#and they're the real slow burn of the story

[undeadentropy]

He also personally fed them 4 meals, gave them a study room, and let them take as many breaks as they want. Doesnt seem like behavior from a boss that really wants that employee to work 12 hours. Seems like they would rather they focus on their studies that are more important, but are thankful as fuck and respecing their decisions, on the condition they accept a shitton of italian hospitality. The wording of "today" also implies this was an unusual shift. Those happen.

Capitalism had placed the bar so far underground that we forgot it's possible to work hard for each other sometimes, without exploitation. Maybe we should trust the poster to know if their boss sucks or not. We don't even have the full story.

I mean they absolutely could suck. But there's no reason to think that's the case based on this one paragraph. It kinda seems like the person doing all that work and study thinks the opposite, and they're the one with actual context on how this business we know nothing about really is. But I do know restaurant work, and it really do be like that sometimes. If there are slow periods on a shift with not enough employees to cover, your business is dying and broke as fuck.

That being said, they really need to slow before they burn the fuck out, and the boss seems to realize this from what was written. If there is something to rage against, its that things are so tight that this happened in the first place. If you want to cast blame, aim higher. Education shouldn't just be free. It should come with a check to support you. Universal basic income needs to be implemented. These are real things that can fix the root of the problem.

But if all you have is a restaurant with no money and no employees, sometimes the only thing you can give is a bunch of warm meals and a place to rest and study. Until we overthrow capitalism, any business is gonna suck because all our production is being seized by like a handful of guys we haven't shot yet. No one can afford to eat out right now. We can barely even afford to eat. That impacts the business and the employees directly. It all comes back to billionaires. All of it. Always.

The standard for a good boss is so far underground that a boss who makes an employee work a 12 hour shift can literally be called an angel.

[lloydfrontera]

CRYING LLOYD AND JAVIER OUTSIDE THE DOOR NOVEL ART HAVE YOU SEEN IT

YEAH. YEAH I DID

OH MY GOD

i had already been screaming a fair bit about chapters 383-384 because it's just hit after hit after hit in these ones, but i wanted to wait until i had a free moment to properly get my thoughts down on this specific scene and Oh Boi. am i glad i did.

LOOK AT THEM. LOOK AT THEM AND TELL ME YOU DON'T GO A LITTLE BIT INSANE.

is in this chapter that we finally get a real glimpse to how lloyd is feeling about all this. he's faced down everything, he's overcome every obstacle that's come his way, he's holding everything together because he knows that if he slips up even once it's game over for everyone and he's done it all on his own with a smile on his face.

and then we get to this scene, which is right after a moment in which lloyd finally allows himself to realize how much he actually cares about his new family and then he sees a bran new way in which he's gonna die,,,

and he just breaks

he starts crying and sobbing because he's terrified, he's so afraid of what his future looks like because he doesn't want to die. he really, really doesn't want to die and he doesn't want to die in such a painful frightening way and he doesn't want to drag others into dying with him

and it's heartbreaking!

all through the novel we do see that lloyd isn't very fond of the idea of dying, like really, he's not that into self-sacrifice and he'd rather find another of solving his problems thank you very much. but it's not until this very moment, that it really hits you how terrifying his situation really is for him. how much pressure and stress and strain he's been under while looking for a way to avoid the restoration of fate all by himself.

and then it cuts to javier. listening through the door. javier who knows that lloyd, that this fake lloyd, has been hiding something for a very long time, who constantly looks the other way whenever there's something that doesn't quite fit the way it should, who has gone through literal hell and back for him because he follows him unconditionally,,,

and who now has to hear the person he trusts the most in the world break down alone in his room because he's terrified of dying but doesn't trust javier enough to show it in front of him. because for some reason he refuses to share his burden and lean on javier the way he's allowed everyone else to lean on him.

and javier is angry

he's angry because lloyd should tell him if he's afraid, he should tell him if he needs help, he should just tell javier so javier can do whatever lloyd needs him to do.

because that's his friend and his friend is stupid but javier won't allow him to go and do something stupid like dying.

that's what javier is for. to protect him. so he shouldn't be afraid of dying because that won't happen. and if it ever did, then it would be javier who'd die instead. if it was for lloyd... he'd be happy to do so.

but even as javier decides this he still has to hear lloyd cry all alone and it hurts

AND THEN THE NEXT MORNING HE TRIES. HE TRIES SO HARD.

he gives lloyd a chance to tell him! he asks and prods and tries to get him to tell him if he's worried about something, if he had a nightmare, if he's in trouble, he just!! tries so hard to get lloyd to trust him!! to lean on him for help!!

but lloyd refuses because he's so used to being on his own that now it's not only second nature but also a true belief of his that when push comes to shove he's on his own. that he needs to resolve all of his problems all by himself.

especially the restoration of fate. because it's his fault that it's happening in the first place. it his fault that everything is in danger so it's his responsibility to fix it.

he can't ask another person to shoulder the burden for him.

IT'S JUST!!! THEY'RE SOOOO!!! MMMGHHH!!! THEY GIVE ME A NEW MENTAL ILLNESS!!! I'M SOOO NORMAL ABOUT THEM I SWEAR!!

these chapters are so important for the dynamic they have until the end of the novel, these moments are how the rest of their relationship develops, this!!! javier wanting lloyd to trust him and to lean on him for help and lloyd refusing to do so out of guilt and a misguided sense of responsibility!! this is how it continues until the very end!! and it never gets resolved!!! bk moon answer for your fucking crimes!!!

anyway

as you can see. i am very normal about these illustrations :)

[inocennt]

it deeply agonizes me that the speak now elements of the manuscript are never discussed in favor of the atw of it all..... like i just. "in the age of him she wished she was 30 and made coffee every morning in a french press" vs "someday when we're older, this is something we'll laugh about over coffee every morning while you're watching the news," "now and then she rereads the manuscript of the entire torrid affair" vs "i used to think one day i'd tell the story of us," "afterwards she only ate kids cereal and couldn't sleep unless it was in her mother's bed" vs never grow up exploring the idea of moving out for the first time & how she couldn't be sleeping in her mother's bed if she was already moved out (also robin being the last song before the manuscript already creating this mental connection)..... please im insane

[kallypsowrites]

I feel like I've seen so many TV cancellation announcements for stuff that I might've watched but now might not. And it really just emphasizes how much the current system is eating itself.

Binge culture means that people are expected to consume a show right as it drops. Because so many shows are binged now, even weekly shows are held to the same standard. If they don't perform well during the initial release, they are written off because binge numbers are the numbers that matter.

So you get more and more people who are afraid to get invested in shows because it might get canceled on a cliffhanger. Because of that, they don't tune in to watch something until they're sure its going to continue. So the next bingeable show gets less viewers. It gets canceled. More people join the 'I'm not going to watch yet because I'm afraid to get invested' crowd. Less people watch TV.

And it sucks because people like this are often the most ardent fans of a work--the ones who will write fanfiction and make fanart and write long analytical posts convincing people to watch a show. The people who will make a new show their whole personality because that's how hyperfixation works. I am amongst that crowd. I can't let myself get invested in something anymore unless I know that I'm going to get emotional payoff.

TV execs have been continuously breaking trust with fandom spaces for the past several years. They don't give shows a chance to find their legs, to grow an audience, to gain a cult following. They kill something in it's cradle in service to the numbers.

And it's not just the fans who suffer because of this. It's writer's rooms. I'm going to school right now for screenwriting and its BAD out there. So many writers who pour their heart and soul into a concept only to never get to bring it to fruition. There's no room for slow burns. For thoughtful storytelling. For trusting the audience. There's no room for real creativity. So the shows that do get renewed are often competent but uninspired or sequel/franchise content. Cause that's what gets views.

I cannot imagine how disheartening it is as a writer to start so many projects and never get to finish them. Think about your own writing. If you were working on a fanfiction but knew at any moment someone could stop you updating because you aren't getting enough hits/kudos, would you find joy in that anymore? I sure wouldn't.

I believe that a lot of the best storytelling is going to come out of indie spaces in the next few years--writers and artists moving outside of Hollywood and making their own low budget stories. Because it's almost impossible to thrive within the current system.

It's not the writer's fault. It's not the fan's fault. It's the way TV has become. And its going to crash and burn and I'm sure execs will find a way to blame anything but the system they created.

[liyliths]

────────────────────────────────────────────

౨ৎ 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 a jujutsu kaisen college au

❝ well, i know that 'just friends' don't look at each other the way you two do. ❞

you, a journalism major in the newspaper club, get assigned to interview the hottest star quarterback on usc's football team for the season, satoru gojo. he’s everything you avoid—charming to a fault, a notorious womanizer, and the king of the college frat scene. the real question is, will you see through his charm, or will you fall for the one person you swore you never would?

pairings: football and frat!satoru gojo x journalism major!reader

contains: fem!reader, opposites to lovers, slow burn, situationship core, angst and comfort, cursing, suggestive content although sfw, idiots denying they're in love

playlist

────────────────────────────────────────────

𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗢���𝗘

you're thrown into a last-minute interview with the campus golden boy, satoru gojo. between his shameless flirting, the consequences of stalking on social media, and your roommate roping you into a frat party you absolutely don't want to attend, you quickly learn that dealing with satoru might be more chaotic (and irritating) than you ever anticipated. but hey, at least you're getting a good article over it!

-

A/N: hello dear reader! i know you are probably disappointed when you see there aren't many chapters out, but i have the series outline finished! unfortunately, this story is going on a short hiatus while i start a new project, so if you’d like to stay tuned for that feel free! just know i am planning on coming back around to this story because the ending is very dear to me and i can’t wait to write it <3

[girlboysam]

wincest fic rec list

a collection of my favorite fics sorted by my favorite genres. most of these are not smut based, though they contain it (and if anyone’s interested i can make a pt. 2 with smutty ones). proof i read too much fanfiction…

pov outsider

Do you wish you could still touch… her? by ace__BETHANY (6,100 words) - “Every time Jessica Moore hears the name Dean and the consequences following it”

Rift by Fenix21 (6,511 words) - “John thought he knew what he was betraying. Turns out, he didn't.”

Daisy Boyhood by AnonDude (1,229 words) - “Bobby quickly discovers that the boys have no concept of the idea that their particular brand of closeness may not be right.”

Welcome Home by Samcursed (12,373 words) - “The hunters of the bunker don't know what to make of the strange man and the even stranger relationship with his brother when Dean shows up after being possessed by Micahel.”

weecest

Guardian Ad Litem by fraukatzen (24,389 words) -“Sam has always called Dean “daddy” when dad’s not around. Dean likes it a lot.” slow burn, kinky but also sweet

The Ballad of the Invisible Boy by dollylux (57,490 words) - “This is a story of adolescence. This is a love letter for the slow burn, for Led Zeppelin, for the 90s. This is the first of two sets of stories about how Sam and Dean didn’t fall in love. They never had to. It was always there, this desperation between them, like a real, breathing thing. When they came together, it was inevitable. As sure as continents colliding, as the phases of the moon and the life and death of stars. This isn’t a love story, but it’s a story of love” a classic, popular for a reason. the weecest of all weecest

The Salt-Filled Skins of Ptolemaea by BlindSwandive & Maven_Morozov (92,128 words) - “Sam has always felt like a freak in his body. As long as he can remember, his life has revolved around his brother--but as he begins to transition from a child to a teenager, he's forced into a reckoning of his feelings for Dean, and a strange angel appearing in his dreams that calls itself Azazel.” this is my favorite long form fic ever. changed my life a little. featuring trans!sam as well <3

house song by according2thelore (55,501 words) - “Pre-Canon/Teen!chesters AU in which Sam develops powers at age eleven, Dean will do anything to protect him, and they have to live with the consequences”

susceptible to falling by kermiethefrog (7,957 words) - “Dad says keep Sammy safe. Dad says take care of Sammy. Dad says make sure Sammy stays close, no matter what. So Dean does. No matter what.”

Too F’n High by ladygizarme (9,032 words) - sick fic with dark undertones, very smutty, be warned

It Started Out With A Kiss by intrepidheart (17,291 words) - “Sam has a date. That's not the problem. The problem is that Sam's asking Dean to teach him how to kiss. The problem is that this kiss changes everything.”

Crush by BewareTheIdes15 (23,401 words) - “Dean looks at him different now, Sam just can't figure out what the difference is.”

obsession/codependency heavy

mother is pretending by hathfrozen (19,936 words) -“Sam and Dean get reckless about how they're handling the pain of season 2, and whoops! slowly develop a Mommy kink along the way.” hathfrozen has the best fics ever. this one is one of my all time favorites, a must read

Monsters are always Hungry by untraceablegirl23 (27,460 words) - “Nonlinear depiction of the time Sam and Dean are found out and how it all comes to in the months beforehand which are Heaven and Hell at once. Or an acknowledgement of just how far they’d go for each other, even when it’s beyond wrong, because how can you hide when you’re entirely made for someone else?”

Hands Away by objectlesson (13,298 words) - “When you’re horny and alone with one person in one room for a long time and you’re sixteen and all you’ve ever been taught is to love your brother more than anything, it doesn’t seem like that far of a leap to start imagining what his mouth would feel like around your dick.”

case fics

The landscape after cruelty by zorrosuchil (16,428 words) - “After getting coordinates from Dad, Sam and Dean head north to Oregon to find a house that's making people sick for no apparent reason. Dean's antsy because of his unfinished business in that town with a violent spirit from four years ago, a machete-wielding murderer that simply vanished. But what he doesn't expect is the return of his feelings of obsession from four years ago - not over the case, but over Sam, who was away at college that summer. Dean tries not to get too worked up over all of it, but Sam's always been too hard to ignore.”

The Things We Carry with Us by lovesrain44 (47,604 words) - “Sam and Dean are on the road, saving people and hunting things, like they always do. Dean discovers that Sam is attempting to turn himself into a monk, and so he does his best to get Sam laid. Sam resists because, of course, who needs to have sex with a girl when Dean’s around? It's about going on a roadtrip with your brother. It's about the food you eat, and the maps you follow. It's about the things you carry with you.”

What Went Wrong Yesterday by SinnamonSpider, stormbrite (16,224 words) - “With Broward County in their rearview and a new case in their laps, Sam struggles to come to terms with the six months he spent alone after Dean’s death - and the fact that it never happened at all. And on top of it all, he now has to deal with the feelings for his brother that have been dragged to the surface.”

others

nothing's gonna hurt you, baby by orphaned (17,652 words) - angst slow burn getting together

Feel About the Same Most Every Day by orphaned (4,747 words) - angst unrequited smut

i don’t smoke by brotherfuckin (loved hands) (18,783 words) - “After John's death, Dean blames himself, puts up walls, and barricades himself from love. Sam tears it all down.”

Stranger Than Fiction by nyxocity (50,644 words) - “Meta-comedy/drama set immediately post-4x18” featuring dean being obsessed with wincest fanfiction

[uhohbestie]

There Are Monsters Nearby [Chapter 42]

🏜 Pairing: Grian/Scar

🧟‍♂️ Tags: zombie AU, zombie apocalypse, lovers to exes, slow burn, eventual reconciliation

📖 Summary: The day after Scar breaks up with Grian, the dead come back to life. Knowing that venturing out alone is a death sentence, the sudden onset of the apocalypse forces them to stick together despite their tensions. In the wreckage of the world, they're forced to survive side-by-side, coming to terms with the fact that—try as they might—there's still no one they trust more than each other.

Chapter 42 - The story of There Are Monsters Nearby concludes as Scar and Grian turn away from their past and look towards the future.

📝 Words: 11,088

🔗 Link: Read Chapter 42 on AO3

—

“I want you to get Pop Tarts,” Grian says, his attention cast to the side while Scar works, looking towards the settlement in the distance. It’s a fair ways off, looking more like a grey-brown smudge from where they stand— a collection of RVs and camper vans clustered close together in the lee of a grassy ridge, the surrounding hills fringed in sparse junipers and hardy looking spruce saplings. There’s an open space between them, dotted with small lumps that Scar knows are grazing cattle and a clustered herd of goats.

The ruins of a city lay further off to the east, the handful of buildings not blackened from fire standing empty and abandoned. It’s from there that the zombies have been drifting out, a perpetual source of mindless, wandering horror. Though now, thanks to Scar’s aim and Grian’s tenacious knack for violence, the tide will hopefully have been stemmed to some degree.

“And whatever milk and cheese they’ve got. I saw all their animals, there’s no way they don’t have dairy to spare.”

It’s an endearing quirk that Grian has adopted ever since it became clear his diet was permanently changed. He likes to pick things for Scar to eat now, planning and suggesting his meals with whatever they scavenge, hunt, and barter. He’s never been a good cook, not even before the world fell apart, but it’s been sweet the way he's applied himself to improving, the two times he gave Scar food poisoning already becoming fond memories in their own way.

When the last zombie’s head has been separated from its body, Scar yanks a glove onto his hand and begins gathering them all, shoving each one into a canvas sack that he uses for the sole purpose of demonstrating their worth to any sceptical marks they come across. Once he’s done, he sets the bag down, putting out his arm and drawing Grian in close.

“Good work out there,” he compliments, pressing a kiss to the top of his partner’s head. Grian’s hair is clean and smells incredibly good—like sandalwood and something crisp—everything about him well-maintained, despite the state of the world around them. “You really treated those googlies like you had a score to settle.”

Without hesitation Grian leans into Scar’s touch, the easy return of his affection still a novelty, despite how many weeks Scar’s been allowed and able to enjoy it.

“You weren’t so bad yourself,” he offers, his words mumbled sweetly into the thick flannel of Scar’s shirt. “You’re getting to have a real hawk-eye with your aim, you know.”

“I love it when you say I’m a hot guy,” Scar preens, deliberately mishearing him. “Got a real nice ring to it.”

[ read more ]

—

Chapter 42! 380k words and ten months later, we are so happy to announce that we've come to the end of our story. While there's still so much more of TAMN left that we plan to write and share, this portion is over, and we couldn't be happier. Thank you so, so much for going on this journey with us, and we hope you enjoy the epilogue and ending of There Are Monsters Nearby 💜🧡

You can read the whole fic thus-far in the link below ↓↓↓

You may not rest now, There Are Monsters Nearby (on ao3!)

[brokeaesthetic]

Please yall Please 🙏🏾 retire the freaky fics for a day and put some serious thought towards a mini series. I can't take the freaky onshots anymoreeee Please feed me some real food. I can't take it anymore. Like I love what yall are doing, but when I go for my daily dose of fan fics i want a lil more yk( Not saying people aren't writing sfw and fluff they are, i just see that there's a lot more smut, Not saying I avoid smut or hate it but sometimes I just want more substance, Ive been feeling like fan fiction has been oversaturated with smut the past couple years but didn't want to say anything). I am so thankful for the 2 sevika series I'm reading rn. Forgot the titles, but one is about a zombie apocalypse, and the other is kind of a slow burn, but one of the readers' legs is kind of messed up. " Why don't you write some yourself?" If you scroll down, you'll see. I've said this before, but heres the updated reason.. I write like shit, I would probably drop it after like 3 chapters, and I learned the hard way that I'm more for reader than a writer. I'm sure if I locked in, I could really do something, but I'm in Uni😔 so im locking in on these classes. I'm just begging you all to hear me out real quick

Here are 2 ideas

• Vi isn't just looking for powder after she gets out of prison but reader/oc ( Either they were dating before she got arrested or They had a complicated relationship maybe with feelings they couldn't explain, but they were close, you know something along those lines.) There's so much you can do with that and make it a series and even continue it into the second season. ( The relationship is rocky at first because they're both super traumatized, but they still love each other to a certain extent, so they kinda make it work. Then because they're traumatized. They keep making mistakes, yk the typical stuff keeps working, then not working. But Caitlyn isn't completely discarded, they also have a complicated relationship it doesn't have to be romantic, but it's a little interesting. But reader isn't a big fan of their relationship at all because Caitlyn is an inforcer ( Let's say reader also lost her parents to enforcers.) So she's having a really hard time with Caitlyn and vi's relationship. But it's not giving she's playing both of them, or she's dating both of them. Basically, everything is so complicated. But you can tell the reader and vi are gonna end up together at the end.

• This one kind of takes from the story of my oc x sevika story ( but I don't really give a shit I'm not writing about it anytime soon) Basically before all that bs happened with sevika losing her arm she had a fwb/fling/situationship going on, and it was kind of getting a little serious between them. But all the stress of the enforcers coming down ( We all watched the same show there's no need to explain) While all that is happening, they begin to slowly distance themselves from each other because of stress or whatever but then sevika loses her arm, and reader is all like "omg bae your arm why didn't you let me know, You could have died and I would have never known." And sevika is all like " Why should I have told you? I don't need your pity or anything. I would have let you know if I felt like you needed to know." And reader is all like "wtf is with this attitude, You know, you should have told me. I would have been there for you. What's going on right now?" ( By the way, reader isn't just some push over, she's a little sassy ( I love sassy reader so much) So she usually doesn't let savika talk to her any type of way) the story's basically building up trust with any other exploring a relationship and going through the events of season one together, and maybe even season 2.

That's all the ideas I have for right now.But you can't tell me that wasn't fire. If you thought it was fire and you wanna see what you could do with it, Tag me or talk about it with me, I would love to expand on everything.

Just feed me something other than smut fics(ngl ive been eating them but im just tired of it and want something new💀), and please, if you could be let it be a series IM BEGGING 😔😢😢

Sorry for any grammar mistakes

[utilitycaster]

Do you think this episode is so boring because they brought back the Nein and reminded us how good they are? I keep thinking about this as I'm absently watching this episode, saw your post and would love to hear your thoughts on it. Because like, at least to me, most villains this campaign are painfully boring. But the Weave Mind are also boring. That was fine, M9 handled it perfectly and I loved it. Ludinus is arguably the only kinda interesting bad guy and a PC's mom is in mortal danger and I can't manage to care.

I don't find Ludinus and the Weave Mind boring! I don't find Liliana boring either! And I found Ozo Cruth and Otohan Thull DREADFULLY boring but actually, the fights with them are pretty fucking great. I mean, I have a LOT of criticism about the first Otohan fight that boils down to "this was EXCEPTIONALLY poorly signaled and I'd be PISSED if my character was killed for someone else's arc at this point in the story" but Otohan being boring is about the non-combat elements; she felt very real and compelling as a THREAT, just, she could have been a giant blender of magic knives that the party was going to be dumped in for all she had an impact on the story as a person. But I do think it is because we've seen the Mighty Nein and Vox Machina recently and remembered that they're orders of magnitude more compelling.

I think it's really like...I don't even want to say Bells Hells isn't bonded, but they lack something. I think I alluded to it in the tags of one of my posts but there's no banter between party members or sense of urgency. Like, I enjoyed the whole All-Minds-Burn/Myceit scenes a lot, actually, but after Imogen's initial (justified) panic the pacing felt unbelievably slow until we got to combat. I have found that really, for a good deal of the campaign, you have to kind of take things episode by episode and enjoy the good set pieces and scenes because it simply does not make for a pleasing and rewarding whole. The reason I didn't care about Liliana is, to be fair, partly because I think having her die would be an interesting development, but also because there wasn't a sense of "we can't stop and fuck around with mushrooms, LILIANA IS DYING" within the episode itself. No one was comforting Imogen as they ran through the tunnels. The Mighty Nein showed more personality and investment in the lead up to a fight that really, they had no more stake in other than the broad world-ending ones. As someone who's been playing a LOT of Veilguard which is all about building a close-knit team, and who's had VM and the Nein the past month to compare Bells Hells with, that lack is immediately apparent.

I said, over a year ago (possibly over two, I don't recall) now about one of the relationships in the campaign that it felt like when I see a single episode from a soap opera I don't follow. The actors are imbuing lines with emotion, but everything feels kind of disconnected. Like, this is all in a deeply subjective realm, I cannot give you a strong argument based on logic here as it's very much vibes-based, but I feel like when I watched this, my thought process was "BAFTA-winning Actor Laura Bailey is doing an excellent job of conveying the emotions 'terror and anguish over a dying relative' in this line read, and not "Imogen Temult, a character I've been familiar with since October 2021, is devastated over the potential demise of her mother.' " And I never had that issue with C1 and C2. Like, you can call it je ne sais quoi or the juice or the sauce or chemistry or the spark or whatever the fuck but Campaign 3/Bells Hells simply doesn't seem to have it for a huge number of people who have adored pretty much every other Critical Role work, and that means something. My personal thought is that it's because this has been such a plot-focused campaign without strong DM prepping of what kind of characters would be appropriately invested that we've had the problems we did (rampant indecision, lack of party chemistry due to lack of early opportunities to mingle and meld, lack of investment in each others' lives due to insufficient time focused on backstory-related plotlines), but I could be wrong, and ultimately the root cause isn't super important to this question, which is just. they don't have the it factor.

[magnoliasandarson]

on the rocks

Jason Todd drinks. This surprises people. Dick, for one, had a particularly comical reaction to watching his baby brother grab a beer after patrol. It had been over the top, a dramatic gasp, a demand to see some valid ID- the works. Jason told him to fuck off and plopped down on the couch. Dick had stayed standing for a moment, searching for some sort of crisis in his baby brother, before joining him with his own bottle.

Jason Todd goes to bars. This, too, surprises people. All of the Bats know, for some reason Jason can't confront, about Willis Todd. They all know to look for the smallest twitch- the faintest microexpression to give away that Jason is in some sort of post-traumatic panic. Every loud, drunk idiot makes them place a hand on his arm like they're scared he's going to blow up. Jason usually ignores them and finds a quiet corner.

Jason Todd attends Wayne Galas. It had been a slow process, getting him to don an actual suit and smile for the cameras. He had done it before... everything- had happily lined up to be part of Gotham's circus. But after being declared legally not-dead, he assumed his family wouldn't parade their zombie around. He was wrong.

So now, he leans up along the polished metallic wall of an overly grandiose banquet hall and longs for the days when his family hated him. Maybe he's being melodramatic. But who really cares? If anyone has earned the right to be a bit dramatic, it's the guy who died during the rehearsals for his sophomore production (he'll always be bitter about that). The starched lines of his suit itch- and the Gotham elite give him a wide berth. He wants desperately to leave.

Brucie is out and about- in rare form to boot. He's got a model on either arm, sloshing expensive whiskey onto one of their glimmering gowns, grinning ear to ear as he slurs out a story about skiing. Jason wants to punch him in his perfect face. Equally drunk snobs crowd around Brucie, eating up the prince of Gotham's every word. The crowd lives for his ridiculous act, and Jason hates him for it.

Way back when Jason had worn the stupid leotard and pixie boots, Brucie went sober. He was still a charming idiot because, of course, he was, but due to his new ward's troubled past, he gave up liquor. It had been a nice gesture, one that made young Jason feel like Bruce loved cared about him in a real way. Guess that streak ended when Jason did.

Dick was in his periphery, glancing over every couple of seconds like he was waiting for Jason to go green. Jason really couldn't give a damn; there was no confusing Brucie for Willis, even if they were both mean bastards. There is no danger of a violent hand or Batarang tonight; he knows that. There would be a crowd of witnesses, and neither man would've ever done anything with an audience.

Brucie snatches an expensive-looking bottle away from a passing server, and Jason is done. He knocks back the last of his drink and shrugs off his brother's hand.

The scar tissue wrapped around his throat burns as he storms out.

[silverwhittlingknife]

Dick Grayson & Tim Drake: Reading Guide

Once upon a time, two kids met at a circus... and the rest is history.

table of contents:

who are these losers?

what's fun about them?

why a reading guide?

how does the reading guide work? (tl;dr: there are quick recs, a selected chronological list, and a complete chronological list)

where is the spreadsheet? (x)

who are they?

Dick Grayson and Tim Drake: the first Robin and the third Robin.

Also known as the circus boy and the earnest computer geek, the hotshot and the pretender, the slighted prince and the new apprentice, the acolyte and the hanger-on, Nightwing and Robin, Batman and Robin, Batman and Red Robin, and Marcia and Cindy (BftC 3, N 110 & 119, B 617, DC 677, Detention Comics 1, R 168, RR 14).

Or as Jason calls them, "You idiots" (TT 47).

More seriously, Dick Grayson is one of the most enduring comic characters ever - he's been around since Detective Comics 38 in 1940! He's Batman's first ward, first partner, and eldest son. When Dick's parents are murdered, Bruce identifies with him, comforts him, and takes him into his home, where Dick ultimately volunteers to join his crimefighting mission. By candlelight, the Dynamic Duo swear an oath: That we two will fight together against crime and corruption and never swerve from the path of righteousness!

Tim Drake was created in Batman 436 and formally introduced in Lonely Place of Dying. He's a lonely kid who imprints on Dick when they meet as children, and Dick hugs him and promises to do a quadruple somersault for him; he's horrified and worried about Dick in the aftermath of the Graysons' murder, which he witnesses. He watches Batman comfort Dick, deduces Robin's secret identity, and becomes a secret devotee of the Dynamic Duo. Though he admires them both, it's ultimately Dick who he idolizes and tries to emulate when Bruce is spiraling: Batman needs a Robin. No matter what he thinks he wants.

Their slow-burn strangers-to-friends-to-brothers-to-antagonists-to-brothers-again arc develops from 1989 to 2011, and it's one of the standout examples of the DC Post-Crisis era's commitment to gradual character development and careful continuity.

what's fun about them?

SO MUCH!!! But one of my favorite things is their friendship has RANGE!! They go from sweet kids to tense strangers to loyal friends to brothers over the course of real-life years and tons of comics. They fight, they tease each other, they get protective, they worry, they chase each other down, they walk away... there's just so much story here.

They meet at the circus as children, when both their parents are still alive. They meet again, years later, when Bruce is reeling from Jason's death and they team up to stop him from hurting anyone. In the early days, they're brothers-in-arms and never quite family - instead, Dick is Bruce's loyal-but-estranged eldest son, and Tim is Bruce's new loyal-but-wary apprentice, with his own family and his own semi-estranged dad. The slow process of evolving toward found-family is a delight to watch.

They work together as Nightwing and Robin over four years of in-universe time and for over twenty years of real-time, gradually forging a fierce bond of friendship and, ultimately, brotherhood.

Then Bruce dies, and they have some huge fights.

But even when they're estranged, even when they're not speaking... they never stop loving and trying to protect each other. No matter what.

why a reading guide?

Quotes from New Titans 60 and Batman 441 (1989), Nightwing 25 (1998), Nightwing 69 (2002), Red Robin 1 (2009), Red Robin 12 (2010), Gates of Gotham 3 and Detective Comics 874 (2011)

I think reading guides are cool!! And somebody asked me about one!

More generally, I think reading guides are always helpful, but especially with Dick & Tim... you know, when I first started out trying to read their comics, I got kinda overwhelmed. Because on the one hand there's SO MUCH CONTENT - they're one of the classic enduring friendships in all of post-Crisis! their relationship is a HUGE BIG DEAL! they're constantly calling each other and hanging out and supporting each other and arguing!

But at the same time, all of that content is scattered across lots of different books, in Robin and Nightwing and Detective Comics and Batman and New Titans and Titans and Young Justice and Teen Titans and Shadow of the Bat and Gotham Knights and Birds of Prey and Showcase and DC Holiday Specials and so on and so forth. There's not One Definitive Place where you can read The Dick-and-Tim Story.

So: a reading guide!

how does the reading guide work?

Dick and Tim are in over 400 comics together and over 800 comics each separately. That's a whole lot of comics! So I've made a spreadsheet with three different reading guides, depending on how interested you are in these two:

1-5 Quick Recs: If you just want to check out a couple comics, check out these quick recs for "if you like fluff," "if you like angst," etc.

200 Starter Comics: If you want to do a comprehensive, chronological Dick-and-Tim read without committing to all the comics, this list has some of their major team-ups plus some solo comics so you know what the heck is going on. Most of them have a "sneak peek" you can use to decide if you want to read it.

Big List: A complete list of all the comics Dick and Tim are in, in chronological order, with links to dc.fandom and to DC Universe Infinite. It has filter views.

This spreadsheet was a labor of love, obsession, and SO MUCH PROCRASTINATING doing other things. I update it sometimes.

where is the spreadsheet?

it's here. have fun <3

[keravnous]

desperado! ; tangerine/fem!reader (smut 18+)

read pt. 1 here | read pt. 3 here | read pt. 4 here

The Twins are laying low in Amsterdam. Growing bored of being stuck in the hideout all day, Tangerine decides to explore what the shifty parts of the city have to offer at night.

word count: 12,9k

warnings: i mean if atj can dance then tangerine can too, tango dancing bc it's very sexy and steamy ok; car sex, head while driving, oral (male receiving), masturbation (female), fingering, rough and passionate sex, undernegotiated kinks: (light) spanking, daddy kink (once or twice), unprotected sex, choking, pet names, dirty talk, name calling, hotel sex; they steal a car bc why not, short intro from tangerine's pov, small glimpses into his dysfunctionality, rather slow story development at the beginning, i still have very strong feelings about this angry man so please, have this

title is from the song of the same name, desperado by rihanna

the songs they're dancing to are esta noche en vivo by carlos libedinsky and otra luna by narcotango

mel said: kinda sad we didnt get to suck his dick in bathroom b!tch and I said: same

The air is still warm and a little humid despite the late hour, filled with laughter and the sweet, sweet smell of alcohol and marihuana, sweat and summer. Tangerine takes another drag from his cigarette, watches how the smoke curls into the dark sky, illuminated by the colourful lights of the city. He takes a deep breath.

He sighs, relishes in the way his shoulders relax. He feels alive -- again; finally. It's a real relief, has his limbs going a little slack. He had felt anger clawing at his chest for the past week now, the beast inside ripping his skin to shreds and lashing out with its razor-sharp claws - mostly at his brother. But since he had left the flat about an hour ago it has been curled up rather peacefully in his chest, with a satisfied purr in sync with his heartbeat.

Next to him, the water in the canals lays calmly, reflecting the city's lights and echoing the clinking of glasses and music that wafts through the streets. Tangerine passes by a restaurant, people sitting outside under string lights, drinking, chatting, eating and he watches them as he strolls by. They radiate happiness and it catches onto him like a wave, has him smiling at the sight. He takes another drag of his cigarette, enjoys the way the smoke burns in his throat. Jesus Christ, how he had missed this.

There just aren't enough books, good books, that can keep him holed up in a small flat for a whole fucking month. And thus, he had decided to break - well, bend - the rules a little tonight.

Their contact, Henk, had told him about that one spot where one could get anything: from alcohol to various drugs and weapons, maybe even a hitman. If one's lucky. And Tangerine does feel a whole lot of fucking luck pumping through his veins tonight, making him feel a little light-headed, stardust at the heels of his shoes.

His chest feels light and his feet are practically flying over the cobblestones, a smile toying with the corners of his mouth as he lays his head back, watches the illuminated sky above - exhales smoke, inhales the night.

A group of students staggers by, laughing and cheering, passing a bottle of liquor around. His gaze follows them, nostalgia tearing at his heartstrings as he remembers the times when Lemon and him were just that - young and without a care in the world.

Now, their hands are sticky with blood - metaphorically, he had washed his well and thoroughly after last month's job went wrong - and they are both in hiding. Again.

Lemon insisted it would be careless to go out at night, at any time of the day really - "That's bollocks, mate. You can't just go out, can ya? What if they sent someone after us?" -, but especially if it was just to have some fun. Because fuck fun, right?

But, there is nothing else to do anyways, with the way his brain always, always finds a way back to his own recent failure and how it was linked to Bolivia.

Bolivia -- it still leaves him sleepless and shaking sometimes, just like tonight.

Tangerine had been pacing the living room craving a drink until Lemon fell asleep, and then decided that he needed a change of scenery, something to take his mind of the carnage and its debris.

"Yeah, let's just all go fuckin' insane in that flat, huh", Tangerine huffs to himself, looking at his phone. It beeps, signalling him that he is getting closer to his destination. His feet carry him through the streets of Amsterdam, a warm summer breeze rustles his silk shirt and cools his warm skin as he passes by restaurants, bars and closed book and flower shops.

Eventually, he comes to a halt in front of a launderette: Wassen bij Muriel.

The neon lights inside are on, illuminating the sidewalk in a cold white. He blinks. There is no one inside but an old lady behind the counter and a grimly looking man sitting on a plastic stool in the back corner. He can hear faint music coming from behind the glass door.

To an unsuspecting tourist it would look like a rancid shop but to him, it doesn't. Tangerine knows better, has been to a lot of places like this.

"Alright", he says - lets his neck crack once, twice and throws his cigarette away - before pushing the door open, the bell above ringing.

***

You watch your friend leaning down towards the young woman, sitting in a darkened corner. Your father never wanted you to befriend any of his third or fourth row dealers but you never were one to follow rules, always going for the next thrill, the next rush of adrenaline. But tonight, there's been no rush so far, no tingling of your veins - just pure and blank boredom.

You had picked out your favourite dress in the prospect of being offered to dance with a handsome stranger, even ditched on the underwear to make sure the thin fabric hugged your curves nicely, but the men in here are mostly uninteresting, ordinary - simple dealers or lowlife thugs, street criminals that steal money from unwary tourists.

You watch how your friend, with a quick sleight of hand, exchanges cocaine for money, laughing at the woman like she is an old friend and then makes his way back to the bar. He winks at you and squeezes past a young couple, orders himself a drink.

You swirl your glass between your fingers, watching the remaining puddle of wine running up and down its walls - dripping down like blood - and then bring it up to your lips, emptying it in one sip. The taste is warm and full, rich and you close your eyes for a moment, allowing yourself to get lost in the strumming of the band's contrabass and the red wine on your tongue. It reminds you of that one time in Bogotá, when you and your father had visited his suppliers - wine and music melting together with the summer heat, having you dream of the jungle, old villages, and the beaches of private islands off the coast.

Your father had dragged you along once more, this time to Amsterdam, despite your pleas not to - "You will have to take over one day and I want you to be prepared" - and you were gladly sneaking away when your friend invited you to spend the night at his favourite bar.

It is a tango joint and a beautiful place, an old basement with low ceilings and a small bar, people and furniture bathed in colourful neon lights. Purple and red are dancing across faces and sweaty bodies - swirling over the dance floor or pressed against the cold walls, tongues shoved into mouths - reflecting off glasses and expensive jewellery.

It is a place where people like you and your friends get together: the upcoming generation of an international crime elite, sons and daughters throwing away their parents’ blood or drug money, getting high and drunk hidden by the shadows of the night, staying awake until the sun rises again. It's a place where people like you mix and mingle with those working for your families, a welcome change to a certain hierarchy at something a civilian would naively call a safe space.

You open your eyes again, as the band starts to play a new song, blinking while your eyes adjust to the dim, colourful lights. There still are couples swirling across the dance floor to the sensual rhythm of the tango, that the small band in the back is playing. You let out a sigh at both, the loneliness and the boredom creeping in on you, and turn around on your barstool to order yourself another drink as --

Your shoulder suddenly connects heavily with something firm and warm - triggering a muttered Fuckin' hell - and a second later the man, who you just bumped into, turns around. He looks pissed, left eye twitching.

"'M sorry", you say quickly, a little taken aback by both: his anger and his beauty. The former doesn't seem to last very long, with his lips tilting up a little, eyes gleaming mischievously while they dance over your frame.

"Apology accepted, love", he has a strong northern British accent, like some of your father's business partners do.

But he is arguably a lot more handsome than any of them are. Dark, combed, and slicked back hair that curls right over his shoulders building a nice contrast to his light blue, short-sleeved silk shirt, unbuttoned down to his belly - exposing golden jewellery. The necklace shines warmly against his pale skin, glimmering purple in the dim lights.

It might be the alcohol and the loneliness but you really, really want to just dart one hand out, run it over his chest and his neck, feeling his warmth and the few locks of chest hair, smelling and tasting the scent of summer on his skin.

You wonder what he does, what his profession is. The 70s porn-stache, vintage Rolex and golden rings scream Miami and you can't help but imagine him in the hot sun, bare chested, blood on his hands - red red red - cutting open bricks of cocaine -

"May I get you a drink, love?", his voice pulls you out of your daydreams and you blink. He must've caught you staring.

You know, that men like him usually mean trouble. And yet, you can hear yourself say: "That'd be very nice, thank you."

He lifts two fingers up, signalling the man behind the bar that he wants to order something and you notice that his knuckles are bruised. Blue and green mixing with the red of the scab, partially healed. There are scars on his forearm, meandering between his tattoos and up up up his arm below the soft, expensive silk of his shirt.

The goosebumps that erupt on your skin are nothing but pleasant as you immediately know what type of man he is. Everyone in here is on the market for something: drugs, love, sex, guns - but rarely does one sell murder. Real, cold-blooded murder. Ruthless, fast, dirty.

He's trying to hide it but watching him as he discusses the menu with the bartender, it sticks out like a sore thumb: the well-mannered gestures crash with his fucked-up hands, the way he's dressed like a drug-selling pimp refuses to fit in with his sugar-coated talk and the way he moves can't hide a lingering anger, like a raging beast pacing in a cage.

It is a carefully put together façade, but it's no use against you. You know men like him and you know them well. They don't scare you - quite the opposite, and thus the pure and utter danger he emits has excitement tingling in your stomach. As fucked up as it is: it makes you want him - adrenaline kicking in, shooting a tingle right between your legs.

He turns around again and you lean forward a little, deciding to make your move soon.

"'S a Mezcal Margarita alright with you, love?", he asks and you throw him your most charming smile, nodding.

"We'll take two then, mate", he nods and slides a few bucks over the counter, watches the bartender pouring liquid into a cocktail tumbler.

"Sooo", the man turns around towards you and grins, shows some teeth as his hand vanishes in the pocket of his linen trousers, pulls out a cigarette and lights it up. He's taking a looong deliberate drag, puffing out the smoke, "What's your name, sweetie?"

"Y/N", you reply, gaze dropping to his lips and back up, where his gaze catches yours. He has beautiful eyes, blue like the fucking sea and the purple neon lights make them glow with mischief and smugness - dark and oddly promising, inviting - framed by long lashes.

One of your fingers brushes over his hand, that is resting on the counter. The wooden surface is sticky with half-dried alcohol. His gaze holds yours while he takes another drag of his cigarette. You just might lose yourself in the hue that dances over his eyes.

"And you are?", you say, just loud enough to be audible over the music.

His gaze drops to your fingers that are brushing over his golden rings and he chuckles: "Don't ya try stealing those, sugar, I know that fuckin' trick", and you smile innocently, as he leans in a little, "Name's Tangerine, love." There are cheers erupting from the dancefloor, the rhythm of the music picking up.

You pout playfully and his eyes dance over your face, glimmering mischievously. "Oh", you sigh, "And here I was, thinking you'd may even give me your real name."

"Can't, love, m'sorry."

"Mh pity -- who did you kill?"

"Who said I killed someone?", he's dangerously close now, voice a low rumble.

"Your hands", your fingers dance over the crust of his knuckles and his eyes gleam. For a moment he says nothing and then, towering over your sitting form, voice low and rough:

"Aren't ya afraid o'me, love?"

"Terribly", and he grins at that, his eyes holding yours captive.

"Bet you are", Tangerine hums, barely audible and sticks his cigarette between his lips, one hand darting up, has his thumb gently grazing over your chin.

The touch is nice, soft and gentle but firm, in full control. It makes your chest tingle, sends a wave of pleasure through your body. His eyes flick over your face and you find yourself growing a little hot under his gaze. You wonder is he's going to lean in, ditch his cigarette and --

The bartender places two glasses in front of you and it makes you snap out of it for a second, noticing how close Tangerine got. His thighs are touching your knees and his face is so so close to yours, noses mere inches apart.

"Thanks, mate", Tangerine says, pulls the glasses closer. You watch him - slender fingers getting a little wet with condensed water, cigarette between his lips, chain and bracelet rustling with the sudden movement. There's a thin film of sweat glistening on his chest and it has your thighs clench with raw and utter want, wanting to put your lips onto the firm the muscles, licking his skin clean.

The way his body still presses against your knees, is electrifying and you decide to invite him in more. You let your knees fall apart, making way for him. His gaze drops down and he chuckles to himself but moves in nonetheless, one of his hands gently coming to a rest on your thigh, holding you close and in place. The touch shoves the soft, flowy silk of your cowl dress aside, the slit in the fabric exposing your thigh. Tangerine's hand is warm on your skin, rings pressing cooly against your hot flesh, as he starts groping you - thumb digging into your thigh and you gasp quietly.

"Been wantin' to ask -- what's a pretty girl like you doin' in a place like this, huh?", he says, cigarette bobbing up and down in the corner of his mouth.

"My friend sells blow here", you say truthfully - not a full lie and yet not the complete truth, but you know better than to trust a stranger with your ties to your family's business - and piqued interest flickers through his gaze.

Tangerine then, very languidly, takes another looong drag from his cigarette and taps some of the ash on the counter, holding your gaze with his own. "D'you sell yourself, love?"

You laugh at that, violently shaking your head. "Hell, no."

He chuckles, eyes roaming over your face. "Well, looks like I got myself a good girl, then eh?", he knows what he is doing, voice low and deep and you swallow.

"I wouldn't say so", you whisper, "But why don't you come a bit closer and find out?"

Tangerine flashes a grin, shows his bright bright teeth, one of his hands coming up and stroking his moustache while he shakes his head in disbelief.

It's stupid. Very fucking stupid. He shouldn't. He should get the fuck out of here - quickly. This is dangerous. She might be, too.

Instead, he looks up again. Ah, fuck it - fuck the rules. Lemon will get it - maybe. Ultimately, he will, simply has to - with the beast inside rattling the cage.

Tangerine leans in, his hand on your thigh sneaking up, making its way over your hip, your side and then cups your body, thumb digging into your flesh underneath your tit. Your heartbeat picks up as he pulls you close and you nearly yelp, scooting forward on the barstool, your hand coming up and grasping his forearm, holding on to him. "Well, why don't we fuckin' drink to that then, love?", he rasps, the hand resting on the bar pulls your glass in.

With a shaking hand you take it, fingers closing in around the cool glass and you watch him raising his, bud of cigarette nearly touching it. He is exhilarating, demanding and firm underneath the attire of a gentleman and it has your head swimming, wetness pooling between your legs. Excitement bubbles up in your chest, wondering where the night may, will lead.

"Cheers, love", Tangerine smirks and winks at you, both your glasses clink. He is still so so close, your knees still hitting his hips and his tongue runs over the edge, licks the salt away slowly, playfully until he downs half the Margarita in one go, like it's water.

You raise one brow, carefully taking a sip. The salt on the edge of the glass tingles on your lips and the liquor burns nicely in your throat as you take another. It's a hellishly strong cocktail and you wonder if he's a regular drinker. A lot of people like him - call them what you like, assassins, killers, hitmen - are.

Tangerine eyes the glass in his hand, weighs it from left to right a little, then nods to himself in approval while you take another sip. He instead downs the other half of the cocktail and puts the glass back on the counter. It's a quick, routinely movement and you come to realize that you may be right. You decide to not give it too much thought, because he's hot and he freed you from the boredom threatening to swallow you whole tonight and because everything about him has your blood singing with the gleeful promise of adrenaline. You put your glass next to his and look up at him through your lashes. He catches the invitation.

Tangerine throws his cigarette into his empty glass and then leans in again. The tip of his nose brushing over yours, the sensual music entangling both of you as his gaze flicks over your face.

You hook one leg around his waist and he moves in closer, pressing yourself against him, one hand on his arm - to anyone looking over you might even seem like an actual couple, enjoying the night out - and hunger burns in his eyes. His lips brush over yours and you know he's toying with you, keen on him leaning in to fucking kiss you already --

The music stops.

There's sudden silence as the band passes a bottle of whiskey around and the two of you freeze, blinking dumbfoundedly. The silence is odd, stalling both of you but you can't help it, feeling like drowning in the dark dark blue of his eyes, shimmering with green in the purple light. You can hear Tangerine breathe quietly with him being so utterly close to you and it's nice, comfortingly human and you can't help but smile against his lips still hovering over yours, a gentle gesture that is being reciprocated by him.

You're a little dizzy with it too, the alcohol, lack of fresh air and his body warmth mixing together, making you a little unsteady. He has pure and raw want tingling in your belly, your hand on his upper arm clenching around the firm muscles a little, thumb brushing over the soft material. And then, just as the music picks up again, his lips brush against yours: "You don't happen to wanna dance, do ya, love?"

"Fuck yes, thought you'd never ask", and Tangerine laughs, a deep, pleasant sound that rumbles in his chest and offers you his hand.

Yours runs down down down his arm and closes around his, while he's making some room for you to slip off of the barstool and then he's pulling you close again - your body pressing smack against his side as he's dragging you along to the makeshift dance floor.

The crowd still cheers, applauds the band and the bandoneon plays the few first chords of a new song. Tangerine gently takes your hand in his, thumb cupping your index and middle finger as your palm rests against his. His other hand sneaks around your waist and rests and the small of your back, holding you close. He looks at you and you feel like drowning in his eyes, pupils blown wide and you wonder when he'll show first signs of being drunk, with the way you already feel a little warm, light-headed. In a few minutes, maybe an hour you'll learn that he holds his liquor way better than you hold your own.

He is even closer to you now than before at the bar and now you can smell his perfume through the thick cloud of smoke that wavers through the basement's air - he smells nice, deep and rich of citrus and a little of vanilla and cigarettes, reminds you of the summer you've spent in Palermo once.

Tangerine gently places one hand below your shoulder and yours comes up, rests on his shoulder, just as he starts to move to the music. He takes a step backwards, guiding your forward and gently guides you through the crowd - a steady back and forth in rhythm with the tango.

Tangerine's hand still holds yours, guides your arm until it is stretched out and then it abandons your hand, runs down down down your arm very gently, pads of his fingers brushing over your soft skin, hairs on your arms rising. A shiver runs down your spine as his fingers cradle back between yours, a smile tugging at his lips.

One of his legs pushes between yours while he manoeuvres you backwards, hand on your waist holding you close. Tangerine presses himself against you, heat radiating off of his body with both your arms still stretched out and you grip his hand tightly, leaning back. You arch your back, raising one leg and hooking it around his waist as his gaze locks with yours. You can feel his crotch pressing against yours, with the way the skirt of your dress hikes up your legs. He is warm and a little hard already, has the breath hitching in your throat and arousal igniting your loins.

Tangerine leans down a little, lips still curled up in smile and then pulls you up like you weigh nothing and you stretch your legs in a delicate, slight split as he twirls you around, your chest firmly resting against his.

His arm presses onto your back, holds you close until your feet touch the ground once more and he immediately guides you sideways with a few long and slow strides until he comes to a halt. One of your arms wraps around his shoulders as he holds you close and you stretch your leg out, your heel gliding forward over the concrete floor of the basement, stretching your leg out in front of you and then gently sliding it backwards into a deep lunge, your body following the movement. You lean back and Tangerine follows, leans down and towers over your body.

He holds you there for a moment, chest rising and falling, brows furrowed a little before he carefully helps you back up - immediately embracing your body once more.

The music speeds up and so does he while guiding you over the dancefloor, face close to yours with unbreaking eye contact as you swirl over the concrete.

At the next strum of the contrabass, you take a step back, arching your back. Very playfully you sway your hips, shoulders loosely following while one of hands rests on his forearm, the other lays in his hand, feet tapping the floor rhythmically with the movement of your hips.

You know that he has a perfect view of your body, your hard nipples being visible through the thin fabric of your dress. His gaze drops down, watches how the silk plays with your curves, eyes growing a little darker. You move in and Tangerine pulls you close, your hand intertwined with his resting on his chest and his lips ghost over the shell of your ear, moustache tingling. "No underwear, I reckon, love?", he hums, the fingers of his other hand brushing over your waist.

And you shake your head, whispering: "No, none", and it has his eyebrows shooting up in surprise, a low chuckle escaping his throat. "Fuck me", he breathes and holds you close while moving over the dancefloor, one hand gently but firmly resting on your ass cheek, hiking the hem of your dress up a little.

The touch ignites you and you press against him, leaning in, nose brushing over his jaw, eyelids fluttering. You are pressed against each other, movements slowing down and blooming into a languid sensuality in dance: long strides, toying with him a little - turning your head away, stretching your arm out, only for his hand to gently caress it - feet wrapping around his calf, leg pushing between his. Tangerine is patient with the little game you are playing, unerringly keeping the lead and you in your place.

You wonder if he fucks like he dances. It makes your skin going hot, imagination running wild and breath hitching.

The song ebbs and the crowd applauds and the two of you come to a halt as well, but not parting, not partaking in the celebration of the band. You are clawing to him, breath going fast and heavy and so does his, a thin layer of sweat on his forehead. His hand momentarily rejects your waist to brush through his hair and then returns. His touch is firm, a little rough and you sigh contently.

Some people are looking your way, intrigued by what got over the two of you, enticed by each other and oblivious to the surrounding world. It's a dangerous thing - letting your guard down, for both of you - but you couldn't care less.

Tangerine smirks down at you and licks his lips. "D'ya know what ya do to me, dove?", he says quietly and you know but you feel the same, and thus, your hand brushes over his shoulder to his neck and you nestle your bods against his.

You wonder if he can feel your raising heartbeat, smell the lust and the excitement spreading in your body. You look up at him, fingers burying themselves in his locks.

"Mhm - do you?", you reply just as quietly and Tangerine chuckles, eyes falling shut.

Your bodies stay like that, closely pressing against each other with the music picking back up. You gently rest your forehead on his temple, leaning onto him as he holds you close. You can't help it, you just want to fucking touch him and your hand runs over his shoulder to the front, gently moves up his throat and then cups his jaw, fingers brushing over the clean-shaven skin. It's soft and warm and you can feel, hear him take a deep breath.

Moving across the floor slowly, Tangerine's body turns into an anchor for your long, ardent strides; his strong arms holding you up during each turn, muscles twitching beneath your touch. He is so so close to you, so warm - each one of his steps lingering with desire and it washes over you like a wave, has the hairs on your body standing up.

You sink against him, falling into his embrace, arms clinging around his neck and his hand is pressed on your shoulder, the other remains in the air uselessly as he looks down in surprise, brows furrowed. He can see, feel your chest heaving, a quiet whimper escaping your mouth.

Then, his lips curl into a smug grin.

Tangerine carefully twirls you around, hands gripping your waist and pulling you closer. Your back rests against his chest and you can feel the tip of his nose brushing through your hair as his hands move over your body - one resting on your belly, the other gently cupping you below your breast, feeling the way your heart races against your ribcage, and his touch sends shivers down your spine, has arousal shooting right between your legs. You remain this way for a few beats, the blood in your veins pumping with the rhythm of the music, feeling his strong frame pressing against you - his breath on your temple and his cologne wrapping you in. His body radiates warmth and you can feel his chest rising against your back, his hardening dick pressing against your ass.

Lust tingles in your stomach looking up at him and, at the next strum of the contrabass, you take his hand and twirl out of his embrace. Tangerine follows and pulls you back in and your hand crawls up his arm, another one resting on his neck. His gaze locks with yours as he leans down, tip of his nose brushing against yours.

The hands on your back keeps you close, a dark shadow resting over his eyes, turning them into a deep deep sea. He slowly guides you forward with two long strides and then firmly hooks one arm around you, lunges backward a little and you follow his movement, bending your leg and resting it against his groin. His hard cock presses against your thigh, and he leans in, lips brushing over yours before straightening both of you back up, heels of your shoes connecting firmly with the ground. Tangerine swirls you over the floor and manoeuvres you through the dancing couples, until he eventually, when the space arises, grabs your hips once more. You let yourself fall, upper body leaning back delicately, enthralled by his strength and the way he guides you through the dance, and he pulls you back up.

Your hand runs up his chest, fingers clawing at the silk as your gazes lock once more. You suck in a few breaths, his scent clouding up your mind, hand running higher and higher, thumb cupping his cheek and fingers resting in his hair behind his ear, earring pressing cooly against your skin.

His lips are slightly agape, eyes you up and down, while his hand presses you close. "Yeah, fuck, you wanna take this elsewhere, love?", he rasps and you nod, eyelids fluttering with the hidden promise.

All the while Tangerine navigates you through the crowd, he holds you close, blood pumping in your ears with the way the music makes your chest vibrate, his scent clouding up your mind - only him him him.

As soon as you are out on the street Tangerine is onto you again, pulls you close in the bright lights of the laundrette and kisses you like a starving man. His arms wrap around your waist, pressing you against him, tits flush against his chest, as his tongue licks into your mouth. Your hands run up his arms, one of them curling his neck and the other cupping his jaw. You can feel his hard dick through his linen slacks and it makes you hot all over, wetness pooling between your legs. You break the kiss, heaving against his lips.

"Fuck", Tangerine huffs, hand on your waist wandering down, cupping one of your ass cheeks. You mewl, eyelids fluttering. You're desperate to touch him, for him to fuck you.

"My hotel's nearby", you whisper and it sounds so fucking needy, "We could take the tram?"

"Yeah sure, lead the way", and you do, stealing another long and sloppy, hungry kiss from him and then he's pulling you close, holds you by his side as the two of you rush down the streets of Amsterdam - heels clicking, sweet nothings on the tip of your tongues. Some people turn their heads, voyeurism kicking in at the oddly hot couple with the air around them cracking with their energy, watching how the two of you rush by - the woman giggling and clearly a little drunk, hands roaming all over the man's chest, while he holds her close, thick British accent wrapping her in.

That is, until he stops dead in his tracks next to an alley on a rather empty street.

"Oi, wait a bloody minute, love -- would'ya look at that", Tangerine looks down an alleyway and you lean in closer, trying to get a look at what he's seeing, peaking over his shoulder on the tip of your toes. His hand is still resting on your waist, fingers splayed out.

"What?", there's nothing. Just cars parked beneath a warmly glowing streetlight in a dark alley.

"That", his finger darts out and points at a beige convertible.

"I -- that's a car?"

He looks a you, a little offended.

"That's not just a car, love. That's a 1966 Cadillac Coupe DeVille."

You blink, watching him while he eyes the vehicle, fingers brushing over his stache absent-mindedly.

"What are you thinking 'bout?", and it doesn't even take him a second to reply: "I wanna steal it."

Well, that's a surprise. "You wanna steal the car?"

"Yeah, I got this fuckin' thing -- 's kinda like compulsion, innit?"

You raise your eyebrows and he looks at you, lips curling up in an amused smile that's looks an awful lot like Sugar I can't change it, now can I? and before he can come up with something witty to go along with it, you say: "Yeah fuck, alright. Let's do it."

He laughs, eyes you up and down. "Ya naughty little girl, eh."

You can feel your skin growing hot, hand brushing over his forearm, leaning in a little. His eyes gleam. "Show me what you can do, babe", and he does, wraps one arm around your hips and strolls over to the car, carefully eyeing the alley.

The windows are rolled down and he grins. "That's an easy one, love, watch it", his hand brushes over your hip and the touch has goosebumps erupting on your arms, running down down your back and you nod - fuck yes, you'll watch.

Tangerine leans against the driver side's door and reaches inside through the rolled down window. You don't know what exactly he's doing but you can see the way his muscles work underneath the blue silk, as he grabs the handle and then, suddenly lifts the door a little out of its frame. The lock bursts, and for a second your muscles tense, body anticipating alarms going off and reading to flee.

Nothing happens; no sirens erupting - just the door swinging open lazily.

Apparently; obviously this is not his first time stealing a car. The thought of him just taking what he wants does something funny to your stomach.

You peak inside. It is an old-timer, with one large seating bench in the front, instead of two seats. Tangerine is holding the door open for you.

"After you, Lady", and he fucking winks at you.

Crawling onto the seats you make sure to make a little show out of it. You can feel his gaze roaming over your body as you bend down, until you eventually sit down in the middle of the front row seat. Tangerine sits down next to you and you immediately close the distance between the two of you, pulling one leg up, knee resting firmly on the soft beige leather and pressing against his thigh. The fabric of your dress hikes up, the slit exposing your leg up up up to your groin.

The sight distracts him for second, as you throw a look over your shoulder and out of the rear window, into the night. The alley still lays silent and deserted - but for how much longer? Tangerine watches you tensing up next to him.

"Easy, love, just a minute", he huffs and pulls an envelope out of his pocket, takes out a set of lockpicks.

"Oh, so you just carry that around with you?", you blurt out, blinking.

"Yeah", he says casually, bends down a little, trying to get a good look beneath the steering wheel.

If you were to be more of a thief and less of a drug lord's lazy daughter, you'd be able to identify his choice as a Lishi lockpick.

You watch him as he carefully sticks it into the keyhole of the ignition, slooowly starts to move the tool forward and feeling for the contact of the wafer. Quiet clicking sounds fill the humid air.

You can tell, that Tangerine is showing off a little, trying to impress you with speed and precision. He squints his eyes a little, brows furrowing and eyeing the small lock while carefully turning it clockwise.

It jams.

"Bastard", Tangerine curses underneath, pulls the reader of the lockpick back and carefully feels for the missing contact, tuuurns it --

The engine jolts alive, purrs lowly and the headlights snap on.

"There ya go", he mutters, "Piece 'o piss, eh?"

You snort at his vulgar cockney but you must agree - it did not take him more than two to three minutes, from breaking the lock to starting the engine. It shouldn't, but it does turn you on a little.

Tangerine is slamming the door shut and whips out his phone, handing it over to you. "Type in the address, love, would ya?"

You do and then quickly discard it into the cupholder - you want him and your fingertips tingle with it, wanting to touch him and being touched by him. The female voice - uncanny valley personified - of the google maps assistant pipes up and if you weren't so very fucking intoxicated by him you would laugh.

Instead, a fresh wave of desperate lust takes over you and your hands are onto him again in no time, one crawling up his arm, the other resting on his thigh and feeling his muscles work as he backs the Cadillac up. Tangerine chuckles, throws you a quick look before he is steering the car out of the alley.

You are aching for him to touch you, to be closer to you, hand tugging at his shirt a little while you lean in, nose brushing over the side of his throat.

"Jesus, love", he huffs, "Can't keep ya'self together, can ya?"

And you mewl, shake your head and then your lips are closing in around the exposed crook of his neck. Your tongue laps over the sweaty, hot skin, tasting him - his cologne mixing bitterly with his sweat and you hum, gently sucking at his soft skin.

"Fuckin' hell", Tangerine's right hand abandons the steering wheel, coming to a rest on your exposed thigh brushing over your skin. The tone of his voice has your head swimming, spurring you on, encouraging you. Your eyelids flutter as your tongue comes loose:

"Want me to suck your cock while driving?", you say, looking at him - the tips of your fingers are playfully brushing over his shoulder, silk of his shirt rustling under the feather-light touch.

He snorts, shakes his head a little with disbelief, before looking back at you. It seems to click.

"Bloody hell, you're serious, aren't ya?", and you blush a little. You can see the way his Adam’s apple bops as he swallows, eyes aimlessly darting over the road, considering.

The google maps assistant pipes up again, chirps out the directions and then falls silent again.

"Yeah, no, that's a very lovely idea", he rasps, and then: "C'mon love, get to it."

And you do, mouth watering at the same time your sight drops down to his linen slacks, the fabric wrapping around his muscular thighs nicely and pressing firmly to his crotch, exposing the outlines of his hard dick straining it.

Your hand wanders up his leg - feeling his muscles twitch as he hammers down the gas pedal, racing by the light switching from yellow to green - and then sour fingers close in around his cock. It is large and hot through the fabric and just feeling it has fresh arousal pooling between your legs, making you hum, before rubbing his bulge through his trousers. Tangerine's right hand leaves your thigh and comes to a rest on your neck, thumb rubbing over your warm skin and making way for you, giving you some space and encouraging you further.

It's a nice, somewhat patronizing touch that is pushing all the right buttons, has you quivering with excitement.

You make quick work of his slacks, pulling the zipper down - already bowing down a little, stretching your lower leg out on the seat behind you - until you open the fly up. There's a damp stain on his dark silk boxers and your mouth fucking waters, before you pull the hem down. His cock springs free lazily and your breath hitches.

Tangerine's cock is large, cut and a little curved, resting between neatly trimmed pubic hair - vein at the bottom pulsing and the tip already flushed, precum glistening in the low light of the passing street lamps.

You can't wait to suck it, taste it, feel it inside of you -- you are fucking hungry for it, spit pooling around your tongue and heart beating in your chest. Arching your back while bowing down between his lower body and the steering wheel, you put your lips onto his dick, kissing from the base to the top, his musky scent wrapping you in, clouding your mind. You can hear him hum, a nice and deep sound, and the city rushing by through the rolled down window.

Your tongue flicks over the head of his dick, lapping at the precum, circling it. The way he tastes - salt and musk - has your head swimming a little, wetness pooling between your legs.

It makes your brain go mushy, hazy and one of your hands brushes over his thigh, desperate to being closer tohim, to make it feel good for him, caressing the warm skin beneath your touch before you blink up at him.

"Fuck, you got a nice cock", you nearly moan as your tongue betrays your brain, impatiently opening your mouth and letting him slide in a little, feeling him pressing hard and hot against your tongue.

"Shit", Tangerine laughs roughly, hand grabbing your neck as his dick twitches against your tongue, "D'ya even hear yourself speak, girl? Fuck."

You smile to yourself, a little coy, and you start to move your hand up up up his muscular thigh, palming his balls through the linen and then grabbing the base of his cock, slowly jerking him. Tangerine groans, breathing loudly, the city passing by.

Spit runs down his dick over taking him in deeper, pools between your fingers and you flick your wrist, moving your hand in rhythm with your tongue.

The car comes to a halt at the next red light, as Tangerine hits the brakes carefully. Your eyelids flutter and then your gaze darts up, meets his while you are releasing his dick from your mouth a little.

Tangerine moans deeply as tongue swirling around the thick head of his dick once more, his gaze boring into yours. "Isn't that just a lovely sight", he groans, right hand brushing through your hair, while the left grabs the steering wheel hard.

Tangerine watches you, traffic light long forgotten, how your tongue licks over his cock, your eyes looking up at him through your lashes. "You fuckin' minx -- ya do like behavin' like a slut, don't ya", and you smile against his cock, a quiet Uh-huh leaving your lips, before they close in around the tip of his dick.

His eyelids flutter as you start to suck, bobbing your head a little, tongue rubbing over the tip of his cock. "Fuckin' hell", he puffs his cheeks and throws his head back a little, exhales theatrically. The traffic light switches from yellow to green and you let him sink deeper into your mouth - the engine roars. You are certain he's close to breaking the speed limit, veins bursting with adrenaline and testosterone but you couldn't care less, the musky taste of his cock hazing your mind, lust taking over.

You feel yourself growing wet, cunt aching and you surrender to yourself, complying to your body's wishes, as one of your hands slooowly dips between your legs and underneath the hem of your dress. Your fingers brush up your thighs and over your slick folds, mentally thanking yourself for not putting any underwear on, mostly due to the unbearable heat and your skin-tight dress - but it sure does come in handy now, too. Your index finger flicks over your clit, just as his cock slides deeper into your mouth.

It feels fucking nice, the way Tangerine's dick is hard and heavy and hot on your tongue, his taste and scent engulfing you, the way you rub your clit has lust spreading through your body, moaning around his cock.

And then suddenly, Tangerine hits the breaks, hand hammering down on the horn. One of your hands darts out, barely catching onto the dashboard as you are thrown forward. Blood rushes in your ears, hastily sucking in a few breaths through your nose while you sputter around his cock.

The maps assistant chimes up in that second, reminding the driver that he will need to go right at the next intersection but --

"Ya fuckin' prick, imma fuckin' shoot ya in the fuckin' head ya stupid twat -", Tangerine yells and your head immediately pipes up, abandoning his dick and looking out of the windshield. Tangerine is just speeding up, passing by the car in front of him, angrily looking inside. "Ya dirty fuckin' chav, I got a right fuckin' lady with me 'ere, ya git", he spits and the man slowly turns his head. First, he looks at Tangerine, a cascade of insults flying his way and then he looks at you, smudged mascara and spit on your chin, your lips wet with it. You can see the wheels in his head turning, eyes growing wide as they drop down to one of your hands - the one that is still holding Tangerine's cock - vanishing between his legs. The man blinks and Tangerine flashes him the finger, before speeding by.

"Fuck about -- that fuckin' arsehole, love, could've killed ya drivin' like that", he grumbles, throws him one last look in the mirror, "Seriously, where did that prick get his license, the bloody fuckin' lottery?"

Tangerine's eye twitches and you can see his pulse speeding up, aorta pressing thickly against his neck, pumping. He is like a force of nature and a mental image of him, covered in bruises, blood and sweat flashes before your eyes - chest heaving and knuckles bruised, hair curling and framing his face like a halo, dripping with blood.

"You're so fuckin' hot when you're angry", you mumble and then you're bending down again, tongue licking over his cock, from the base all the way up the top, flicking around its head and then gliiiding back down.

A growl, a real fucking growl, leaves his chest, hand on your neck tightening. "You better get fuckin' back to it, love, Jesus fuckin' Christ", his voice is coarse and it gets you going, makes you wet wet wet and has your head diving back in, tongue lolling out of your mouth as his dick slides back in.

"Atta girl, fuck", he groans and then his hips jolt up, pushing his dick deep into your mouth and you hum around it. You start to bob your head up and down, meeting his thrusts - your hand abandons the dashboard to clutch his thigh, nails digging into the flesh a little.

Tangerine moans at both, your hot and wet mouth sucking him off and the slight pain that blooms in his thigh, dangerously mixing with the anger pulsing in his chest and he throws his head back.

"Just like that, fuckin' hell love", his hips buck, shoving himself deeper into your mouth. The sudden intrusion has you choking a little as he hits the back of your throat, spit gathering around the corners of your mouth while you sputter around his dick - jaw going slack and his hand finding its way into your hair, fisting it as he starts to fuck into your mouth.

Holding your head in place his cock hits the back of your throat, steals your breath. Your nose is buried in his pubes, inhaling his scent - sweat and musk - more saliva pooling at the corners of his mouth, wetting his locks. You relax your throat and whimper around his dick, the way he uses you has fresh wetness spreading between your folds, squelching sounds filling the air as your finger is joined by a second, rubbing tight circles over your clit.

You moan around his cock, strangled noises escaping your throat while your rock back against your fingers, choking around the head of his cock hitting your throat.

"Shh, shh shh", he tuts, a little breathless, "Daddy's got ya, mh pretty girl? Lemme just--"

Tangerine's right hand lets go off your hair and then you can feel it sneak past your back, a feather-light touch brushing over the silk of your dress. It travels further and then grabs your ass, the sudden rough touch has you moaning around his dick once more. Your eyelids flutter as he pulls the fabric up up up, fists it and exposes you to whoever or whatever may rush past the passenger side's window. Your fingers speed up at the thought while his hand kneads the flesh of your cheeks.

"Fuckin' pretty", he hums, taking another quick look at the way your head bobs up and down his cock, "All over my cock like that, pretty fuckin' slut."

His hand wanders further down and before you can process it, one of his fingers circles your hole, feeling your slick and your plump folds. "Jesus Christ", he nearly groans, "You just love sucking cock, don't ya?"

That you do, whining around his base as the thick head of his dick hits the back of your throat again, with your fingers still working your clit. "Let me help you with that, love", and with that he pushes one finger in, up to his golden onyx ring, nestles it snugly between your hot walls. They clench around him and the sensation - the lingering promise of more - has you squirming a little.

Tangerine gives you what you want, need - finger curling a little, digits brushing over your spongy hot walls, before he slooowly pulls it back out. It circles your hole once more, quickly joined by a second, before he pushes them in again, starting to fuck you fast.

You moan, feet kicking a little and eyes tearing up at the sensation, with his dick pushing further into your throat and your fingers rubbing your clit, quickly has your muscles clench and cunt squirting.

"Yeah, just right 'ere, love, huh? Gettin'ya all loose 'n wet f'me? Such a good girl, aren't ya?", obscene sounds fill the air as he fucks your slick back into you, bottoms his fingers out, rubbing over the spot that has you seeing stars.

Tangerine moans deep in his chest as his cock starts to fuck into your mouth again and you let him use your throat gladly while his fingers pump in and out of your cunt, accompanied by the way your fingers flick over your clit rapidly.

The lack of fresh oxygen has you bucking against his hand, choking and sputtering around his cock that rams deeply in your throat but your stomach still flutters with it, lust igniting your loins and limbs tingling with it.

You can feel the muscles in your abdomen clenching, heart racing in your chest. Your fucking close and he seems to notice, too, his moans barely reaching your ears through the blood pumping and engine roaring. Tangerine nestles his fingers deep deep inside of you, rubbing over your walls and the spot that has you seeing stars, eyes falling shut and moaning against his cock.

It is all too much and your chest heaves as you finally cum, muscles clenching around his fingers, hips stuttering. His dick pulls back a little, tip resting hot and heavy against your tongue and then, his movements still.

"Open up your pretty mouth, doll, lemme see", he rasps, barely keeps an eye out to the street and you comply, fucked out mind making everything a little hazy, a little slow. Your jaw goes slack as you open your mouth, giving him a perfect view of his dick resting on your tongue.

Tangerine looks at you: mascara pooling beneath your eyes, lips swollen and red and jaw wet with spit and then comes too, shoots ropes of hot cum into your mouth. He watches the way it paints your tongue white, some of it landing on your upper lip, slooowly dripping down, running over your chin.

You swallow and then your tongue darts out, licks over your lips and then darts out, licks his cock clean, too.

Slowly, with your mind still foggy and limbs a little heavy already, you get back up. Your fingers brush through his remaining cum on your chin, wiping it away and letting them slip into your mouth, licking them clean. "Jesus, love", Tangerine's voice is a little coarse, gaze darting back and forth between your mouth and the street, as he carefully pulls his fingers out of you and your body closer instead.

You yelp, pressing yourself onto him, of your knees resting between his spread legs. None of you fucking care anymore, lust tugging at your brains dangerously, daringly. His hand, fingers still wet with your juices, brushes over your waist, grabs your ass and you lean in, lick over his throat, tasting his sweat and cologne.

"Can't wait for you to fuck me", you rasp, hands brushing over his chest, his necklace jingling, down down down, hand brushing over his cock and carefully putting it away, his clothing back in place.

Tangerine huffs, google assistant chiming out a direction, indicator clicking loudly as he sets it and then his hand comes up quickly, grabs your chin hard and holds your head in place. You look at him, deer in the headlights, holding your breath and then he's pulling you close, locks his lips with yours. He can taste himself on your tongue licking into your mouth, pulls you close.

You don't know how you made it to the fucking hotel alive, with Tangerine's hands roaming over your body, lips locking occasionally while he was speeding down the streets, cutting corners and red lights.

The two of you barely make it through the lobby and into the elevator, until Tangerine is onto you once more, presses your back flat against the cold, bronze metal. "I'll fuck ya so good, love", his dick is already hard again, pressing against you through the linen of his trousers and the satin of your dress, "'S gon' be all you'll be thinkin'bout for the next weeks." In a little more than an hour you will come to realize that he is right. You will be thinking about it for weeks. But now, there are only his lips roaming over your throat, occupying your mind and letting you drift back to a hazy, lustful state, with his hands feeling up your hips, your waist.

Eventually, the elevator piiings lazily and the two of you rush out it, like you are on the run from your own lust, hand clutching his as you quickly make your way down the hall to your suite. You unlock the door and turn the dimmed lights on inside. The room's just like you left it, guns and cash on the coffee table, soft light coming from the bedroom on the left. The window there is still opened, a soft breeze rolling in through the light curtains.

Tangerine throws the door shut behind himself and immediately grabs you by your waist, pulls you onto him, hand on your back on your ass as he leans down, devours you with a kiss. His tongue pushes into your mouth while he manoeuvres you backwards through your suite. Your hands dart out, catching the doorframe of the bedroom and you grab it hard, using it as leverage as you push back against him, your crotch rubbing against his. Tangerine grins against your lips and grabs your hips hard, makes you moan into the kiss.

He breaks it, chest heaving a little. "Fuck, love, imma ruin ya." Your breath hitches at that and your hands let go of the doorframe, wrapping around his neck instead like you're on some sort of fucking autopilot. "Yeah fuck, please", you whisper.

It takes Tangerine a moment, gaze growing a little soft before the beast takes over again, a gleaming dark hue turning the blue into an endless ocean and he hoists you up, carries you over to the bed.

He is carrying you like a caveman would his bagged prey and he tears at your dress just the same, one hand shoving the straps down your shoulders. Then he's onto the zipper, sliiides it down and throws you onto the bed.

You land onto the duvet with a soft thud, tits bouncing a little and his gaze follows the movement hungrily, before he tugs at the hem of your dress, pulls it down and throws it to the ground carelessly.

Tangerine just watches, gaze hungrily moving over your naked form, slooowly starts to undress himself. His slender fingers unbutton the silky shirt, button by button in an agonizingly slow speed. You know he's deliberately taking his time with you and it works, has your body quivering with anticipation and lust, one of your own hands running up your body, cupping your tit. He lifts a brow as he watches you tweaking your nipple and the haughty disdain has your head swimming, legs falling apart. "Please", you whisper, pussy aching for his touch, "--Need you."

The silk falls open, still hugging his shoulder and Tangerine continues watching you, playing with a ring on his finger, just like he's playing with you. It's cruel but it has lust building up in your belly, shooting arousal down between your legs and making fresh wetness pool between your folds in a way that you just know, that his touch will be heavenly.

And yet, impatience taking over, you mewl and in a desperate attempt for any sort of attention - for him to just fucking touch you again - you scramble to your knees, stretching out on the mattress and pressing your body flat onto it, ass high in the air. You know that he'll see it: your wet cunt, glistening in the dim light, hole clenching desperately around nothing. You feel exposed and at his mercy alone, and the degradation and danger of being unarmed like this in the presence of a killer, has your heart racing, thighs rubbing together for any sort of fucking friction.

Tangerine bellows out a laugh, surprised and dark, can't really hide either how turned on he is, and then his hand comes down on your ass. The sound bounces off the walls and has your bods jolting forward, first a gasp and then a moan falling from your lips, hands fisting the sheets. "Ya dirty fuckin' whore", he groans, hand groping your already reddening flesh. You can hear the silk flowing down to the ground and then he is pressing his crotch against you, fine linen against your wet cunt.

It's electrifying, the rather rough material pressing against your soft skin, your slick immediately wetting the fabric as your start to roll your hips against it, rutting over his clothed dick. Tangerine's cock is so so hard, hotly pulsing through the linen and you can feel its curve pressing against your pussy. You whimper, hips stuttering.

"Jesus Christ, love, can feel ya through my fucking pants -- lemme see", Tangerine groans and then grabs your hips hard, stalling your desperate movement, shoving them forward a little. You can feel his gaze dancing over your cunt, hear him whistle lowly, hands spreading your ass cheeks, assessing your slick. One of them comes loose and then --

He gives your cunt a light slap - the slight pain and degradation making your head swim - has you squirming on the mattress, a whiny Daddy, please escaping your lips. Your mind fogs up, all hazy with lust and his perfume, aching your back for him, pressing your chest flat against the sheets.

Tangerine pouts at you, eyes gleaming playfully. "D'you wan'it that bad, love?", and you nod nod nod, wiggling your hips as you chant - a desperate Yes yes yes escaping your lips, muffled by the mattress - hands uselessly darting out for any leverage.

His middle finger runs through your folds and you tremble, goosebumps erupting on your arms, spreading all over your body. He spreads your slick and his other hand comes up, kneads the flesh of your ass, spreading your cheeks further apart. "Always fuckin' wet f'me, innit? Picture perfect cunt ya got, love."

You mewl, throwing a glance over your shoulder to see him watching your hole clench around nothing. His eyes gleam. "Shit", you huff out as his finger brushes over your clit, feet curling a little and he grins smugly - Bastard - and gives your ass another sharp slap. You groan and then his hands are off you, making work of his trousers.

You watch him get fully undressed and your mouth waters at the sight. Tangerine's body is covered in scars, smaller round ones from bullets and larger, longer ones from knives and nasty fist fights and you want to crawl to him on your knees, kiss and lick them, worship them and him - his body, his tool of death - like he's your very personal reincarnation of Ares.

His dick springs free as he drops his boxers, completely exposing his muscular body to you, dusted on body hair and tattoos and scars scars scars and in the moment, that you can see precum glistening on the tip of his cock, you realize that you had already missed it. You fucking missed his dick. The thought has warmth spreading on your cheeks.

There's a light pat on your hip. "C'mon love, turn around. Wanna see your face while I fuck you nice and proper", he hums and your eyelids flutter, humming deeply in your throat at the proposition, turning around and laying on your back.

The mattress dips as he sinks down on his knees, chest flushed a little - the golden necklace dangling between your bodies - and then he's onto you, crawls over your body like an animal, leaves sloppy kisses on your skin, tongue licking over your nipples, stache tickling.

"Oh fuck", you huff, hands darting out and finding his hair, gently tugging at it. Tangerine's lips move over your throat and he sucks, makingyou gasp, throwing your head back as he marks you up.

"Spread ya legs f'me, sweetie", he rasps against your jaw and you do, knees falling apart. He grabs his dick with one hand, the other one supporting his own weight next to your head, rubs himself along your folds, using your slick as lube. "There ya fuckin' go", he huffs and then the thick head of his cock presses against your hole.

"Fuck, yes", you whimper, hot with anticipation, one hand leaving his hair and clutching around his shoulder. And then, he finally - fucking finally - puuushes in, your hole stretching around his girth a little, dull pain spreading excitement across your body.

Tangerine groans. It's a low and honest sound, has his chest vibrating against yours while he looks down to where your bodies meet. "Shit, fuckin' hell", he says, hand abandoning his dick as he slowly slides into you, fills you up and spreads your walls, grabbing your inner thigh instead. The way he spreads your legs is delicious and you hum, his dick is completely seated inside of you.

He lifts his gaze once more, looks at you. His eyes are dark, a stormy stormy sea, a few loose strands falling into his face, curls of his hair freeing themselves from the hair gel. He looks like a fucking god. "Fuck", you say, lowly, hole fluttering around him, stomach tingling at the sight.

"Ya cunt's so fuckin' tight, love", he growls and you can hear, feel it on your skin, that he is having a hard time holding back, "'S perfect, Jesus Christ."

Tangerine rolls his hips, once, twice and you moan, fingers digging into the flesh of his shoulder. "'S good for ya, too, love?", his nose brushes over yours, lips ghosting over your cheek. "Yeah, fuck", you huff, and then he's onto you, licks over your lips with his tongue and shoves it into your mouth, invites himself in. You lick over it, lips locking with his, stealing the air from both of your lungs. It is a sloppy kiss charged with energy and lust, your hands tugging at his curls, making the thrusts of his dick more feral, as he forces himself in deeper, groaning into your mouth. In return you moan, chest heaving against his, tits rubbing over the muscular skin.

His lips brush over the corner of your mouth, breathes against it, stache tingling a little as they move down to your throat, kissing and nibbling at the skin, marking you up.

"Fuck", you gasp at the stinging sensation, pulling his hair and he groans.

It feels nice; the way he is fucking you - you push away the thought that it's dangerously close to actually making love - the way he feels inside of you, how his body feels against yours, but it's also not enough. You need more.

