its Brazilian-influenced centrepiece, gliding and unfurling in a mesmerising way; the reverie is not so much broken but punctuated by a piano that sounds like it's falling down an escalator, by a big note at the climax, and by a disarming line about technology's effect on romance. While these elements and its length might allow it to be scanned as a "kitchen sink" bit of art, the kind of thing the album demands, the overwhelming feeling that I get is that it's like "Spotlight" but with the dimmers on, only occasionally flickering to life. I'll take the latter any day with my caipirinha. [7]

Tara Hillegeist: Sleek and effortless, like Salsoul used to make it, and just as professionally smooth -- but unfortunately, unlike those Salsoul greats of old, the backing singers just aren't quite there in the mix, and the percussion definitely isn't... well, percussing near enough. Deeply unfortunate, as the bones of a standout arrangement are here, and nobody else besides Janelle Monae quite seems to have ever shared Jessie Ware's appreciation for, and interest in pursuing, the steely-throated zenith of disco divinity in a modern context. There are moments on "Begin Again" where she seems to ascend her perch like nothing so much as a perfectly-machined sculpture of song, reaching for that glory -- only to find herself alone in the yearning, un-buttressed by the rest of the clockwork mechanism that should be rising with her in turn -- and the whole edifice sighs back to earth instead. [7]

Oliver Maier: This! Sounds whatever! [4]

Anna Katrina Lockwood: As is often the case with Jessie Ware songs, "Begin Again" is quite good. Is there quite enough song here to justify the full near 5+ minute run time? Possibly not -- at certain points, it feels like Ware and her collaborators have swapped out song structure for layers of disco instrumentation creating dynamic range. It's nice -- it works, and it sounds good, but it's certainly not sublime in the way that, say, "Please" is. I'm absolutely nitpicking here, but this is all to say that the standard is high, and this song is just not quite at the tippy top of Jessie Ware's catalog. [7]

Jackie Powell: After a couple of bars of percussion, "Begin Again" is reminiscent of how "Aquarius/Let the Sunshine In" begins. While this is technically a show tune that was made for the rock musical Hair, these similarities are most apparent on the 1969 cover by The 5th Dimension. There's an echo in both songs that layers around a few different voices. Jessie Ware is one artist, but "Begin Again" creates an illusion that a whole band is actually behind her in this. Her co-writers join in the fun and provide backing vocals that give the track an extra edge. Ware's delivery reminds me of an Earth, Wind and Fire song and in particular the tracks where the late Maurice White would alternate lead vocals with the under appreciated Phil Bailey. The brass in "Begin Again" is bold but not too distracting and ostentatious. When the horns are at their most noticeable during and following the second chorus, they help guide the listener through what would have been a song too much like a track off Future Nostalgia; I wish Dua Lipa used more horns alongside her heavy reliance on string sections. Ware finds a way here. [7]

Brad Shoup: That piano line is tuff, man. This about as close to that Casablanca disco glamour as you could hope for: aching and endlessly ascending. The line about machines snapped the spell--it felt like something Win Butler or St. Vincent discarded -- but I talked myself into it. If smartphones or the threat of house music had existed in 1979, August Darnell probably would have written a (very good) song complaining about them. [8]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox ]