#apologies this is wee bit over the word limit!

[rinneverse]

pspspsp,,, do you perhaps have a spare boothill thought or two ,, sfw or nsfw,,,

i most certainly do have a few spare boothill thoughts! mostly nsfw ( ¬‿¬) walk with me nonnie… heheheh this got a wee bit too out of hand and i dropped WAY more than a few thoughts (and i am also tipsy, so i apologize in advance if something doesn't make sense) regardless, i hope u rlly like this :3

cw. assorted boothill x f!reader thoughts, manhandling, biting, improper use of a lasso (bondage!), mentions of overstim, lack of stamina is a foreign concept to boothill, talk of cyborg dick and artificial cum, creampies. not proofread in the slightest if there are typos no there's not

𓆩♡𓆪 the thing about boothill is how unafraid he is of manhandling you. while he's aware that humans are much more fragile than he, he knows your limits like the back of his hand and he knows what you can handle. you can take him like a big girl, can't you?

𓆩♡𓆪 he'll fold you in half, put you in all sorts of positions, toss you over his shoulder and pat your plush ass with a smug laugh. if you decide you want to ride him and get all tuckered out, thighs burning, the moment you're whining and babbling for his help he's already on it. big hands envelop your waist as he moves you to his whims.

𓆩♡𓆪 boothill likes to see you pleasure-drunk, entirely fucked out by the time he's done with you. he can go for as long as you need, baby; you just have to say the word. he can eat you out for hours, fuck you for double that, and still have enough energy to take care of you afterwards.

𓆩♡𓆪 cyborg sex has the potential to really get freaky tbh... he's definitely had chats with you about different 'attachments...' whatever you're into. he's definitely figured out which size makes you cum the most, and will indulge your every whim—especially when you shyly ask him "baby... can we go bigger?" (if he still had a human body, his dick would be rock fucking hard right now.) he's definitely looked into vibrating attachments. great heavens.

𓆩♡𓆪 SPEAKING OF attachments he's looked into: boothill has definitely found a way to creampie you. the tipping point for him deep diving into this was when you were just whinin' so pretty for him, begging for more, and you had let it slip that you wished so bad for him to be able to cum into you. lo and behold, he finds a solution and he surprises you by cumming deep in your aching cunt one night. the two of you definitely make a mess of your bedsheets by the end of the day (and you probably had the most earth-shattering orgasms you've ever had in your life).

𓆩♡𓆪 the day you finally asked him what his teeth would feel like, boothill's grinning like a maniac. he won't bite so hard that it hurts too much, but he knows how much you like the power he holds over you. sharp teeth sink into flesh, followed by a hot tongue that laves over the mark adoringly.

𓆩♡𓆪 another day he indulged you... there was one time he noticed you eyeing the lasso that hangs at his hips. he smiles wolfishly at you and asks, "like what you see, darlin'?" he's surprised when you shyly nod your head and look up at him with sweet doe eyes and asks if maybe... he'd consider using it in the bedroom?

𓆩♡𓆪 and oh, he did. he considered it maybe a little too hard (he jerked himself off far too many times that day). when the time came for him to use it on you, he was fiending. he ties your wrists to the bedposts and just goes to town, treating your cute body like a pretty little cum dump. he's definitely a big fan. especially when you can't run away from all the pleasure he wants to give you <3

𓆩♡𓆪 he doesn't look it, but i think he provides good aftercare. he knows how fragile the human body is firsthand: that's why he's a cyborg now. he'll take care of you. without fail, every time he's done with you, you're practically a puddle, exhausted and jelly-boned, and boothill is scooping you up into his metal arms. and yet despite the cool metal pressing against your flesh, you feel warm. maybe it's just the love pouring out of his every action, the way he treats your body with absolute reverence and adoration as he cleans you up and gets you ready for some rest.

please don't repost on other platforms. rbs and comments are super appreciated ♡ !!

[iblameashley]

Whispered Promises (Pt 2)

Male | Gay

2,895 words Content: Confessions (Cont.), Anxiety, Kissing

Follow up to: Whispered Secrets

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley | John 'Soap' MacTavish | Ghoap

!!!SFW!!!

Thirteen hours. It had been thirteen hours since exfil and since Soap had made his confession to Ghost. Not much else had come from that confession since, though. There was no privacy to talk on the plane back to base with Price, Gaz and the whole flight crew within earshot.

Tag List: @a-sleepy-dissapointment @imcoughing

Then there was the debriefing immediately when everyone had disembarked. The men were shuffled off to a conference room where Laswell waited for them. Ghost felt the weight of Soaps confession through the whole debriefing; though hardly anyone would have noticed considering his curt replies were standard fare.

Ghost did spend a majority of the meeting flashing glances as Soap, who sat across the table from him returning the stares with his usual smile; that somehow felt warmer now, causing a knot to form in Ghosts stomach.

“Soap, are you listening?” Laswell barked, sparking Ghost to turn his attention to Laswell.

“Aye, Ma'am.” Soap nodded. “Jus' a wee bit shaken up still. Apologies.” Soap replied respectfully with a soft nod.

Laswell let out a gentle sigh and her eyes softened as she looked at Soap.

“I suppose I can't blame you for that, it was a close call, after all.” Laswell nodded. “I'll make this quick so you and the team can go relax.” She added with a kinder tone. She knew it was rare to see Soap shaken up.

Her eyes turned to Ghost, noticing his usual stare boring into her skull, but she said nothing.

“Alright, lets get this meeting over with, then.” She commanded, getting the briefing back on track.

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Neither Ghost or Soap had an opportunity to talk after the meeting either. Price and Gaz insisted on having dinner as a group in the mess, so off the four of them went.

Ghost was relieved to see that the mess hall was mostly empty when they arrived. He was exhausted, hungry, and his mind was spiralling from the mission. He had never felt so off-kilter and it was testing his limits.

Ghost grabbed a tray and made his way into the buffet-style offerings of the mess. Tea, a couple sandwiches, some fruit and some biscuits. It wasn't long before Soap pulled up next time him as they moved along.

Soap is and was the only person Ghost allowed to be so close to him, so no one was surprised to see Soap violating Ghosts personal space; and thought nothing more of it as the Scot pressed his shoulder against Ghosts and was chattering away.

“How ye doin', LT?” Soap grinned as he bumped into Ghost.

Ghost grumbled as he looked over the selection of sandwiches. He ignored Soaps question, fighting the knot in his stomach and the demons in his brain telling him to drop everything and leave. This was wrong. This was a mistake. This would end badly.

'No one could love you.' The voices said in cruel whispers, 'You'll fuck him up just like you are,' and 'He only said it because he thought he was about to die.' They continued.

Soaps grin dropped to a smile.

Ghost reached for chicken-avocado sandwich and placed it on his tray.

“Ghost...” Soap fretted. He reached out and placed his hand over Ghosts, thumbing the back of his hand cautiously. “How are ye' doin?” He asked again.

Ghosts hand tensed, and he clenched his jaw, but made no effort to move. Despite the whirlwind of feelings inside him, the sensation of Soaps thumb though his gloves was comforting.

After a moment, Ghost reached for another sandwich before moving on to his next selection.

“Fine.” Ghost finally replied, clearly lying.

“No ye aren't. Stop being a slag anne just tell me.” Soap remarked with a raised brow.

“Why...” Ghost began, his voice dropping as low as his gaze.

“I meant it.” Soap reassured him in an equally low tone. He bit his lower lip and gave a quick glance over his shoulder. “I love you.” He whispered again.

“Johnny...” Ghost grunted back.

“Simon...?” Soap questioned with a cheeky tone.

Ghosts head spun so fast, Soap thought it was about to twist off his neck. 'Simon'?

“I'm...”

“Lovable.” Soap nodded, not letting Ghost finish his self-deprecating comment. “...and smart, dedicated, loyal... kind.” Soap ensured to emphasize the last word.

Ghost actually let out a guttural laugh. 'Kind.' His brain tossed around.

“Always knew you were a fucking idiot.” Ghost said, still laughing a bit.

“Aye, but I want to be your idiot.” Soap jested, pushing Ghost down the line so he could grab some more food.

All Ghost could do was sigh.

“You already are my idiot.” Ghost finally said as he grabbed some biscuits.

“I wannae be the idiot ye love. I want... more.” Soap mumbled.

“This isn't the time or place for this conversation, Johnny.” Ghost huffed.

He stared Soap down, and Soap understood the conversation was over. For now.

Soap gave a nod and watched as Ghost walked away to join Price and Gaz at their table.

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A long hot shower definitely helped Ghost relax, as much as he ever allowed himself to relax, that is. Letting his mind just wander while his body was drenched in steaming hot water always felt nice.

It was a way to remove the grime, both physical and emotional and allow him to process the relentless stream of events from the most recent mission. The water pounded on his marred skin, each drop helping to wash away the sweat, dirt, and gunpowder from the field. His mind, on the other hand, was not so easily cleansed. It never was.

Soap's confession echoed in his mind like a haunting song, It stirred emotions Ghost had kept locked away for far too long. A tiny box in his heart, chained and caged to protect himself from the world. The stoic and distant facade he had constructed to survive life was cracking, all because of one annoying, chatty, Scot.

How could he have ever expected to maintain that facade after Soap's declaration? His heart, which he felt had turned to stone long ago, now pulsed with a warmth he hadn't felt in years. It was nearly enough to bring him to tears.

“I love you too, Johnny...” He choked out under the shower head. “Why the fuck can't I just tell you I love you, too?” He hissed as he rested against the tiles of the shower.

He couldn't give Soap the normalcy, the love, he deserved. That was truly the problem. Soap deserved someone who could be there, someone who could share their life without the constant threat of death lurking over their shoulder. “I can't give you that.” Ghost mumbled to himself. “...so why the fuck do you love me?”

He had no solutions, no answers, only a overwhelming sense of vulnerability. Ghost knew that he would need every ounce of his strength to push Soap away, to protect him from the storm that raged within Ghost's heart. But could he really do that to the man he loved as well? No... probably not. Either way, this was eating him alive.

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With his mask pushed up to the bridge of his nose, Ghost sat on the cold stone half-wall outside the base. He sucked on a cigarette mindlessly as he looked out over the airfield as the golden rays of sunlight began to disappear behind the hills to the west.

“Fuckin' hell.” He groan in a raspy voice.

He inhaled sharply and held the smoke in his lungs for a long moment before slowly breathing out and watching the smoke curl in the cooler air.

“I can't do that to him.” Ghost grunted.

He took another puff from his cigarette and leaned back. The sounds of the base; men and machines still working tirelessly away somehow managed to sooth him. Not that his life had been normal, so why wouldn't the only life he had known bring him a bit of piece while it also tore him apart at the seams?

“Evenin', LT.” Called a familiar, chipper Scottish voice.

Ghost leaned his head back to see Soap steadily approaching him.

Soap was by no means an lean man; but his tactical gear tended to hide just how defined Soap's body was. Ghosts chestnut eyes scanned Soap with a new perspective. The tight tee and fitted jeans looked different on him now. It made Ghost nearly choke at the sight.

“Johnny.” He managed to fumble out after a moment.

Soap took a seat beside him, leaving no room for interpretation. Soap was being intimate as he leaned his thigh against Ghosts. Their shoulders touched, and Soaps hand quickly moved to cover Ghosts hand.

“Now seems like the right time and place to talk.” Soap asserted, looking over to Ghost with tender eyes. “...and we're going to.” He added bluntly.

Soap squeezed Ghosts hand.

“I love you, Simon.” He sighed. “And I am committed to making this work with you somehow.”

Ghost tossed the butt of his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out.

He sat there for a moment in thought, his mask still propped up and his eyes fixed on a point in the distance that seemed to only exist for him.

“You deserve...” Ghost began.

“Fuck off.” Soap hissed, cutting Ghost off. “Ye don't get to decide for mae what I deserve, Simon. I've had months tae think this over, months tae understand what I felt deep down. Aye, I confessed in the heat of the moment, when I thought I was gonnae die... but I meant every word of it. I'm dedicated tae ye, I love ye. I can do the heavy lifting until ye feel comfortable expressin' your feelings if need be...” Soap nodded with confidence and determination laced in his words.

Ghost swallowed hard.

“I'll even transfer if ye need.” Soap added. “If worrying about mae safety on a mission is too much for ye tae handle... I'll ask to move tae 'nother team.” Soaps heart sank even as he said the words. “I promise I'll do anything tae make this work.” He whispered.

Ghost head turned to face Soap and his usually flat expression fell. A scowl framed his scarred face as he took in the words Soap was saying. His eyes softened, bringing him near tears, knowing Soap was serious. This wasn't something he could push down, Soap wasn't a man he could just push away.

“No.” Ghost whispered back.

He reached over to Soap and grabbed the man by the jaw, twisting his head so they were looking longingly at each other. “You will not transfer. That would not make it easier and it wouldn't... it wouldn't make me happy.” Ghost confessed. “I feel...” The words caught in Ghosts throat. A hard lump. Another defence mechanism to keep him safe for the world.

Ghost pulled Soaps face in and planted a rough kiss on his lips. His grip on Soaps jaw tightened, his fingers trembling as they dug into Soaps skin.

The kiss slowly softened, their lips moving like waves on a beach. Soap tasted good, the gentle cucumber flavour of his lip balm and the subtle hint of scotch teased Ghosts tongue as he slowly push inside Soaps mouth.

Every chain, every lock and nail that held Ghosts heart safe broke as it was conquered by an army of warm – no, searing – feelings. He felt like he was burning alive, and simply craved more as Soaps tongue invited him in with playful flicks.

Ghost reluctantly pulled away from the kiss after realizing he needed to breathe. He let out a long, smokey breath over Soaps mouth as he lingered close to his Sargent.

“I feel the same way about you.” Ghost mumbled, still not able to say the actual words.

“Aye.” Soap smirked. “Gathered that from the kiss.” He teased.

He grabbed Ghosts hand and pulled it from his jaw and brought it up to his lips to kiss the gloved fingers.

“Take yer time, Simon.” He continues, reassuringly. “I'll bae here.”

Ghost took a long moment to think, pulling slightly away, the frown now replaced by the beginnings of a smile. 'I'm so fucked.' He thought to himself.

“We still haven't really talked about this, Johnny.” Ghost finally pointed out. “My quarters in twenty minutes.” He ordered. “...and I do mean a talk.” He noted.

Soap beamed with happiness as Ghost withdrew and stood up.

“Aye, sir. Yer quarters in twenty minutes tae talk.” Soap affirmed.

Ghost lowered his mask over his face and gave Soap one last look. Fuck if Soap wasn't a beautiful man. Ghost gave him a nod and walked away.

'Fuck, fuck, fuck.' Ghost thought with every hesitant step. 'This is stupid. So stupid...'

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Nineteen minutes later, there was a knock at Ghosts door. He stared at it for a moment as his heart rate spiked. He licked his lips under his mask, he could still taste Soap on him and it made everything so much worse.

“Come.” Ghost commanded in gravelly voice.

The door clicked and swung open, and there was Soap. He stood there with that stupid fucking smile on his face like usual. “Evenin', LT. Ye wanted tae speak with mae?” He teased as he entered the room.

Soap closed the door behind him and locked it. “Privacy.” He muttered unconvincingly.

Ghost gestured to the empty seat at his desk, and Soap wasted no time in marching over and making himself comfortable.

“Soap.” Ghost began. His eyes flickered to the desk and then back to Soap. “Johnny.” He corrected.

“Yer scared.” Soap stated bluntly. “I get that, LT. I'm willin' tae still take the plunge with you.” Soap replied reassuringly. His eyes narrowed and he smiled with that familiar warmth Ghost was used to; at least from him.

Ghost nodded.

“I'm a fucked up man, Johnny.” Ghost responded. “I don't want to promise something I can't deliver on.” He explained with a healthy dose of vulnerability.

“I'm not asking ye tae make promises ye can't keep.” Soap explained. He slid his hand across the table, intertwining his fingers with Ghosts. “I'm asking ye tae either give this a shot, or tae shoot mae down now.”

How could Ghost shoot Soap down now? He had kissed the man. Soap had confessed his love. In his own way, so had he. They had already bombed every logical, rule-abiding alternative. Ghosts armour was gone; at least with Soap. He was in his rawest state, his most vulnerable and scared and yet, looking into Soaps eyes, he felt like there was one man in the world who wouldn't let him down.

Ghost shook his head. “I can't shoot you down, Johnny.” He mumbled as his fingers played at Soaps. “But... are you sure I'm worth the effort? The work?” He inquired with sad eyes.

“Absolutely.” Soap stated as if it was an obvious, undeniable fact. “If you aren't going to shoot me down, then all I am asking if that you will try. Promise me you will give this,” Soap used he free hand to gesture between them, “...a chance. A proper chance.”

“It will take a lot of work, Johnny.” Ghost mumbled.

“I know. I've been working on ye for a while now, ye fucking potato.” Soap laughed.

Even Ghost had to chuckle softly at that.

“Is that so, Johnny...” He remarked with a smile. “How's that gone for you.”

“I got the man I love tae kiss mae. So good. Aye.” Soap nodded, his smile widening.

“I'm not good at this...” Ghost continued.

“Ye sell yerself short. I know it won't bae a typical relationship, Ghost. I know we'll have tae be private, discreet and it'll bae slow... but I'm committed.

“...and if I decide to break it off?” Ghost inquires sadly. Already dreading that inevitable moment.

“Then mae heart will bae crushed.” Soap admits. “But I'll move on. I'll let ye go if its what ye really want.” He says unconvinced.

Ghost takes some time to think about it. Its trouble from every possible perspective. Its a mistake. Its wrong. If foolish.

“I promise.” Ghost mutters before his brain can catch up to the words that fall from his lips.

His eyes widen with shock. Too late to take it back now.

“I promise I will give this my all, if you promise to accept that I am going to fuck this up badly.” Ghost offers. His chest rises and falls with anxious breath.

“I promise.” Soap agrees as he scoots closer to Ghost. “I promise tae accept you and give you my all as well.” He whispers as his fingers find the hem of Ghosts mask.

He pushes the fabric up to expose Ghosts lips once more.

Ghosts hands tremble and Soap give him a comforting squeeze.

“I promise you'll be fine.” Soap said soothingly.

He presses his lips to Ghosts once more and melts into to the warmth of the man he loved. Soaps mind was made up, this would either work, or they would both destroy each other in the process.

[outlanderfanficrelay-blog]

Outlander Fanfic Relay #7

Heya everyone, this is @suhailauniverse for #7 of the Outlander Fanfic Relay!

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6.

 She woke with a bone rattling jolt, her heart racing, ears deafeningly ringing and a film of cold sweat coating her skin, her breath coming in painful gasps. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the pitch darkness, her body and mind coming back to her as a car horn blew in the distance.

Jamie. The name scorched through her as she fisted her hands in her sheets. Jamie. He’d stood there, amidst the carnage, a look of unutterable sadness on his face as he gazed back at her. At once she sat up and stared at her hands. They’d glowed, as he’d done, and she could have sworn on everything she was the faintest of glimmers faded right before her eyes, but as she blinked, it was gone. Her hands lay upon her lap as unremarkable as they’d always been.

A dream, she told herself, shakily, it was just a fucking dream. Yet she could still feel the crisp night air caress her skin, the smell of death pricked her nostrils and an ache coursed through her as she’d never felt before. An ache that ripped her insides as finely as a surgical blade. An ache so acute, it took her breath away. She pressed her fist to her chest, a feeble attempt to slow down her heart rate, to stifle the pain that threatened to burst from within. Laying back down, she tried taking a few deep, steadying breaths, but nothing helped. Just a dream.

She pictured him then, as she’d known him - full of life and energy, despite his illness. His smile and gentle touch, a touch felt so sparingly as she tended him. His soothing voice and comforting presence, a balm. Without realizing it, her body had at once relaxed in the thought of him. How could the simple thought of a man she hardly knew have such an instantaneous effect on her? He seemed in that moment more real than anything she’d ever known. And before she’d even known that she’d decided, she was bolting off her bed, and years of practice at getting dressed in record time, was already halfway into whatever she could get her hands on in the dark.

What the hell are you doing, Beauchamp? She asked herself hopping down her hallway on one booted foot, as she stuffed the other into its mate. She had no answer to what was driving her, only that she knew, without any doubt, that she had to see him, talk to him. He’d said he’d heard the screaming too. What if...

She knew his address was in his medical files she’d brought home with her that day - she’d felt an inexplicable need to review his history after the incident at the hospital, but they’d proved frustratingly unhelpful, for the answers she sought couldn’t be gleaned from blood tests and doctors notes. She needed him.

She jotted down his address roughly on a piece of napkin, a sense of familiarity guiding her hand, and paused suddenly, hearing a soft shuffling on the other side of her front door. She froze where she stood, the hairs on her arms rising. She moved quickly then, towards the door, her heart beginning to race once more, not with fear this time, but promise. Her shaking hands fumbled with the lock, but finally opened it.

And there he stood, disheveled and still in his pajamas and slippers, with nothing but a overcoat on against the chilly air. They stood silently, staring, his eyes burrowing into hers, as they’d done on that field what felt like mere moments earlier.

“How’d you--?” she began, quietly.

“I… I felt ye, Sassenach. I saw ye!”

To you @moghraidhjamie!!

[silentmoths]

Hi! Can I request what Diluc, Childe and Zhongli if their partner uses a safe word during sex? (And maybe aftercare headcanons because fluff is life.)

ooooOOOO yes, yes you may!

Diluc, Childe, Zhongli x GN Reader

NSFW, Use of safeword, Fluff, Aftercare, all that good shit.

Diluc, Safeword: Dandelion

The moment the word drops, he stops, of course

He's pulling out and has reached for the quick releases on any restraints.

Pulls you into his arms and holds you steady, helps you breathe and calm down, offers you water.

He has a little bit of a tendancy to blame himself, he'll apologise constantly until you're calm enough for them both to talk about what happened, what set you off.

Once you're both on the same page, he tucks you up all nice and cozy, if your wrists or ankles are sore, he'll definitely massage them, probably sends the maids for some ice cream.

Childe, Safeword: Narwhal

He stops the moment the word falls from your lips, but he almost seems to get caught in a bit of a boot-loop.

It takes alot for you to use the safeword

Once he's finally processed, he flies into a wee-bit of a panic, all but ripping the restraints off you.

He's...almost a little overwhelming in his attempts to care for you, a true himbo. Pure of heart, dumb of ass.

He makes sure you have something to drink, doesn't even complain when you refuse water, he gets soda, or something sweet instead, the sugar will do you good.

He desperately wants to know what happened, so he knows not to do it again, or at least to take it a little slower next time if you're willing to try again.

This dingus is all about the apology smooches, there is no escape, there is only childe.

Zhongli, Safeword: Morax

With li, The safeword is more commonly used than one would think.

It's not because he's horribly nasty in bed or anything, it's literally just because he has so much stamina, that he can, and will (safeword permitting) fuck you all night long and well into the morning.

So the soft, desperate utter of his past title will have him halt in his tracks, he doesnt care how close to cumming for the umpteenth time it is, the moment that name drops, he's done.

"of course, darling." is always his first response, pulling out of you and pressing a soft kiss to your head.

Over the years you've been with him, you've certainly gained some stamina, but no matter what, you're always a sticky mess by the time you call it, so he's more than happy to run you a bath, clean you up.

He always has small snacks in his bedside table, protien balls or some candy, he'll prop you up like a little blanket burrito and let you munch away on one of them while he fetches you something a little more substantial, as well as a drink.

He'll always ask, even though 99% of the time it's you reaching your energy limits, if there was something you hadnt liked, and he commits that 1% to his memory so he will never repeat the action, not unless you ask.

[pascalscenarios]

CLUMSY (Frankie Morales x Reader)

CLUMSY

Inspired by the song “Clumsy” by Fergie 

Scenario Series

Frankie Morales X Reader

Summary: You’re a waitress at a bar. Frankie is clumsy and completely flustered around you. 

Words: 1600

Warning: Mentions of alcohol, accidental touching

Author's Note: No because clumsy Frankie sounds cute af - K

It was packed at Aces, the bar you waitressed at. Tonight was game night, meaning a big sporting event was airing live on TV. Everyone flooded to the bar to watch the game on the multiple flatscreens, drink a shit ton of beer and eat greasy, yet delicious food.

“Alright Mac, here’s your usual, a pint of beer and nachos” You take the beer off the tray first, then set the nachos down on to the small circular table.

“Thanks darlin” He smiles at you. He picks up the beer, taking a swig and turning his attention back to the game.

“Of course, let me know if you need anything else!” you say over the loud noise.

“Thanks!”

With that you hold your empty tray in your hand, weaving past tables and bodies and make your way over to the bar to pick up orders.

You set your tray on the bartop, picking up plates of foods and beers, placing them on your tray.

Your coworker Johnny rushes up to you “Could you cover the table in the back?” He says as he quickly piles up his tray with orders.“Sorry! I’m really falling behind with all these orders and they requested for you”

Johnny was a new hire, only been on the job for a couple weeks. This was his first night working with the bar packed like this. It could get overwhelming.

You look over to the back, four guys sitting at the table. It was The Miller brothers, Will and Benny, and their friends Santiago, and Frankie. The four guys were regulars at the bar, coming in every so often.

Frankie Morales was looking at you, but quickly averted his gaze away when you noticed him staring at you. A smile crept onto your face. Frankie was cute, and boy did you have a fat crush on him.

Frankie is always nervous around you. You’ve heard him talk to the guys or anyone else like it was nothing, but when it was you, he’d shut up real quick. He was selective with his words, sometimes even stuttering when he spoke.

Something always went wrong when he tried to talk to you. Countless of times he has tripped, slipped, stumbled and fumbled in your presence. He is an absolute clutz around you.

“Yeah, of course! Don’t worry, I got you!”

“Thank you! I owe one!” Johnny quickly takes his tray and rushes off into the room.

You quickly maneuver around the floor, dropping off beers and food to various tables before heading over to the table towards the back corner of the bar.

“Hey, boys!” you greeted him.

Benny shouts your name “...Our favorite Waitress!”

“How are you doing?” Will asks, leaning on his arms that were on the table.

“Good! It’s a busy night! I haven’t seen you guys around for a while” you hold the tray in your arms.

“We’ve been busy at work. Thought we should have a few beers, eat and watch the game” Santi says motioning to the TV.

“And besides, Frankie here wanted to see you” Benny tossing his arm around him. Frankies eyes widen.

You cock your eyebrow up. “Is that so?” The guys begin to snicker or try to hold in their laughs.

“What?- No, that’s not why we came here- I mean not that I don’t wanna see you- it’s good to see you-I” he begins to babble

You begin to giggle “It’s good to see you, Frankie”

Frankie wanted the floor to swallow him whole. He was turning red, embarrassed, and angry staring at Benny.

“I already know what you guys want, I’ll be back in a minute” you say before walking away.

Once you were a far distance away, the guys busted out laughing.

“God, Frankie what was that?!” Benny was hunched over from laughing.

Frankie rolled his eyes annoyed at his friends.

“The person you become when they’re around...it's unreal” Santi chimes in.

“You should ask them out already Frankie. You’ve been crushing on them for a while” Will encourages him.

“They probably think I’m fucking idiot” Frankie mumbles.

“You’re not an idiot. You’re just nervous, that's all. It’s normal to be nervous around someone you like. You’re too much in your head. Don’t try to control the situation, just let things happen. Let it play out” Will expresses his advice to Frankie.

“Alright, 20 bucks something is gonna go wrong tonight...I say pretty soon” Benny says.

“Frankie’s gonna be okay” Will glares at Benny and Santi. They weren’t even drunk yet, yet here they are being assholes.

“Something always happens though, but I think later on in the night” Santi gives them a knowing look, “You got yourself a bet” He leans across the table shaking hands with Benny. Will shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

“I knew I shouldn’t have come out tonight” Frankie gets up from his chair. “I’m going home”

“Frankie, Come on man” Benny drags out.

“No, I’m out of here” Frankie whips around, accidentally bumps into the tray in your hands. One of the pints tip over on the tray spilling all over your body.

“Oh my god” You gasp, clutching the tray close to you, making sure the rest of the pints don’t spill on the ground. You quickly set the beer soaked tray on to their table. You look down at yourself. Your v neck shirt was drenched in beer, and dripping onto your jeans.

“I’m so sorry- here let me help you” Frankie picks up the napkins from the dispenser on the table.

Your eyes widen as he begins to dap your exposed chest with the napkin. You know he means well. You don’t even think he realised what he was doing. You were just caught off guard.

“Frankie!” Will shouts.

“What-OH! Shit” it clicks in his head where his hands were, and clearly they shouldn’t be here.

He quickly moves his hands away from your body, and stepping away from you “I’m so sorry- I didn’t mean- I swear I wasn’t trying to- I” He was a stuttering mess.

“It’s fine” You chuckled awkwardly “Uh, I’m gonna go change and bring you new beers...I’ll have someone clean up the spill, excuse me” You pick up the tray and head back over to the bar.

“Fuck” Frankie sat back down covering his face in embarrassment. He felt terrible for not only spilling the drinks on you, but for touching you.

“Pay up, Garcia” Benny holds out his hand for twenty dollars. “Ouch!” Bennt helps out as his older brother slaps him upside the head.

…

The rest of the night Frankie remained silent, limiting himself to a few words, hardly making any eye contact when you came around by the table.

The bars closing time inched closer. People in the bar started to leave sporadically.

The night was coming down to an end. The guys paid for their food and left a good tip for you like they always do. The guys got up, waved goodbye to you, and started to make their way towards the exit.

Frankie didn’t want to leave without apologizing to you. I would have messed with his conscience, keeping him awake until the wee hours of the morning.

“I’ll catch up with you guys outside, I’ll be a minute.”

You were behind the bar, wiping up glasses that you just cleaned.

Frankie's heart was pounding. There was no need to be nervous. You were always so sweet to him. He took a deep breath in, signing quickly. “Hey” Frankie said as he approached the counter top.

“Hi” you smile softly at him as you set the cup down on the counter, picking up another to wipe.

“Are you staying a bit longer?”

“The guys are waiting for me outside..I just wanted to talk to you. I just wanted to apologize earlier-”

“Frankie” you sighed, “Don’t worry about it, it’s fine”

“No, It wasn’t. I knocked a whole pint of beer on you, then proceeded to touch your chest, without consent-”

“Frankie, it was an accident. You were just trying to help me” you giggle. “Besides, I think it's cute when I make you all flustered”

Frankie started to blush. He scratches the back of his neck “You noticed that huh?”

“There’s no need to be nervous around me. I’m no one special”

“Well I mean you kinda are. I’ve had a crush on you for a while” Frankie cringed at what he said. “Wow I sound like such a fucking creep- I’m sorry. I’m really not good at these things and I-”

You quickly set down the glass and rag down on the counter. You leaned your body forward, grabbing a hold of Frankies shirt, pulling him in for a kiss. It was simple and sweet.

You pull away, biting your lip “Frankie you need to relax...I’ve had a crush on you for a while too.

“Really? After I made myself look like a clown in front of you countless of times?”

“Yes really. How about we go out on a date?” You asked him.

“O-okay. Yeah I’d like that…” 

“I’m off Friday night. Is that day okay?” 

“Yeah”

“Alright, here’s my number” You grab a pen from your apron, and write it down on a napkin. You hand him the napkin.

“Night Frankie”

“Goodnight”

Frankie heads out of the bar and finds the guys waiting around.

“What took you so long?” Benny complained 

“Looks like a got a date friday night” he smiles holding up the napkin with your number

“ATTA BOY FRANKIE!!” 

MT: @icanbeyourjedi @sara-alonso @greeneyedblondie44 @hb8301 1 @alberta-sunrise @spacenerdpascal @ryleyrooroo @reader-s-cantina @nikkixostan @mindidjarin

[saturnville]

can’t do this

*not my gif*

just a short lil something. it’s random and not that great but, hey, comes with not writing often. hope y’all find something about it to enjoy.

pairing: lu xin lee x black!oc

4. “You can’t keep doing this...”

https://imaginary-legendary-hamilton.tumblr.com/post/147791746936/writing-prompts

“You cannot keep doing this.” The emphasis of her words demonstrated she was serious. The sharpness of her tone let him know she was really serious. “This, what you’re doing, it isn’t worth losing your life.”

He winced. With every word that poured from those beautiful lips of hers, the hydrogen peroxide filled cotton round pressed deeper into his open cut.

He examined her attentively. She was tired, he could tell. Her eyes hung low and fluttered often to stay open. She swayed as well, trying to keep her body from shutting down. He frowned. She always stayed up to attempt to greet him when he came home. Recently, the door crept open during the wee hours of the morning and there she’d be waiting.

“I’m sorry.” He waved her off. She’d always been the type to be quick to apologize, even if it wasn’t her fault or if the incident held no weight.

“There’s nothing else for you to do? You have to jack cars and damn near get yourself killed?”

“Baby—“ he tried to reach out to her but she pulled her hand away from his reach. “I do this to make sure you’re taken care of. I want you to get your career started without working about anything else. I’m doing it for us.”

She’d heard it before and she knew his intentions were as pure as an innocent lamb, yet, the thought of him losing his life trying to provide for hers sent her into a frenzy.

Yes, thanks to him she’d almost completed dentistry school with limited distraction because he held down the household. And yes, she’d had a roof over her head and clothes on her back, but how would that compare to feeling his warmth against her body each and every night? It couldn’t.

“I,” she huffed. “You’re all I have. And I rather not get any phone calls that you’re dead or in immediate danger. I’d also like to stop making first aid kits to clean up your mess.” She gestured to the large gash across his cheek that she was cleaning.

He lifted his brown eyes to meet hers, which were glistening as she yawned. He smiled.

“What?” she gently pressed a bandaid against his cheek.

“You know I love you right?”

She hummed. “If you really love me, you’ll stay out of trouble.” She patted his chest gently and tossed away the materials they used.

“But you not gonna say you love me back?” he stood to his feet and took a step towards her. He bent down and captured her lips with his, pulling a quiet squeal from her.

“I do love you!” she exclaimed, pushing his chest. “I’ll love you a little more if you come to bed now.”

She gave him a look—the look.

He bit his lip. “Yes ma’am.”

[saphirered]

Could you do one with essek where S/O is a part of the M9 and is a Eldritch Knight and he is just simping over a strong + smart reader? (Maybe even S/O saving essek?) I hope you have an amazing day!

I’m sorry this took a while. Work have been hectic so I’ve hardly had time to write. I hope this is to your liking and have a great day yourself 😘

At first glance you definitely fit into the ‘heavy hitters’ category with a physique displaying your strength, on par with Yasha. And while you don’t hide the fact you could crush skulls with your fists you do not live up to the strong-as-a-giant-dumb-as-a-rock stereotype. You are what some may refer to as the perfect balance between ‘jock’ and book nerd; days off spent training during the day while studying well into the wee morning hours. You are a magnet for knowledge and your expertises far surpass the limits of trivial subjects they focus on the arcane. Your roots come from Evocation and Abjuration but you’ve been expanding your knowledge beyond those two schools. The prospect of a ninth school of magic, one you had no access or even knowledge of before brought great promise of broadening your horizons.

When you met Essek for the first time he might have been slightly dismissive. Not disrespectful in any way from first impressions you fell into the same category as Beau and Yasha, presumably just different. He was nothing but friendly and respectful towards you but the moment Caleb asked to learn some Dunamancy and when Essek agreed your request to join in on this lesson surprised him. Regardless, he happily allowed you to join. After your early morning runs you found yourself at Essek’s tower discussing books you had read, things you had encountered and even openly deliberating the ongoing conflict. 

You had lost track of time after a quick sparing session with Beau and got dragged into her next routine with Fjord. You ended up having to correct Beau’s ‘teachings’ at times to the point where you took over ending up into another round of sparring sessions with Fjord.

“Again.” Fjord comes at you again swinging his sword. While he certainly knows how to use a falchion his proper technique could use some improvement. You block, parry, turn left around him, strike with the pommel of your own sword against his back and send him stumbling. 

“Footwork. Again.” You say once he’s recovered. He makes sure his feet are in the right position, blade angled right and takes a deep breath as he swings again. This time more calculated and mindful of where he steps and which foot he moves first. You block his hit.

“Much better.” You praise as you push him back putting some distance between the two of you. This time he does not stumble but instead stays steady on his feet. This time you strike giving him the opportunity to parry. He does but comes in a little too close to properly strike and leaves his defences open, a deadly move in close quarters. You shoulder check and kick his feet from under him. Fjord falls to the ground and you hear Beau snicker from behind. You hold out your hand to help Fjord to his feet but behind you you feel a punch hit your side. Sneaky little… You take the punch and while Fjord tries to pull you down you instead pull him up, the momentum pushing him in Beauregard behind you and the both of them barely manage to catch each other. 

“This is how we’re gonna play now?” You give a ‘come at me’ motion and with a grin Beau does. Dropping your sword to the side and out of the way deciding when dealing with a monk not wearing any kind of armour or protection, you’re not intending to actually hurt it’s probably best to not use live steel. Hands up defensive you see Fjord dispel his blade into its dimension too. Game on. 

Beau strikes. You take the first hit but counter with a kick at her shins and a punch to her shoulder. Fjord moves in next you prevent him from moving to your back and manage to keep him to your side. With a high kick you kick Fjord back a few feet. Beau takes this opportunity to go for your other leg but you stand strong and turn it to your favour coming back around with a kick to her side. This goes on for a while, a back and forth of Beau and Fjord teaming up against you. They manage to land some good hit but so do you, to the point where Fjord is almost out of the fight. You notice them make eye contact. You call shenanigans. 

Fjords summons his blade swinging down so you summon yours back to your hand, side stepping and blocking the attack with a quick parry sending Fjord to the ground on his ass. This move took you into Beau’s space who took the opportunity to hit you. You could feel your limbs nearly freeze up for a moment but shrug off the stun. If they’re playing dirty so would you. With an open palm you strike against her sternum releasing a shocking grasp. For good measure you use your newly acquired sapping sting spell to knock her prone. You walk over to Fjord kicking the blade away from his grasp, a foot on his chest while you hold the tip of your blade towards Beau. 

“Cheaters don’t win against me.” You grin helping Fjord to his feet and dropping the blade out of offensive mode. You grab Fjords blade and hand it back to him with a pat on his shoulder. You notice Beau is awfully quiet after her defeat. You see her staring at the doorway with a raised eyebrow and a grin as she crosses her arms. 

“Looks like we got an audience to witness our ass whooping.” Your back still turned you expect it to be one of the others. 

“Seems like he’s been paying more attention to our champion than us, though. Let’s leave them be.” Fjord picks up his things and begins to push Beau out of the room. You finally turn around and see who witnessed your little training session and when you see the floating white-haired wizard looking at you in awe you have a minor panic attack.

“Essek, by the Storm Lord. I am so sorry. I must have lost track of time…” You begin apologising as he is taken out of his trance. 

“Give me ten minutes. I’ll get changed and freshen up a bit if you can still spare the time. I’m so sorry. I should have told Caleb to remind me of the time.” You go on and Essek floats over to you. 

“No need for apologies. You were otherwise engaged. Though I would still appreciate your presence in this endeavour.” He reminds you of your appointment later in the day, or rather now. They had caught a spy with a similar skillset to yours and Essek had asked for your expertise in their questioning. 

“Of course yes.” You take him back out of the training room and to your chambers. He waits outside your door while you get changed and make yourself look presentable washing the sweat from your skin and change into your regular clothes. 

After you’re done the two of you make your way to the prison making small talk. Essek seems a bit more awkward than usual to the point you swear you see a slight blush creep onto his cheeks at one point but that might just be the cold. 

“You have learned quickly. Clever use of your newfound spells.” Essek mentally slaps himself for the way the words came out. Meant as a compliment but sounded like a dig at you. 

“I know. I’m sorry. If anyone knows you don’t just use combat spells for fun and games it’s me. It won’t happen again. Believe me, your teachings are much more valuable than to be used for fun and games.” You really didn’t mean to slip up and use Dunamancy for something as trivial as a fun sparring match. You should have known better. 

“No. My apologies. I did not mean to say it like that. You use your spells cleverly. They compliment your skills and your skills are… exceptional.” Was that a direct compliment coming from the Shadowhand himself? You raise an eyebrow at him pretty sure he caught onto your bewildered look. You feel the blood rush to your cheeks. If you knew one thing about the man it was he did not just give compliments. Not to anyone and when he did you had not witnessed it. 

“So about this prisoner…” You change the subject as you approach the prison. There seems to be some kind of commotion going on and no guards up front. You both exchange glances before rushing inside. 

There’s a cowering guard in the front room. Essek goes over to him and seems to have some colourful words for the man while you keep an eye out around. The limited light makes it more difficult to see but you can hear just fine. After Essek finishes the guard rushes out of the prison, to get reinforcements you assume. You begin moving towards the hall that leads deeper into the Dungeon of Penance while Essek joins you. You push a finger to your lips before pointing ahead. 

Watching up ahead you see a few unmoving figures. Essek notices too but stays at your side. It’s too quiet and there’s too many hiding places. 

“Any weapons on them?” You whisper as Essek takes a look. 

“All standard equipment accounted for except for one long sword, a dagger and a crossbow.” Essek relays back to you inspecting the bodies. 

“I assume this is your prisoner’s doing.” Right as you say that someone jumps out from the shadows and makes a run for the Shadowhand. You notice before he does and grab Essek by the collar of his mantle pushing him away and to the other side of you as you summon your sword to deflect the attack. A second attack is made but you manage to prevent it from hitting Essek who’s still caught off guard. In your move to grab the blade you take out some gold dust, speak the words and the swinging blade is stuck in the air. The prisoner tries to grab it but is unable to move it, stuck mid-air. 

“That wasn’t very nice!” You retaliate with an attack. Hit. Essek manages to cast a quick magic missile striking the prisoner who puts some distance between you. He takes out a crossbow and aims it at the two of you. 

“You really prepared to die here? Put down your weapons and we can figure this out. No need for more bloodshed.” You try to persuade. From the corner of your eye you watch Essek reach for his components. The movement provokes the prisoner and he releases an arrow. You just in time manage to deflect trajectory of the arrow and prevent it from striking Essek but the second arrow scrapes your arm, the majority of the impact reduced by the edge of your bracer, it still leaves a bit of a scratch. You’ve had far worse. Essek looks at you bewildered, eyes focused only on you.

“I suggest you do what you save the staring for a later moment and help first?” You say in a half joking manner. He snaps out of it. Essek completes his spell and the prisoner is pulled backwards seemingly pulled in by some gravitational pull crushing his bones. The body falls to the ground unmoving. You go over to the body to make sure the prisoner is actually done for. 

“You are… exquisite.” You can barely hear Essek say under his breath. You freeze up for a moment not having seen that one coming. At that moment the cavalry comes in. He makes sure everything is sorted and you can go on your way, leaving them to clean up the mess, currently no use for either of you. 

“Are you hurt?” He breaks the silence while the two of you make your way back. You look at your arm. Nothing but a small scratch. But a fraction lower and it might have cut something vital but you know what you’re doing.

“No. All peachy.” The silence continues, both of you retreating into your own minds as you walk, or well, float in Essek’s case. You take a moment to look back at the past hour, his words repeating in your head and his ‘off’ behaviour. 

“‘You are… exquisite.’? That’s what you said before.” You try to mimic his voice. You may not be the best impressionist but you got the message across. Essek goes to speak but presses his lips back together swallowing whatever he was going to say. 

“Don’t tell me it’s going to take another fight with someone to get answers out of you. I might just have to show off in that case.” You wink jokingly with a half smile. 

“I wouldn’t complain.” That comment leaves your mouth agape and you stop in your tracks for a hot second to recover. 

“I don’t know if that’s sarcasm, a challenge or you actually mean it.” You fall back in line at his side nearing the tower.

“I wouldn’t complain.” Essek repeats once more.

“Well then, perhaps I should find a nice and rowdy tavern or talk to the Aurora Watch to join some training sessions to grant your wish.” You suggest only half serious with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s a date.” He returns your expression as you reach his front door. 

“Though, for now I think some reading would be just fine. Would you like to join?” He opens the door and waits for you. You step inside but stop and lean in a little bit.

“It’s a date.” You say with a smug smile and kiss his cheek as you enter looking over your shoulder. You seem to have the ability to make the Shadowhand swoon and boy, could you get used to it. 

[searchingwardrobes]

I Promise to Kiss You (Before You Die): 5/7

I know, today isn’t Thursday, but I just didn’t have time to get this chapter revised and posted until today. It’s not a long chapter either, but are you ready for Emma and Killian to reunite after four years?

Huge thanks again to the mods of the @captainswanmoviemarathon​ and my beta @hookedonapirate​​ .

Summary: Emma noticed him first, never forget that, and while all four of the Lucas sisters love Killian Jones, no one loves him the way Emma does, of that she is certain. Killian Jones also made her a promise. Sure, she was only twelve when he made it, but one day he’ll realize what it meant. One day, she hopes, he’ll get over her sister Ruby and finally notice Emma. A Little Women AU

Rated: T

Also on Ao3

Tagging: @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @let-it-raines @teamhook @bethacaciakay @xhookswenchx @tiganasummertree @shireness-says @stahlop​ @scientificapricot @welllpthisishappening @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @kday426 @ekr032-blog-blog​ @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @nikkiemms @optomisticgirl​ @profdanglaisstuff @carpedzem @ohmakemeahercules @branlovestowrite @superchocovian @sherlockianwhovian​ @vvbooklady1256 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89​ @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @snidgetsafan​ @xsajx @itsfabianadocarmo @spartanguard If anyone wants to be added or removed from this tag list, please let me know!

Chapter Five: Heartbreak

Four years later . . .

As the carriage rattled through the streets of Storybrooke and away from the train station, Killian’s knee bounced nervously. He was tempted to wipe his clammy hands on his dress uniform, but he refrained. Instead, he fiddled with the hat in his hands.

“Regretting surprising them?” Nemo asked.

He smiled at his uncle and shook his head. “No, I’m just excited.”

“They’ll be excited, too. Mary Margaret and David both seemed quite disappointed when it looked as if you wouldn’t make it to the wedding.”

“It was a happy coincidence that my ship made it in time,” Killian agreed. Then the two men fell silent again.

Killian could feel his uncle’s gaze on him, but he was too distracted with thoughts of seeing Ruby again after all these years. All four of the Lucas girls had written him over the years. Ruby’s letters were filled with woes of womanhood and her frustrations with the limited choices afforded to her.

“I wish I were there with you, my dear Killy. Why should you and Papa be allowed to face the lions of injustice while I must sit and embroider for my dowry (which I shan’t need, mind you)? I rather crave violence, to be honest. Of course, I know what you’re thinking. We aren’t at war anymore, Ruby. Yet you’re still going on your most grand adventure without me! Please write me in great detail about life on a navy ship, for I shall . . .”

Killian smiled, remembering her words as he studied his hat. He tried to spin tales for Ruby, though his excitement had more to do with that volatile mistress, the sea, than with violent enemies. His time sailing the Atlantic and the Mediterranean had more to do with showing off the United States’ now powerful navy to all of Europe.

“A Lieutenant,” Nemo said, his voice laced with pride, “you did very well for yourself, my boy.”

“Only junior grade.”

“You still climbed the ranks admirably in only four years. You’re sure you don’t want to make a career of it?”

“I didn’t want-” Killian broke off, clenching his jaw. “That is to say, I’m eager to learn the family business. And Nautilus Shipping will still allow salt water in my veins.”

Nemo raised an eyebrow knowingly at him. “You were going to say you didn’t want to be away too long, weren’t you? Twenty-one is rather young to think of settling down, you know.”

“For me it is,” Killian snapped defensively, words from Ruby’s letters drifting to the forefront of his mind, “yet why is Ruby at the same age hearing whispers that she shall become a spinster? Why must girls marry so young?”

For the first time since Killian had known him, his uncle grew visibly uncomfortable. “Well, I . . . that is, when it comes to starting a family . . .” Nemo trailed off, then his eyes brightened as he craned his neck to look out the window. “Ah, here we are at Orchard House!”

Killian stepped down from the carriage, replacing his hat on his head. He was disappointed to see that the ceremony had already taken place. A receiving line wrapped around the front yard of Orchard House, and Mary Margaret and David stood on the front steps with their wedding party lined up beside them. David received hand shakes from well-wishers while Mary Margaret received kisses, just as tradition dictated. A slow grin spread across Killian’s face as he joined the line, his disappointment replaced with the eagerness he felt to surprise all four of his favorite girls.

His scheming was worth the reaction he received from his long-time friends. David’s bright grin as he pulled him in for a hug was worth the wait in line. Over the last four years, the two had exchanged letters, their pupil/teacher relationship blossoming into friendship. (Though David’s brotherly advice and encouragement still felt like a welcome stand-in for the brother he had lost so long ago).

Mary Margaret teared up as a grin dimpled her cheeks. She embraced Killian tightly and received the kiss he pressed to her cheek with far more joy than she had bestowed on the other guests.

Ruby gasped and dropped her bouquet as she launched herself at him in her typical scandalous way. When she released him, she shoved him lightly in the chest.

“How dare you surprise us like this! Do you know our hearts all sank to our feet when we didn’t see you in the crowd during the vows?”

Killian laughed and winked at his friend, “It was my intention to be here a wee bit earlier, but I can’t deny my delight at surprising all of you.”

“We’re so glad you’re here,” Belle said softly, opening her arms to receive a hug from him.

Killian drew her close gently, concerned at the thready sound of her voice and the pale color of her cheeks. As he held her, he also noted how thin she had become. None of her letters had even hinted at any type of illness. He glanced over at his uncle, who averted his gaze. Nemo had clearly known how poorly Belle was faring, since he had invited her to come and play his piano regularly now that Killian was no longer home to fill the hallways of his mansion with music.

“Welcome home, Killian,” a voice he didn’t recognize spoke at his elbow.

He turned at the sound and was completely taken aback by the lovely woman before him. All the Lucas girls had braided their hair and threaded buttercups and baby’s breath through them, but somehow the effect was more ethereal in Emma’s hair. The bright sunshine of her waves were wild in her youth, but now it was more like spun gold catching the light. Her figure in the lace cream bridesmaid dress captivated him, and the scooped neckline showed off the decolletage she had not possessed four years ago. Killian tore his gaze away and up to her green eyes, his cheeks heating at the instant attraction he felt. He pushed it down, lecturing himself that this was Emma, whom he had always felt brotherly affection for.

“Emma,” he murmured, slightly embarrassed at the breathlessness of his voice, “I scarcely recognized you.”

“I grew up,” Emma laughed. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

“My apologies, lass,” he said as he lifted her gloved hand to his lips, his gaze never leaving hers. When he straightened, his heart raced once again at the blush that stained her cheeks.

“I’m glad you’re home.”

Was she just as breathless as he was, or had he imagined it? He suddenly remembered his uncle’s words: A lot can happen in four years . . . girls grow up . . .

“And I am happy to see you, Emma. I can’t call you cygnet anymore, can I?”

“I never liked being called a baby, if you recall. Yet I have always liked being your swan.”

The coyness of her tone and the smirk in her smile made him light-headed. He lifted his hand to scratch behind his ear, but then stopped himself. It wouldn’t bode well for her to know how she was affecting him.

“And that you shall always be . . . Swan.”

***********************************************

Emma burst into the house with such energy and enthusiasm that her bonnet went flying from her head. She shouted for Granny and her sisters, but the first floor was empty. She thundered up the stairs, shouting that she had exciting news, but her family was nowhere to be found on the second level either. She grinned when she saw that the attic door was open and raced up the stairs. Some of the pencils in her hand slipped from her fingers and bounced down the creaky stairs, but she didn’t pause to retrieve them.

“I have wonderful news!” she cried the minute she reached the attic, but she came to an abrupt stop when she saw Ruby on the sofa in the corner, weeping. Belle had her arms around her sister, comforting her. Emma clutched her sketchpad tighter against her chest. “What’s the matter?”

Ruby just turned her face further into Belle’s embrace, and the smaller girl gently patted her back. Emma had never seen Ruby need comfort from anyone, least of all from Belle. Dread filled her stomach. Was someone hurt? Sick? Was something wrong with Killian? Mary Margaret? Granny?

Belle looked up at Emma with a sad expression. “She has refused Killian.”

Emma was rendered silent for a moment as competing emotions rattled within her. On the one hand, she was furious with her sister. How could Ruby be foolish enough to cast aside a proposal from a man as wonderful as Killian? A man who clearly adored her and always had? Yet another part of Emma, the selfish part, was relieved. She had tried over the years to prepare herself for the day when Killian would take Ruby as his wife, but the thought had always left her heartbroken. How could she endure having Killian as a part of her family, but not in the way she longed for? How could she see him for the rest of her days as nothing more than a brother, when her heart ached for so much more?

All of this flitted through Emma’s brain in a moment as she sank onto the edge of the sofa with her sisters. The words that fell past Emma’s lips weren’t even a conscious thought.

“Oh Ruby, how could you?”

Her sister lifted her tear-stained face to Emma in shock. “Do you think I did this to spite him? Do you think I relished breaking his heart?”

Loud, melancholy notes pounded out from the piano next door and floated on the summer breeze up to the attic window. Ruby groaned.

“Listen to him!” She rose from her seat, crossed the attic, and slammed the window shut. She began to pace, worrying her bottom lip. “What can I do? I tried to explain it to him. We would be a horrible match! We’d fight constantly, and eventually, we’d despise each other.”

“But you love him,” Emma said.

Ruby stopped pacing and stared at Emma, shaking her head until her thick brown waves tumbled over her shoulders. “Not like that. Only as a friend. I’ve said it a thousand times, and I’ll say it again: I’ll never marry!”

“You don’t love him?” Emma shouted, jumping up from her seat and tossing aside her sketches. “How can you say that? After all those years of flirting with him!”

“I don’t flirt!”

“Seriously!?” Emma scoffed. “You know what? You don’t deserve him!”

Emma stomped over to retrieve her sketches, her entire body trembling. She was so confused right now. Her relief was overwhelmed by the knowledge of how deeply heartbroken Killian was. She wanted to shake her sister in frustration for so easily casting aside what Emma would give anything to have.

“Emma,” Ruby said gently, placing a hand at her elbow, “I know that you feel for Killian in ways I never could. Don’t be angry with me, thank me!”

Emma looked up at her sister with a trembling smile. “I’m not angry with you, not really.” The strands of Mozart’s Requiem Mass in D floated into the attic, despite the closed window. It felt like a premonition. “I just don’t know that he’ll ever get over you. You know how deeply he feels.”

When Ruby didn’t reply, Emma bent down to pick up her things, then turned toward the door.

“Wait,” Belle called after her, “what was your news?”

Emma felt suddenly sad at the way her earlier excitement had so quickly ebbed away. She mustered a smile for her sisters. “Aunt Regina is taking me to Europe.”

“Why, that’s wonderful!” Belle exclaimed.

“I’m so happy for you, Emma,” Ruby added. “You can study painting.”

Emma nodded and forced a brighter smile upon her face. “She hopes I might make a suitable match there.”

The words fell heavy in the room as Emma turned and made her way back downstairs.

**********************************************

Admiral Nemo sighed, his forehead creased with worry as the train chugged its way out of the station. He didn’t think his nephew would find the balm he was seeking on this journey, yet what could he do? The boy was as stubborn as they came.

He ran a hand wearily over his face as he turned away from the station and went back to his waiting carriage. Regina Mills’ Brougham was parked nearby, and the woman herself sat stiffly inside it. Nemo headed over and tipped his hat to her.

“Good day, Miss Mills. What brings you out today?”

“My man is purchasing our train tickets for the morrow,” she told him primly. She arched one brow and continued, “Ms. Swan and I are leaving for our European tour.”

Nemo’s brows raised. “Is that so?”

“Yes it is,” replied Regina with a sly smile, “and I assume you just saw your nephew off?”

“I did,” Nemo sighed.

“Rumor has it, he is off on his own European tour.”

“If you could call it that,” Nemo scowled. “He’ll be heading to Italy to reconnect with his mother’s old friends in the theater. God knows where he’ll go or what he’ll do after that.”

Regina nodded sagely before speaking again. “Sometimes a young man needs time to nurse a broken heart.”

“More like sow his wild oats,” Nemo bit out. “I had hoped he would go to London to take charge of my business there, make something of himself, but alas . . .”

“A pretty young lady with a good head on her shoulders could entice him to do so.”

A slow smile spread across Nemo’s face. “I agree.”

“So you’ll write me and let me know his itinerary?”

“Gladly,” Nemo assured her with a conspiratorial grin upon his face. He had tried to steer his nephew toward Emma, especially after he witnessed their reunion at the wedding, but it had been to no avail. Yet if the pair just so happened to cross paths in a more romantic setting . . .

“Good day to you, Admiral,” Regina said as her man returned with the tickets. Her eyes sparkled with sly mischief as the Brougham rolled away.

[watching-pictures-move]

Movie Review | Reservoir Dogs (Tarantino, 1992)

This review contains spoilers.

For the past few years, I didn’t spend a lot of time rewatching movies. Quite frankly, the thrill of discovering something new (and the risk that it might not be all that good) outweighed the pleasures of the familiar ninety-nine times out of a hundred. Yet this year, perhaps because it’s been so miserable on the whole, I’ve spent a bit more time revisiting films I’d already seen. In some cases, it was to relive the joy of seeing something I already liked or loved. But in other cases, perhaps because I’d been easier to please on average, I would go back to things I’d felt somewhat at a distance to in the hopes that I would finally be won over. Full Metal Jacket finally clicked with me (seeing it in a different aspect ratio did the trick) and I’ve warmed up to The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 as much as I probably ever will. With that in mind, and prompted by a bizarre dream in which I watched it on Netflix in the wee hours of the morning, I ended up waking up stupid early and giving Reservoir Dogs another viewing. (The dream wasn’t terribly interesting, although it did involve me watching the new Scream, which had magically already been completed and was available on Netflix. There was a lot of yellowish, Fincher-esque lighting and Alison Brie got thrown over a railing at one point. As someone who enjoyed the fourth, I was upset by that turn of events, but dreams can be upsetting. In the words of the Shogun Assassin in Shogun Assassin, “bad dreams are only dreams.”)

I don’t think my opinion changed all that much with this viewing. I still feel that it’s one of Tarantino’s weaker films, lacking the confidence and depth of his next few films. I think Tarantino’s career is generally discussed as being split into his earlier, more story-oriented or reality-grounded films and his later, more indulgent genre pastiches, but I think this one lacks the focus that kind of discourse implies. The characters are barely fleshed out and the directorial touches aren’t as purposeful or effective as they would become in his later work. But at the same time, it’s still a stylish and highly entertaining affair, with a great cast giving some very good performances and delivering some punchy, very funny dialogue. It’s pleasures and limitations are obvious and have been better discussed by those more eloquent than me, so I don’t know how deeply I’ll delve into them. (On a side note, I felt a strange pang of nostalgia revisiting this despite it never having been a favourite of mine. It was very big among the internet crowd I first started discussing film with as I first got into the subject, so it’s hard for me to separate those feelings from the actual movie. I got the same feeling watching Boogie Nights a few weeks ago, despite never having seen that film until now.)