A whine escapes your mouth, all desperate and needy and breathless and his movements still for a second.

Then, Tangerine looks up at you, dark blue eyes meeting yours. "Tell me what you want", he whispers, hand groping your thigh and dick buried deep deep inside of you. You can feel it twitch inside of you and your breath hitches. "Want -- want you to fuck me", you say quietly, "Like - hard."

"Aint' ya just a fuckin' dream, poppet", he growls and then his lips are unto you once more, licking into your mouth, teeth catching your lower lip; licking and kissing your lips until their sore while picking up a faster rhythm, pounding into you.

Tangerine eventually breaks away from you, leaves you panting and straightens up until he's kneeling between your legs - rolls his hips into you with his dick fucking in and out your hole, accompanied by an obscene squelching sound. One of his hands grabs your thigh hard, rings digging into the flesh, and then he's hoisting it up, resting your ankle on his shoulder and you moan at both: how deep his cock now pushes into you and the way Tangerine looks.

A thin layer of sweat covers his cheeks and his upper body, chest and cheeks flushed, a few strands of hair falling into his face as his brows are furrowed, lips slightly parted. You can hear him breathe heavily, occasionally moaning when your walls clench around his cock, squeezing him. He looks like a fucking porn star, with his defined muscles working beneath the skin and the golden jewellery, a soft summer breeze rolling in through the opened window, toying with his hair. Tangerine's gaze is glued to his dick that rhythmically pumps in and out of you, watches the way your juices squelch around the base of his cock, balls slapping against your wet skin.

His free hand runs up your belly and cups one of your tits, squeezes it, rolls the nipple between his fingers - the bracelet around his wrist jingles and the rings are cold against your skin. You hum deeply, breath ragged and fingers clawing at the sheets desperate for any leverage, while his deep thrusts throw you back and forth like a fucking ragdoll, tits bouncing and gasps falling from your lips.

Your mouth falls agape, watching Tangerine through hooded eyes and dark lashes and his gaze crawls up up up your body until it meets yours. It is accompanied by his hand, ditching your tit, and brushing up your neck, cupping your jaw and then falling in the crook beneath it, pressing down. The sudden lack of air has the muscles in your legs tensing and he feels it, too, mischief illuminating his face, his eyes, as you gasp for air. You know he could kill you then and there, watch you as your lights fade out and as fucked up as it is, it has your rutting your hips against him, spurring him on.

Tangerine furrows his brows and picks up a quicker rhythm, hand closing in tighter around your throat, rings pressing down onto your windpipe, and you lay your head back, feeling the stretch as he's choking you. The lack of fresh oxygen has your chest heaving, body surrendering to him and the way his cock pumps into your hole fast and deep, lust igniting your nerves. Tangerine can feel you clenching around his dick, wetting his trimmed pubic hair as you squirt, slick dripping down his balls and staining the sheets below. The beast inside him roars, thrums against the bars of its cage, his ribs and he sees your eyelids fluttering, cheeks prettily reddened.

"Atta girl", he groans, fingers giving in a little and you suck in a few deep breaths, before he presses them back down again. It's too soon and your hands dart up, clutching in around his wrist, bracelet jostling and clinking under your touch.

The cage breaks.

Suddenly, quickly, with the force and speed of a predatory animal, Tangerine lets go off your throat and flicks his wrist, catches both of yours in an iron grip and pins them above your head, down onto the mattress. His body follows the stretch of yours, bending over you, holding his own weight up with a hand that crashes down next to your chest. He is feral and it should scare you, especially as air floods your system again, lifts your mind out of your foggy state just a little, but it just doesn't no fight or flight kicking in. The way Tangerine hovers over you now has your leg on his shoulder bend, too, allowing his dick to fuck into you deeper, delicate pain from the stretch of your back igniting your loins.

Ragged breaths escape his throat while he pounds, ruts into you and you lose yourself in both, the sound of his utter pleasure and the way your body feels: on fire, chest tight with your approaching orgasm and raw lust, pure want, that chews up the ends of your nerves, has your limbs tingling.

Tangerine's hand keeps your wrists in that iron grip of his as he rolls his hips into you, dick hitting your cervix, his fingers digging into the flesh of your wrists. You throw your head back, gasping with each of his thrusts and his eyes follow your movement hungrily, groans as your eyes roll back. There's a strong pull in your abdomen and your hole flutters around his cock, his balls slap against your wet skin.

"Fuck fuck fuck", you whine, high pitched moans falling from your hips as he ruts into you, "I'm gonna cum, oh shit --"

Tangerine's eyes fall shut, a throaty moan erupting deep from his chest when your muscles tighten around him. "Yeah, shit love -- that's it, fuckin' cum f'me", he rasps, forehead coming down to a rest on your shoulder.

And you do after a few more of his deep thrusts, whining and legs kicking a little, shakes erupting in your chest as you press against him. Everything goes white as you ride your orgasm out on his dick, moaning and gasping as he does, too, shoots thick and hot ropes of cum into you, painting your walls and pulsing deep inside of you.

Tangerine moans, coarse and raw and his chest heaves, presses his nose into the crook of your neck - but you barely notice it, too far gone, mouth agape and legs shaking.

It takes you a while to come down again, eyelids fluttering open lazily. There's a hand on your cheek, a deep hum near your ear. "Welcome back, love", Tangerine says quietly and then, "Ya did so good for me, eh?" You mewl, stretching your legs a little. Your whole body feels sore, his cum leaking out of you and into the sheets. All you want to so is to get up and clean yourself up, but your legs are so so heavy and you just feel so so tired. Tangerine seems to notice, too.

"You stay here, darlin', imma get you something to clean you up", Tangerine says, voice coarse but soft and he gets up, just as a fresh breeze rolls in through the curtains, blows them up and sends them flying a little. The forecast prognosed heavy rainfall for next week. The air already smells like it a little - damp and mushy.

The breeze cools your sweaty skin, has you sighing with content while you watch Tangerine's naked form as he is walking to your bathroom, muscles in his legs and butt working nicely with each step.

***

It has been over a week and this is his third night. It starts to feel like a fucking stake out.

He feels incredibly silly. Silly for coming here again. Silly for lying to Lemon - again. Silly for ordering two Margaritas. Silly for drinking both.

Tangerine leans against the bar, elbows planted firmly on the sticky wood, smoking a cigarette. The band, same musicians, play a soft and melancholic tango. The air had cooled down a little after yesterday’s rain and maybe, just maybe, that'll be the summer's first soft goodbye before it will go down in a last great huzzah with a hot Indian summer before autumn takes over the city.

He wonders if he will still be in Amsterdam by then, if he and Lemon will watch the leaves fall. There is an offer for a job in Japan and he is considering to take it. He'll have to talk to Lemon about it.

"Anything else for you, Sir?", the bartender asks. And Tangerine nods, orders another Margarita. The bartender takes the empty glasses away and he stares at the wood. Oh, he's just so bloody fucking silly, isn't he?

He takes another drag from his cigarette, shifts his weight from one foot to another and rubs his eyes. She won't come. He knows.

She just won't. Tangerine did have a suspicion who she was, has heard stories about her father and he knew, as soon as he had laid eyes on her, that he was in big, big trouble. He wonders if he had already taken her away, wanting better for his daughter than a no-good ordinary killer. Did not want the danger in his life that came with a man, who potentially could be holding his daughter for ransom at some point or worse, could get her killed.

He gets it, though. He would probably do just the same.

"There you go, Sir", the bartender says and Tangerine just nods, suddenly feels very very exhausted and just barely notices that something, someone is moving next to him.

"Can you still afford to buy me one, too?", a familiar voice says, "Or did you burn it all on car insurance?" He chuckles, feels a sudden burst of energy surging through his veins, straightens back up and slowly turns around to her.

"Wasn't my fault, 'prick was driving like a fuckin' loony."

She chuckles and the noise makes his head swim, a strange fluttering feeling in his stomach. He wants to tear his chest open and claw at it, rip it out. That is how much it fucking scares him. How much she scares him.

"Wasn't sure if you were coming back", she says, casually, calmly like she thought about it so much she's just used to it by now.

"I'm not leavin' that soon, love", he says, signals the bartender that another Margarita is in order.

"Where you going?"

"Tokyo, love. Probably -- most likely."

"Come back in one piece then", her smile is genuine. And he knows, that he just has to now.

[allwaswell16]

A fic rec of One Direction fics in which Louis is sad in the story as requested in this ask. If you enjoy the fics, please leave kudos and comments for the writers. You can find my other fic recs here.

- Louis / Harry -

💧 Amsterdam With You by flamboyo / @riverswater

(M, 182k, slow burn) In Louis’ opinion Amsterdam is so overrated, and now that he moved here he can see all its flaws: it’s always raining (even more than in London), he’s lonely and everyone he meets is unfriendly and distant; but, above all, he misses his family like crazy, confined here.

💧 burn to ash by bethaboo / @bethaboolou

(E, 116k, canon) the fic where Harry spirals out of control, the band breaks up, and then he shows back up, five years later.

💧 ocean tides you home (series) by @justanothershadeofblue

(M, 88k, Eroda) Harry is a lonely and depressed popstar who sailed out of his hometown on Eroda years ago to chase his dreams. He comes back to the island only to find his shining childhood best friend Louis just as cold and dreary as the island they grew up on.

💧 Plant New Seeds in the Melody by 28sunflowers / @vintageumbroshirt

(E, 58k, grief) After losing his husband in a tragic car accident, the last thing Louis needs is to keep running into popstar Harry Styles, who David was quite fond of.

💧 The Second Hand Unwinds by @kingsofeverything

(E, 51k, time travel) Louis Tomlinson is one of the first members of NASA's top secret Chrono Exploration Program. When things go wrong and he's sent further back in time than planned, he has no other option than to show up on his ex-boyfriend's doorstep.

💧 make this feel like home by @soldouthaz

(E, 43k, neighbors) The house on West 28th Street in London is twice the size of Louis', more expensive than the price of all of his house and car payments combined, and is falling apart at the seams.

💧 Compass to my Soul by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(T, 31k, omegaverse) Louis Tomlinson, omega, is 1/5 of world famous boy band One Direction. He spends his time hoping his bandmates don’t notice him.

💧 like a timebomb ticking by @infinitelymint

(M, 31k, canon) Louis loses everything. Harry's still there.

💧 Sunflower: Vol. 1 by @ourownstrings

(M, 26k, florist Harry) “Real farmers love mornings.” Louis hated that sentiment. But then he wasn’t a real farmer. He just got stuck in the family business and drags himself to the farmers market where he put on his best sunny sales pitch. 

💧 what's left of my halo's black by LiveLaughLoveLarry / @loveislarryislove

(E, 22k, friends to lovers) A year after a devastating breakup, Louis is still trying to put himself back together - but getting over a breakup is hard when you work as a wedding planner. 

💧 You Were Mine by @brightlyharry

(E, 20k, established relationship) Harry and Louis hardly speak to each other unless they're fighting. Harry has ran out of ways to try to repair their broken marriage and Louis can't be bothered to even try. 

💧 Blinded by the Colors by @fallinglikethis

(M, 20k, canon divergent)  an It's A Wonderful Life Au where Louis Tomlinson realizes just how important he really is.

💧 You're A Universe by Jiksa / @jiksax

(E, 15k, established relationship) Louis’s a stay-at-home dad in London and Harry’s a business expat in Qatar. Louis doesn’t know how much longer their marriage can survive the distance.

💧 The Orchards of Jessop by @jaerie

(E, 15k, quarantine) At age 40, there isn’t much excitement in widower Louis Tomlinson’s life, but wasn’t that the reason he’d moved to Jessop Island in the first place? Back then he hadn’t thought retiring before he reached 30 and moving to the countryside would mean that he’d be doing it alone.

💧 Every time that you get undressed (I hear symphonies in my head) by theboyfriendstagram

(E, 12k, uni) an AU in which Harry is the typical frat boy who doesn't believe in love but falls for the insecure mess that is Louis.

💧 Perfect Sky by @haloeverlasting

(M, 11k, vacation) Louis meets Marcel at the lowest point of his life. A few poorly timed jokes, and a cigarette (or twelve) later, Louis starts to think love’s not a sham after all.

💧 I Want To Come Home To You by cherrylarry / @beelou

(G, 1k, canon) the one where Louis is sad and lonely in Atlanta

- Rare Pairs -

💧 Not Your Fault But Mine by sunsetmog / @magicalrocketships

(E, 127k, Louis/Nick Grimshaw) It's the beginning of Louis' second year at uni, and he's sharing a house with his four best friends in the world. This is going to be the best fucking year ever, Louis can just tell. The best fucking year ever.

💧 Always Keep You Next To Me by @lululawrence

(NR, 8k, Louis/Greg James) When Louis' twin dies, Louis decides to take the birthday road trip they were meant to take together with Will's best friend Greg instead.

[writeforthepeople]

Heyy! I've been thinking about Damien and the reader being in a YouTube short film together playing as a married couple and as filming goes on they find themselves actually falling for each other 😩😩 specifically a scene where they're lying in bed together and have to face each other all closely and they're staring into each other's eyes all soft UGHH anyways! I would love if you could write a lil fic like that 🥹🫶 even if you don't end up writing it ty for reading this req!

Absolutely LOVE this idea. The UGHH says it alllllll. Summary: You are cast in a short film your friend Amanda is working on and you are playing Damien's love interest! While you always strive to be as professional as possible, the acting feels a bit too real...and maybe it is?

Warning: No smut, slow burn. Word Count: 4k ... I might have gotten carried away with this one.

You woke up to an early alarm, you had to wake up earlier than usual to start getting ready for your first day on a new set. Your friend Amanda was making her first short film and decided to cast you, of course, you were excited to work on the project because you love her, but you would have been willing to do any part of the project to help. You getting cast as the love interest to the main character certainly gave you a confidence boost though. Nerve racking? Sure! but exciting none the less.

You continued going over the script for what must have been the 10th time as you finished getting ready this morning. It was a romantic comedy about the main character, Gideon Hale who is able to see ghosts. He makes a living running a small bed and breakfast, but on the side he is a bit of an 'Afterlife Coach' (the name of the film) where he coaches ghosts on getting through the afterlife. He meets an old friend (you) who is back in town after many years for a mutual friends wedding. The story focuses on his journey helping the ghosts around him and getting to know you and falling in love. You were a little nervous for a few of the more romantic scenes, but it is nothing you haven't done before. You've been in many plays and projects where you have had to kiss or be romantic with a partner. This one felt different though, you had met Damien a few times through Amanda and somehow knowing him made it feel a bit awkward. Not to mention the fact that you thought he was incredibly attractive, but that would only help the acting be easier, right? It didn't take long to get to the filming location, Smosh had offered to let Amanda use some of their space for filming. When you walked in you were immediately greeted by Erin, the set coordinator. We chatted for a few moments before she brought me to the set Amanda was working on. You were blown away with all the effort that had gone into really making the set look like a bed and breakfast. There was a lobby, a kitchen, and a bedroom plotted out for various scenes. "Y/N!! You're here!" you heard Amanda's familiar voice yell out as she made her way over to you. She was beaming, and it made you smile. "I'm here and ready to work!" you said, giving her a quick hug. "I hope you are here and ready to fall in love because we are about to make magic" She laughed, but you knew there would be more jokes to come on that front. You looked around and didn't see Damien yet but you noticed several other familiar faces from Amanda's parties. It looked like Angela was running the show, directing and moving people about. You think to your self, this must be the most serious you've ever seen her.

"Damien is wrapping in hair and make-up, he has a few scenes to shoot before you enter so once he is done you're next in the chair!" Amanda talked as she led you to the small room right off the stage. "Hey Trina, this is Y/N, she's up after my little star here" he pointed to Damien, waving her finger around in a funny gesture. She walked off without saying anything else. "Hi Y/N, you can take a seat we are almost done here" Trina said and Damien smiled "How are you feeling?" he asked you politely "I'm good, a bit nervous but I am excited" you admitted, trying to hold back your surprise. His hair was different. Last you had seen him his hair was getting long, but was distinctly dyed a silvery white, but the man sitting in the chair has more of a slick backed 90's look and was dyed completely black. "How about you?" you asked, not mentioning the hair. "I'm good" he said not moving his head as Trina added hair spray and tapped him on the shoulder "You are set" she she smiled and turned back to her kit. You watched as Damien examined his look and quickly turned to you "I've never had black hair, how does it look" it was as if he was scanning your features for an answer. You shook your head "it suits you. I like it a lot" you admitted, your cheeks a bit red. "Did you dye it just for the role?" you follow up with and he smiled and nodded "It felt very Gideon" he said with a chuckle "plus Amanda had a vision and who was I to say no to that?" he added. "Well hopefully I don't have to dye mine, but anything for Amanda right?" you smiled.

"Luckily your hair just needs styled" Trina chimes in. "You ready to hop in the chair?" she asked and you nodded, standing up. "Well I will see you out there" Damien said, leaving the room with a wave. "What a nice boy" Trina said after he left and you nodded "he's really sweet" you agreed. "So, you are the love interest huh?" she turned you to the mirror and talked through a bit of Amanda's vision and you got started. You didn't need anything to crazy, she was going to style your hair and put on some make up and take you over to wardrobe. After you were ready, you headed to the set and took a seat in the corner to watch the scene they were filming. Damien was speaking to a ghost played by Tommy, helping them understand that he has options in the afterlife. Amanda came over after they cut and asked if you were ready. You oddly weren't, your nerves were high but you shook out your hands and planned to fake it til you make it. She led you to the scene in the lobby of the bed and breakfast Damien's character, Gideon, owned. You stepped to your marker and looked to Damien, who was reading the script once before the scene and you smiled to yourself, thinking about how cute his thinking face was. You shook out your hands again, you needed to shake any thoughts like those away.

"Ok" Amanda starts "Damien, Gideon is prepping for two arrivals he has today, both are high school acquaintances in town for your friend Aprils wedding. You are feeling uncomfortable, knowing you will have to make a lot of small talk and feel a need to be more entertaining than with any standard guests" she said, nodding but speaking again before he can talk at all. "Y/N, Gwen is nervous about being back in town. Not only is she having feelings about her close friend getting married and starting 'the rest of her life' " the ending she added finger quotes "but Gwen is also feeling inadequate, not being as advanced in her career as she thought she'd be by now, knowing she'll have tons of people asking about it all weekend." I nod to her "I don't want to give too many notes upfront, lets just vibe" she said and you chuckled. That is so like her.

"Action" she said before taking a seat. You begin walking up to Damien, a smile appearing on his face, it looked so genuine. "Hi, I'm uh checking in under Henry, Gwen Henry" as you reached the counter. "I know exactly who you are" he responded. "I'm Gideon, we had 11th grade history together" he spoke, checking you in. "Of course! Gideon, wow, you look great man. I didn't know you worked here" you could feel your nerves leaving as the conversation, while in character, felt so comfortable. "Yeah, I have been running the place for a few years now. Want me to help you with you bags? I can show you to your room" The two of you walk off scene together before it cuts. You ran the scene a few more times, taking notes as you went. Your characters filmed a bit more together, discussing the upcoming wedding. "Do you need a ride to the wedding? Damien asked you, as you sat at the kitchen table the next morning. "I am going alone so I would be happy to drive you" he added. The first time is character is meant to outright flirt with you. "Unless you have a plus one" his character sits across from you and you look up. "I do not" you smirk, as Amanda had instructed "I would love a ride" you went back to looking at your phone but the smile stayed. "Alright folks, that's a wrap!" Amanda yelled and people began bustling around again. She jumped on set and put her arm around around you "you guys did great today" she pulled you in closer "thank you for doing this" she added and you grinned "literally anything for you, and I didn't even have to dye my hair" you joked "Isn't he the best for that?" Amanda asked "It seems like it" you said before her added in "I really am" with a joking shrug. "

The next morning was filming day two of three, and you had a later call time, the morning being a lot of Damien filming with his ghosty friends. By the time you got to set, things were in full swing, but you had a lot to do to get ready. Your scenes were around attending the wedding of your characters friends. Which meant your make up and hair were done up and you were going to be in a nicer dress. Trina got you in the chair quickly, and she did great work. You needed to take some notes because you loved the way she did your make up. Next was finding the right dress. Amanda had the team bring in a few options to find what would be best. When you tried on the first one, you were instantly relieved that there were more options because this was not it. The dress was too tight in the worst ways. The second dress however fit you like a glove.

You were nervous enough about what you had to film today, you didn't want to also have to worry about how you looked. When you stepped back out to the main set area you were greeted by Amanda's grin "giiiiiiirl" she shook her head "If I wasn't married, I'd be the one falling in love with you today" she made you laugh, it was nice to feel all dolled up even though it was only for a few scenes. The bigger issue was the scene after that. Where you and Damien's character end up in bed together at the inn.

No big deal, just awkwardly laying in bed together, staring into each others eyes, with cameras, cast, and crew all staring at you. Totally fine. "Are you ready?" She asked, her tone more serious "nervous at all?" she asked. "Me?" you responded "never" you faked a laugh and she nodded, but you know she saw right through that.

You filmed a few scenes. It felt like you had to film the scene of you walking out in your dress, Damien seeing you for the first time, over and over. Notes given everytime about changing the reaction, Amanda wasn't sure if she wanted an immediate connection, or if it would be one sided from the start so you got several take options to use. Then a few scenes at the wedding, where your characters ended up dancing together, both drinking and feeling the weight of all your old acquaintances feigning interest in your lives. Gideon calls you both an uber back to the inn, far to drunk to drive. The scene cuts to Gideon helping Gwen to her room. The both of you stumbling and laughing, making jokes about the music and the speeches , but when you reach the room the mood shifts. That shift was hard to capture, filming over and over a small but crucial scene.

"Oh, Gideon..could you help with my dress?" your character says, Damien's face heating up at each take. If you didn't know better you'd think part of it wasn't acting. As his character helps, he sits down on the bed, listening to Gwen continue a story as she changed in her bathroom, door open but just out of view. That is when she climbs into the bed with him, both talking and becoming more comfortable. Only taking two takes to get that just right, natural as could be. It was the next scene, the final scene that caused issue.

Gideon and Gwen lay back on the bed, laughing about the way an old school mate said the word "wildest" in his speech, he'd spent the summer in London and now thinks he has an accent. As your laughing slows, you look at each other. Your characters seeing each other in a new way, but you and Damien could not stop giggling. Ruining the scene each take.

"You guys are KILLING me" Amanda says, giggling herself. "Ok, here is the deal. This scene is everything.. it has to be right. We have a few more scenes to get tomorrow so lets try this again then ok?" she sighs. "In the meantime, I need you two to find a way to get...better?" she said with a shrug "I need you two to look at each other like everything shifted, like your friendship is ending and a relationship is beginning. I don't care if you lay in this bed all night figuring it out...but please figure it out" she walked off and you and Damien looked at eachother as the crew starts to wrap set. "Yikes" he said, breaking the silence. "I'm so sorry" you start in but he cuts you off "hey it is both of us, it is an awkward scene" he lets out a bit of air "Maybe we should actually practice" he suggests and you raise an eyebrow

"Why Damien Haas, are you trying to get me in bed?" you ask with a smirk "Maybe" he smirked back and you and while you started it, it made your cheeks heat up. "We can order in at my place and get more comfortable?" he said, losing the edge to his voice and becoming more sincere.

"That does sound like a good idea" you admit. "I guess we haven't really hung out before, so it would be nice to just shake off the nerves and be more comfortable" you said honestly. "Anything I can pick up on the way to your place?" You ask but he shook his head "no, let me shoot you over my address and we can meet there" you hand him your phone and say goodbye to a few people before taking off and driving to his house. The nerds really hit when you walked up to Damien's door. Were you really here to...lay in bed with a cute boy? This can not be real life.

You knock on the door and hear him shuffle a bit before answering. "Hey!" he said, you could tell he was out of breath. "Sorry was just uh picking up a little" he said, gesturing for you to come in. His place looked so nice. You smiled, turning to face him "This place is very you, I like you" you said and he smiled in return "I tried to make it feel like home" he started walking to the kitchen and you followed behind him. "I thought Italian food would be a good option, so I got a few things from my favorite spot".

"I'm not picky" you smiled and watched him as he made you a plate, setting it at the table. "What can I get you to drink? I have sodas, water, tea" he looked in a cabinet next to him "Oh! I don't drink much but I have a bottle of wine we could crack open" he said, pulling out a bottle. "You know, a glass of wine sounds perfect right now" you chuckled. "You are not wrong, take the edge off" he nodded. "What, you don't often invite women over to lay in your bed and stare at you?" you joked at him

"Oh no, this s a weekly occurrence for me" he joked back. He was always quick with a joke, and you liked playing off of him. You followed him to the table, sitting down "Well now I don't feel special at all" you hold back a laugh.

You both talk, getting to know each other over dinner. You found out you had a lot in common, especially around gaming. You learned he even voiced a character or two that you liked and that was a shocking revelation. "Ok" he says, after cleaning up our plates. "I think we dive right into this. Find a way to be more comfortable with ease" he weighs in "we could like...cuddle on the couch?" he shakes his head "this is so awkward" he covers his face with his hand. You start in, hoping to ease his tension "No no, you're right." you give him a small smile "this IS awkward, don't feel bad" you both are quite for a moment "Cuddle on the couch and watch an episode of TV or something? Let us get get over the awkwardness. Pretend this is a casual date night or something" he nods "we are both actors, we can do that" he says with confidence.

You were trying to contain your feelings as he sat next to you on the sofa, turning on netflix and finding a baking show to watch. That was sweet of him since you said that was your go to type of show. "Is it ok if I put my arm around you?" he asks, not taking his eyes off the screen. "That would be ok" you glance at him. When he placed his arm around your shoulders you instinctively leaned him closer. Your heart picked up as his hand nervously laid against you. You held in your breathing slightly, afraid to move too much, wanting to just take in the moment you are in. You watched the show for several minutes like this, quite but comfortable. "I wish I could bake like this" you said, breaking the silence. "Me too" he said adjusting his arm slightly and gently rubbing his thumb against your arm. You got goosebumps very lightly, hoping he hadn't noticed. You adjust slightly and lay your head against his shoulder, allowing for a slight escalation.

In turn, Damien pulled you in a little closer and for a moment you forgot why you were here. "This is...comfortable" he said eventually and you nodded "Yeah, it is" he could not see your smile, but it was there. "Not nearly as awkward as I thought" you added and he chuckled "Oh you thought cuddling with me would be awkward? Should I be offended?" he said playfully. "or should I be happy you imagined cuddling with me at all?" he kept a playful tone but the comment made your cheeks warm. "I guess there are worse people I could have as a romantic counterpart" you joke back. "I'll take that as a compliment" he said, his thumb moving up and down your arm at a slower pace, your body acutely aware.

"We've proven we can cuddle." you say, not sure how to really say that you want to try laying down now. you feel his head nod and you move to sitting back up. "Do you want to...move to my room?" he said now looking at you. "I think so" you said, realizing how close you two still sat. "Do you..maybe want to talk expectations?" he said a bit quieter than his normal voice. "Cuddling on the couch is one thing I uh-" he stammered a bit "I want to make sure you are comfortable and that I don't overstep here" you bit your lip slightly and his eyes moved to stare but quickly came back to your eyes "Yeah" you try to say confidently "Um, the scene does call for a few things, maybe we could practice all of that.." he trail off, knowing that means a kiss.

"Ok" his smile clear "Lets just practice the scene and stop if we feel too weird. Maybe that is easiest? Lets just be Gideon and Gwen?" he suggests and you felt your shoulders actually relax a bit. "I like that Idea" you add in, starting to stand up. "well, are you going to walk me to my room?" you said in a more confident voice that you use for Gwen. Damien stood up, grabbing your hand and leading you to his room. Your heart pounding in your chest. You couldn't believe the way you were able to continue this exercise without squealing. You reached Damien's room and looked around. He had dark bedding, and low lighting. It was much like you expected it to be but very clean and still inviting in a way.

He sat on his bed, patting next to him. "So, we both are sitting here" he said as you made your way over, sitting next to him. "Laughing about the world wildly" you add and he leaned back, you followed. This time, you turned to look at him and he looked at you. This time, there was no giggling, you both stared for a moment or two before you cracked a smile. "Look at us" he said sitting back up, that had to be 5-6 seconds right? he joked. You sat back up too "Better than before right? This is more comfortable already" you tried to shake out your hands and he watched in amusement. "Am I making you nervous" he said, a hint of joking but more a sense of intimacy in his question. He actually worried that something he was doing was uncomfortable and you shook your head no at first but stopped. "I think It was more nerve racking to do all of this with you in front of everyone, judging our movements, giving us notes, you know?" he nodded, you could tell that just saying it gave him some relief. "I was thinking the same thing" he admitted "I don't want to come off as a weirdo but it felt wrong to potentially kiss you for the first time in front of all those people and immediately receive notes on it." he chuckled slightly. "not really how I imagined it" you said, not thinking about the implications of that statement. "So you imagined it huh? He said leaning into the playfulness. You wanted to backtrack, to say something about it being in the script.

Instead you played off his attitude "what if I have?" you bit your bottom lip and you saw the shift in his face, the corner of his mouth turning upwards and he cocked his head to the side. "Well now you have to share with the class. What exactly did you imagine it being like?" the way his spoke made you take a sharp breath. You leaned in closer to him "to start, there were a lot less people" you say in a low voice. Damien matched your energy leaning in, you two sitting on the bed closely "there are less people here now" he watched your eyes, waiting for any kind of invitation "and yet you still haven't kissed me" you felt his hand on your face before the words left your mouth. "I've also thought about what it would be like to kiss you" his voice low as he inched closer. You closed your eyes, waiting for his lips to meet yours. It was soft at first, testing the waters. You pushed harder against his mouth and you felt him envelop you. His hand now in your hair and his body beginning to press against yours. You fall back on the bed and follows, hovering above you as he gently pulls back.

You look up and him and smile "I think we will be just fine tomorrow" he says, before kissing you again.

[fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic]

Good Omens Fic Rec: Big Name Feelings

FANDOM AU! • Crowley is a BNF fic writer, and Aziraphale is a lurking artist who might be just a little parasocially in love with him. How they ever became friends is beyond him, but here they are: One month out from Prophet Con, and Crowley is asking him to be his boyfriend. Just for the weekend, of course.

Length: 103,997 words

AO3 Rating: Explicit / Spice Level 🔥🔥🔥

Best for: Safe in Public, Human AU, Slow Burn, Fake Relationship, Pick-me-up

Triggers: None

Read it here, fic by ghostrat

*Minor Spoilers* It's here! The finale of one of the most entertaining and immersive fanworks that I have ever experienced is finally upon us! I feel like most of you who follow me here are aware of this fanfic or have read it. However, for those who haven't or might come across this post later: I'm begging you to read this one. Buckle up; it's a long post today.

So, if you're not aware, this fanfic involves writer Crowley and fan artist Aziraphale. Crowley, being ace, seeks a boyfriend to shield him from unwanted attention during an upcoming convention. Aziraphale, smitten, agrees to be the fake boyfriend. This Arrangement is sure to work out exactly as planned!

Every one of the author's stories feels cinematic to me. The worlds are always so real and immersive, but this one, in particular, will have you feeling like you're actually watching the story unfold in real life. Some of that is achieved through embedded media like chats, artwork, and Tumblr posts, bringing a sense of reality to these conversations. The rest comes from really rich prose. You'll flow through it very easily, yet deeply.

The use of fandom and a convention as the backdrop for this fic was, to be honest, genius. I've seen attempts before, but none captured the spirit quite like this one. The fandom lore for The Nice and Accurate Prophecy (the in-universe fandom they're in) was rich enough for us to fully grasp the shape and feel of why they loved it so much, yet it never impedes the ongoing story. This story perfectly captured what it's like to be a fan: how friendships develop, how ideas and fan theories are freely discussed, the passion for a shared topic. The con, in particular, will fill anyone who has ever attended a fan convention with a strong dose of nostalgia and love. Oh, and having them in their 50s? Thank you! There is no age limit to fandom!

Having Aziraphale as the artist and Crowley the writer was not the most obvious choice, but it's one that worked amazingly well for the story! Crowley struggles with words and expressing his feelings in real life. However, in stories, he can build his own world and express whatever emotions are on his mind. Aziraphale, who does not wish to draw attention to himself in real life, expresses himself through his bold and beautiful artwork. His specialization in traditional, physical artwork is so fitting for him, though he's not unwilling to try new tech. There is a scene where they stumble upon some street art that Aziraphale had done. I teared up at that scene, and it's not even angsty! Just the casualness of it, how it's not Aziraphale but Crowley who boldly leads them to it, how Aziraphale doesn't sing his own praises. He's not self-deprecating, but he doesn't celebrate his work. He's still learning that he has value that's worth celebrating. At least now he has Crowley to teach him to be proud of himself.

They are both beautifully written characters. It's a real testament to the skill of the author to bring these characters into such a different reality and have them be unmistakably Aziraphale and Crowley. Sure, they're updated for the time and setting, but their souls are still the angel and demon we know and love. This setting is an amazing way to explore the different sides of their personalities. Crowley's asexuality, in particular, was one of the best depictions I've ever read. It brought a new level of understanding to me, and I'm sure many of you will feel a kinship with him. Really pay attention to what's being said here, there's some really deep and insightful passages that are worth analyzing. Like this moment, which may have been a subconscious thought, but again speaks to how deeply the author understands the characters.

This was such an amazing experience as a fan. I've never had a fic feel like this much of an event before. Every chapter drop was so exciting; I never knew what exactly to expect. And now, with the end being over 100k words?? Where did that word count come from! That's insane! I'm sad to leave this iteration, but I'm so excited for what's to come next. So please, if you haven't read this, give it a try. It's such a impressive work, so much time and effort was put into this and you can tell. It's not only a love letter to Good Omens, but one to fandom and fanspaces as well. Thank you, thank you, thank you for this journey

There are some explicit scenes towards the end, but they are all marked and skippable, so I'd say you're perfectly fine reading this in public.

Edit from after actually seeing the finale: no I’m not tearing up it’s just really dusty in this room. I’m being so normal rn 🥹🥹🥹

Read it here, fic by ghostrat

[buckets-and-trees]

Chosen, Part 2: Lunch

Characters/Pairings: eventual Bucky x curvy Millennial Female!Reader, Natasha Romanoff, Steve Rogers Word Count: 3.2k Summary: Your day transitions from the morning tour of the interior of the Winged Heritage Foundation's estate to the grounds, followed by lunch with Natasha and Steve. You get to openly ask more questions, but the experience revealing and concealing information in turns.

SERIES Content Warnings: SOFT!DARK STORY, cult themes, explicit smut, dubious consent and enthusiastic consent, veiled truths, gaslighting

CHAPTER Content Warnings: none

Notes: No real notes here... we're still slow-burning the plot in this part.

Previous: Arrival

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You emerge from the elevator back into the ornate splendor of the mansion's main floor, and you find yourself blinking at the abrupt transition. The juxtaposition between the futuristic underground facilities and the classical elegance above ground is jarring, to say the least.

Natasha leads you down another corridor, this one adorned with intricate tapestries depicting mythological scenes. You catch glimpses of winged creatures, celestial bodies, and figures that seem to dance between worlds.

"These tapestries are some of our most prized possessions," Natasha explains, noticing your interest. "They're said to contain hidden messages and prophecies, though their true meaning has been lost to time."

You nod, captivated by the intricate designs.

As you follow Natasha down the corridor, your eyes are drawn to one tapestry in particular. It depicts a winged figure surrounded by swirling cosmic patterns, with what appears to be a full moon prominently featured. The figure’s face is obscured, but the shrouded beauty is alluring. Studying it sends a shiver down your spine, though you can't quite put your finger on why.

"That one always catches people's attention," Natasha says, noticing your gaze. "It's said to represent our founder, though of course, that's just speculation."

You're about to ask for more details when Natasha smoothly changes the subject, guiding you towards a set of French doors that open onto a stunning terrace.

Outside, the warm sunlight caresses your skin, and a gentle breeze carries the sweet scent of blooming flowers. The gardens below are a masterpiece of landscape design, with winding paths, vibrant flowerbeds, and perfectly trimmed hedges creating intricate patterns.

"This is where we hold our outdoor events," Natasha explains, gesturing to the expansive space. "It's particularly beautiful under the moonlight."

You can't help but notice how she emphasizes the word 'moonlight', her green eyes flashing with something you can't quite decipher. Before you can dwell on it, she's moving on, leading you down a set of stone steps into the garden itself, the sweet fragrance of roses and jasmine enveloping you. The path winds through the manicured hedges and flowerbeds, and Natasha guides you past a bubbling fountain adorned with intricate carvings of mythical creatures.

"Our gardens are more than just aesthetically pleasing," Natasha explains as you walk. "Many of the plants here have been cultivated for their unique properties. Some are quite rare, others are thought to be extinct in the wild."

You pause beside a bed of flowers you've never seen before - their petals are an iridescent blue that seem to shimmer and change hue as you move.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" Natasha says, noticing your fascination. "These are known as Luna's Tears. They only bloom during the time of the full moon."

You lean in closer, marveling at the otherworldly beauty of the Luna's Tears. Their iridescent petals seem to pulse with an inner light, drawing you in. For a moment, you feel almost dizzy, as if the flowers are pulling you into their shimmering depths.

Natasha's hand on your shoulder breaks the spell. "Careful," she says softly. "They can be a bit overwhelming for some people."

You straighten up, blinking rapidly to clear your head. "They're amazing," you murmur. "I've never seen anything like them."

"They're just one of many unique specimens we cultivate here," Natasha says, guiding you away from the flower bed. "Our botanical research is quite extensive."

You can't help but notice a pattern emerging. The moon seems to be a recurring motif - in the tapestries and artwork, in Natasha's comments, and now these flowers. You wonder if there's some significance to it that you're missing.

"The full moon must be a special time here," you remark casually, hoping to probe for more information.

Natasha's eyes gleam with something that might be approval. "It is," she says. "The lunar cycle plays a significant role in many of our endeavors."

She doesn't elaborate further, instead guiding you deeper into the gardens. You pass by herb gardens filled with plants you recognize and many you don't, each section meticulously labeled and cared for.

As you round a corner, you come face to face with the entrance to a massive hedge maze. Its guarded by the statues of two wolves, their stone eyes seeming to follow you as you approach.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Natasha says, a hint of pride in her voice. "The maze is one of our most beloved features. It's said that those who reach the center will find enlightenment."

“And is the saying true?”

She arches an eyebrow at you. “Maybe you’ll have the chance to find out.”

It’s just the kind of coy answer you’ve come to expect now.

You peer into the maze, trying to gauge its size. The hedges tower over you, their dense foliage creating an impenetrable green wall. "How big is it?" you ask, unable to hide your curiosity.

Natasha's lips curl into a mysterious smile. "Bigger than it looks from the outside. Some say it changes, growing and shifting when no one's watching. But that's just a story, of course."

Standing there, contemplating the maze, a strange sensation washes over you. For a brief moment, you could swear you hear faint whispers coming from within the leafy walls, beckoning you to enter. You shake your head, attributing it to your imagination running wild after all the wonders you've seen today.

Natasha gently touches your elbow, drawing your attention away from the maze. "Perhaps we'll have time for you to explore it later," she says with a knowing smile. "For now, we should head back. It's nearly time for lunch."

As you follow her back towards the mansion, you can't shake the feeling that someone is watching you, but looking around, you don’t see anyone.

After the trek back to the mansion, the two of you ascend the steps back to the terrace, where you're greeted by yet another impressive sight that almost takes your breath away.

An elegant table has been set for three. Crystal glasses catch the light, and there’s a centerpiece of stunning white hydrangeas. Silver cutlery is arranged with military precision, flanking fine china plates adorned with delicate, hand-painted floral designs.

Steve Rogers stands beside the table, his imposing figure softened by the warm smile that lights up his face as you approach.

"Welcome back," he says, his voice warm and rich. "Did you enjoy our grounds?”

"They’re absolutely stunning," you confess easily, still a bit awestruck by everything you've seen. "I've never experienced anything quite like it."

Steve's smile broadens. "We're quite proud of our little kingdom here. Please, have a seat." He pulls out a chair for you, ever the gentleman.

As you settle into your spot, a waiter seemingly materializes out of thin air, pouring water into your crystal glass with precision. The cool liquid is a welcome relief after your walk through the gardens. In the moment, it tastes better than any glass of water you feel like you’ve had in your life, but you know that’s unrealistic, only an exaggeration of your mind and your thirst.

Natasha takes her seat across from you, while Steve sits at the head of the table. There's a moment of comfortable silence as you all arrange your napkins and take in the breathtaking view of the gardens stretching out before you.

"So," Steve begins, his blue eyes twinkling with interest, "what do you think of the Foundation so far? I hope Natasha hasn't overwhelmed you with too much information."

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, acutely aware of their attention on you. "It's been enthralling," you say, trying to find the right words. You have been shown so much, and yet you also feel as if you still don’t know why the Winged Heritage Foundation exists or what it does. "The facilities are unlike anything I've ever seen. The blend of historical preservation and cutting-edge technology is fascinating. I feel like I've only scratched the surface of what goes on here."

Steve nods approvingly. "That's exactly what we strive for here. A perfect balance between honoring the past and pushing the boundaries of the future."

As he speaks, the waiter returns, this time bearing a tray of appetizers. The dishes are works of art in themselves - delicate arrangements of colorful vegetables, artisanal cheeses, and what appears to be some kind of smoked meat.

"Please, enjoy," Natasha says, gesturing to the food. "Our chef takes great pride in using ingredients from our own gardens."

You sample the appetizers, savoring the explosion of flavors on your tongue. The vegetables are impossibly fresh, the cheese rich and complex, and the smoked meat has a depth of flavor you've never experienced before. As you eat, Steve and Natasha engage you in light conversation, asking about more about your background and interests. But as you get to the end of the appetizer course, Steve brings it back around to business.

"So, what drew you to apply to the Winged Heritage Foundation initially?" Steve asks, his tone casual but his gaze intent.

You take a sip of water, considering your answer. "To be honest, I didn’t know much before I applied - the little I knew was the Foundation's emerging reputation for excellence and I was looking for a next step with an organization that I could take pride in being a part of. The more I learn, the more fascinated I become by the scope and depth of your work here."

Natasha nods approvingly. "What aspects have you found most intriguing so far?"

You hesitate for a moment, then decide to voice the questions that have been eating away at you.

"Well," you begin, choosing your words carefully, "I've been amazed by everything I've seen today. But I have to admit, I'm still a bit unclear on the Foundation's core mission. There seems to be such a wide range of activities happening here. What exactly is the mission of the Winged Heritage Foundation?"

Steve and Natasha exchange a look, a silent communication passing between them. Steve leans forward slightly, his expression serious but not unkind.

"That's an excellent question," he says. "And I appreciate your honesty. The truth is, the full scope of our work is… complex. We operate on many levels, some of which aren't immediately apparent."

Natasha picks up where he left off. "Think of us as guardians," she says, her green eyes intense. "We preserve history, yes, but we believe that to truly understand and preserve our heritage, we need to approach it from many angles."

Steve picks up the thread smoothly. "Our founder had a vision of an organization that could bridge the gap between the past and the future. We study history not just to preserve it, but to learn from it and apply those lessons to the problems at hand.”

You nod slowly, taking in their words. "So, the research I saw downstairs, the artifacts, the gardens - they're all part of this larger mission?"

"Exactly," Steve says with an approving smile. "We use cutting-edge tools to analyze artifacts and historical data in ways that weren't possible before. But it goes beyond that. Some of our research involves… let's say, rediscovering lost knowledge. Everything here serves a purpose."

As he speaks, the waiter returns with the main course - a beautifully presented plate of what appears to be roasted game hen with seasonal vegetables. The aroma is mouthwatering.

Natasha forward in, her voice lowering slightly. "Throughout history, there have been technologies, practices, and knowledge that have been lost or hidden. We seek to uncover these secrets and understand how they might benefit us today.”

You feel a thrill of excitement at her words. The idea of uncovering lost knowledge is intriguing, but you can't shake the feeling they’re withholding something.

"That sounds fascinating," you say carefully. "But I get the sense that there's more to it than that. The level of secrecy I've observed today seems to go beyond just historical research."

Steve and Natasha exchange another look, this one lasting a beat longer. You notice Steve's jaw tighten slightly before he responds.

"You're very perceptive," he says, his voice measured. "And you're right, there is more. But understand, the nature of our work requires discretion. Not everyone is ready for the truths we uncover."

"What we do here goes beyond conventional understanding,” Natasha adds. “The knowledge we seek, the artifacts we protect - they have the potential to reshape the world as we know it. That kind of power needs to be guarded carefully."

You feel a shiver run down your spine at her words. The implications of what Natasha is saying are both thrilling and slightly terrifying. You're about to ask for more details when Steve clears his throat.

"Perhaps we've said too much," he says, his tone gentle but firm. "Let's enjoy our meal, shall we? There will be time for more in-depth discussions later, if you're the right fit for us."

You nod, understanding the subtle warning to back off for now. As you turn your attention to the exquisite meal before you, you can't help but feel a mix of excitement and apprehension. What kind of organization have you stumbled into? And more importantly, what role do they envision for you in all of this?

The conversation shifts to lighter topics as you eat. Steve regales you with amusing anecdotes about life at the estate, while Natasha occasionally chimes in with a wry comment or clarification. You find yourself relaxing despite the lingering questions in your mind, drawn in by Steve's charisma and Natasha's subtle charm.

As the waiter clears away the main course dishes, Natasha leans back in her chair, fixing you with an appraising look. "You've handled yourself well today," she says. "Many candidates find the uniqueness of our organization overwhelming."

The waiter appears once again, this time bearing a tray of desserts that look too beautiful to eat. Delicate pastries, fresh berries, and what appears to be some sort of shimmering, iridescent pudding are arranged artfully on the plate. The interruption gives you room to consider Natasha’s observation without needing to immediately respond.

You take a moment to savor a bite of the exquisite dessert. The flavors dance on your tongue - sweet, tart, and something else you can't quite place. It's delicious, and there's an underlying complexity that leaves you wanting more.

"Thank you," you start, meeting Natasha's gaze. "I have to admit, it's been a lot to take in. But I find myself more intrigued than overwhelmed, even though there's clearly so much more to learn about the Foundation."

Steve nods approvingly. "That's a good sign. We need people who can adapt quickly and maintain their composure in the face of the unexpected."

As he speaks, you notice a subtle shift in the atmosphere. The air seems to thicken slightly, and you feel a strange tingling at the base of your skull. It feels like someone is studying you again, but with the feeling coming from behind, you don’t dare to turn and look in front of Steve and Natasha.

“After lunch, you have a series of meetings with a variety of members from our organization,” Natalie shifts the focus of the conversation. “And while I don’t want to encroach on our last bit of relaxed time here, I do want to ask if you’ve had a chance to thoroughly review the elements of our proposed compensation package.”

“Oh, yes, I-”

Steve cuts in. “She’s asking because we would like you to have a pretty clear idea of whether or not you see yourself accepting a position with the Foundation after your afternoon meetings.”

You open your mouth, but close it again, unsure of how to respond.

“We’re aware that it’s an unconventional ask, but we have a unique timeline we are hoping to facilitate today. If you accept a position with us, we are hoping to extend your stay with us through this evening. There’s an event tonight where you would see so much of the Foundation’s true purpose up close and personal.”

You take a deep breath, considering your response carefully. The compensation package had been incredibly generous - almost too good to be true. And while you still have many questions about the exact nature of the Foundation's work, you can't deny the allure of being part of something so mysterious and potentially world-changing.

"I appreciate your directness," you say, meeting both Steve and Natasha's gazes. "The compensation package is certainly attractive. And everything I've seen today has been fascinating. I'm very much interested in learning more and potentially accepting a position, but..."

You hesitate for a moment, then decide to be honest. "I still feel like there's so much I don't know about what I'd actually be doing here. It's hard to commit without a clearer understanding of the role I would play."

Steve nods, a look of understanding crossing his face. "That's fair. And I admire your caution. It speaks well of your judgment. But take the afternoon, really utilize the meetings, and we’ll see where you land after that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to be on my way to my next meeting.” Steve stands, offering a warm smile. "It's been a pleasure dining with you. I look forward to hearing how the rest of your day unfolds."

As he leaves, you're left alone with Natasha. The air seems to crackle with unspoken tension.

Natasha leans forward, resting her folded arms on the table, her voice low and intimate. "I know it feels like we're asking a lot of you. But trust me when I say that what we do here is important. World-changing, even. And we believe you could play a crucial role in that."

Her green eyes lock with yours, and for a moment, you feel as if she's looking right into your soul. There's an intensity to her gaze that both unnerves and exhilarates you.

"The afternoon meetings should help you really get a bearing on our culture," she continues. "But I want you to know that I've been impressed with you today. Your curiosity, your adaptability, your willingness to question - these are all qualities we value highly here. You are just the kind of person we are looking for to fill the position."

Your chest couldn’t help but swell at her words - the esteem she expressed for you going to your head, shooting you into the stratosphere. You knew she was playing her cards in courting you as a candidate, and yet you also knew that she didn’t say anything she didn’t mean. The thought that you had won her over, that she favored you for this position? It felt damn good to have that satisfaction surging through your blood.

“Thank you,” you finally say, a beat later. You take a deep breath and try to tamp down the adrenaline from this moment. Another sip of water helps bring you back to reality.

"Well," Natasha says, her voice silky smooth, "shall we move on to your afternoon meetings?"

You nod, rising from your seat, and follow Natasha back into the mansion.

NEXT PART: CONSIDERATION

I KNOW!

BUT THEY CAN'T TELL YOU MORE YET, OKAY?!

What do you think is going on here? What's in the maze? What are they researching? Why the horticulture? Is someone watching you - and who is it?

What's in that compensation package?

...

Will you get more info in the next installment?

Maybe.

Even if you don't, I can tell you that the pace starts to pick up more and you will be introduced to some interesting new characters.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!