But what I did chew over a bit more this time around is how the movie positions the characters’ morality. We know that Tim Roth’s Mr. Orange is the “good guy”, the undercover cop who kills the psychopathic Mr. Blonde played by Michael Madsen. But at the same time he betrays the trust of Harvey Keitel’s Mr. White. Mr. White is sort of a “good guy” too, but foolishly risks his own fate and those of his associates as he bonds with someone who sets him up. Mr. Blonde is a sadistic psychopath but also extremely loyal, having refused to rat out his friends while serving a tough prison term. Steve Buscemi’s Mr. Pink is entirely business-minded and self-interested, but is that really any less honourable than the intentions of those around him? Chris Penn’s Nice Guy Eddie loves his father, Lawrence Tierney’s Joe Cabot, who is the closest thing to a paternal, authoritative presence in the movie, but both are also extremely ruthless, not to mention racist. Tarantino’s relationship with race is complicated (he’s been criticized for his use of the n-word, particularly in a certain scene in Pulp Fiction, and while I do enjoy his performance in that movie, I’m not sure I can defend a certain line of dialogue), but here the characters’ rampant use of racial slurs seems like a clear indicator of their (lack of) character. (These characters also freely use homophobic slurs, but such language was unfortunately a mainstay of macho dialogue at the time and doesn’t seem as pointed a comment on their natures.) Even when Mr. Orange praises the connection he used to get in with the criminals, another character is quick to point out that the connection is ratting out his friends. There’s some moral relativism in my argument here, but the movie invites that line of thought. Reservoir Dogs is about a bunch of lowlife crooks and despite the extent to which we may identify with them, it never lets us forget that.

In that sense, it’s in clear contrast to some of its influences. Ringo Lam’s City on Fire features the same plot but emphasizes the value of brotherhood between the criminals, so that the betrayal there stings extra hard. Tarantino highlights the meaninglessness of such appeals to solidarity. (Bizarrely, Tarantino has denied having seen that other film despite the hard to ignore story similarities. He even dedicated the screenplay to Chow Yun Fat and pulls the image of a dual wielding gunman in sunglasses from that actor’s oeuvre and has made a brand of pulling from his influences, so I’m baffled why he’d deny this one instance.) Jean-Pierre Melville’s work features gangsters in tailoring adhering to strict codes and conducting themselves with honour in dire situations. Tarantino points out the futility of such codes. His next film handles these dynamics even more elegantly. In Pulp Fiction, John Travolta’s character is a villain in one segment and a hero in another, while Samuel L. Jackson’s character reflects on the dishonourable nature of their work and decides to walk away at the end.

Where I think Pulp Fiction succeeds in handling that theme is that it gives us a sense of Jackson and Travolta contemplating (or failing to do so, respectively) their choices and having something resembling actual worldviews (however limited, as in the case of the latter). The characters in Reservoir Dogs in contrast are drawn in shorthand from gangster cliches so that our identification with them is limited. Mr. Orange should be our audience vantage point, but Tarantino fumbles a key scene in which he relates a made-up story to ingratiate himself with the other criminals. It should be about how Mr. Orange wins their trust, which would help make later speculation on his loyalty more dramatically potent, but in choosing to actually depict the proceedings in the story onscreen, Tarantino makes it about the cuts and shot choices he energetically deploys. It’s not a badly directed scene on its own, but the wrong one for the movie. Yet in other scenes, like the opening in the diner, he’s able to elegantly paint character detail while letting us enjoy the surface pleasure of the dialogue. Mr. Pink refuses to tip as an extension of his business-minded nature. Mr. Blonde volunteers to shoot Mr. White, jokingly revealing his bloodthirst. Mr. White takes things too personally (”You shoot me in a dream, you better wake up and apologize”). Joe Cabot struggles to remember a name, implying that his criminal instincts are slipping. The movie shuffles its timeline in the vein of The Killing to draw out these contrasts between the characters and to build to a tense and memorable climax, yet had more of the individual character moments been as deftly handled as this first scene, the film might have landed with me more strongly. That being said, there’s a nonzero chance I’ll come back to this in a few years, hoping it will finally click.

[callme--starchild]

If I Could Begin To Be

"You know you have one more wish, you could have anything."

Gene's words had been very clear in his ears as he held him by the shoulder, being able to witness the broad smile that outlined in his beak as he extended his arm, trying to demonstrate all the possibilities at his disposal with the magic of the lamp. Likewise, Donald was not a fool, he knew the limitations that the magic of geniuses could have.

Honestly, maybe that was what kept him so hesitant.

He could see Goofy in the distance. He was still lying on the ground, somehow the genie kept the scorpions away from him and had kept what looked like his official merchandise, and he couldn't say he would be surprised if he was seeing Maxes; everything seemed to indicate that he would be a good father even before his son was born, a good-natured unlike him, not allowing himself to be guided by selfish desires and driven by the love between his son and he.

On the other side was his family, and when he thought of them, he was immediately aware of the gazes, completely different emotions that keep him grounded. Della and Scrooge wore supportive smiles, and how to blame them after having shamelessly stripped them of all their essence?

His kids, all four, wore smiles that barely reached their eyes, but they looked so warm that they broke Donald because, sincerely, he would rather see those lovely ducklings upset with him for lying to them, for the sole purpose of keeping them in a fantasy of a perfect, normal family.

But Goofy was right, and he knew he should thank him as soon as he woke up. Adventures was what made his family normal. Even his mother and aunt Tillie used to accompany Scrooge, it was basically a family tradition.

He couldn't take all of that away for being the black sheep and wishing to eradicate the family.

Even Mrs. B, still with her severe expression and while checking his old friend, knew that she was waiting for his wish.

Did he feel pressured? Maybe, because an idea had popped into his mind but it had been long gone.

"Okay, Donnie. Whatever you ask for, you'll have our support” wow, he had really missed hearing that. His sister's warm and gentle voice had always had a calming effect in a way that not even he could understand, perhaps it was the nostalgic and reminiscent factor to their mother? The brightness of her gaze was dimly muted, and both twins knew they had a lot to talk about.

Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if Huey, Dewey, Louie, and even Webby were muttering things to each other. He had raised those triplets for eleven years, and the beautiful addition of the female duckling to the family was one more reason to his gray feathers and larger servings of black coffee, so he was already aware of many of their antics, or their vague attempts to maintain communication codes that he had practiced for years with Della; and frankly deserved them.

That they talked about him behind his back couldn't be new to him, but now he couldn't blame them for it.

“Ye deserve it, son; it’s tru’ tha’ this family can be a he’dache” and there was Scrooge; the old man giving him a smile that reminded him of those days of yesteryear when everything was fine and it was only Scrooge McDuck and the Duck Twins against the unimaginable and willingly ignoring the reproachful “hey!”s of his grand-nephews “if ye nid yer space, Ah think we can understand it.”

There was something in his gaze that Donald couldn't decipher, and that didn't stop him from feeling less strong. 

He did not deserve this family, he thought listlessly; they were too forgiving for his liking. Maybe he was the problem.

“Are you sure?” The genie was still around his shoulder at that moment, smiling patiently, waiting for the last wish of the lamp master, but he could not risk breaking the contact, no matter how amateur he was not. Maybe it was the second thing that kept him going.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Beakley picking up Goofy. His friend was still not regaining consciousness, but his breathing was steady and he kept a smile on his face, which must mean there was nothing to worry about. As if on cue, the merchandise was gone in an instant, as if it had never been there.

“Of course bro. Back on the moon…” Della stopped abruptly as she remembered the catchphrase of his desire, and at her empty expression he couldn't laugh at the irony because that would be shameless and because he too had been a victim of Lunaris and— “I just thought of see my four boys happy. And I mean all four, Donald.”

Her voice was broken. By the time she had come closer, her metal leg ringing against gold and she had taken one of his hands in hers, he had already begun to feel his eyes burn and his sight blur.

He had really missed his sister. What was he thinking when he thought he could change it?

She had always been that way, ever since they were children, and putting aside her interest in the next adventure. When faced with a new change, especially the change in his voice, his sister had always been like this to take his hands, tell him how much she watched over his happiness, remind him of how much she loved him and allow him to cry on her shoulder. According to his sister and his uncle, until falling asleep.

"Whatever you ask for, however far-fetched it is, you'll always have your family to back you up." Winking at him, she silently thanked when Gene quietly pulled away from her twin to cradle him instantly.

In just an instant, Donald had gone from being the father of her boys to becoming the sensitive and shy duckling she remembered.

In just an instant, the twins had gone from proud adult parents to the wee bairns Scrooge remembered, when the orphan wound was still fresh. How, despite their few minutes apart, Della could take the role of the alpha twin.

"I'm really sorry, Dells." Donald's voice had grown hoarser, even his sister had trouble understanding the message, but when she did, she gently patted his back.

She preferred to ignore how her brother had cringed after hearing his voice again; and though it had been surprising to hear him with another during his desire — that if it was included in his fantasy, she feared for the answer — she preferred that raspy voice with which she had grown up.

"I know you didn't do it maliciously, Donald; I couldn't be mad at you for a long time even if I wanted to. Unless you deserve it.” Della smiled slyly when she heard her brother laugh; it was broken, but it was sincere and apologetic.

Same as him.

Though reluctant he turned away from his sister, rubbing his eyes to withdraw the tears that had had the decency not to flow. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the genie talking to his nephews, with Dewey speaking the most; and while Huey was more timid, Louie analyzed the lamp that he had dropped at some point.

Beakley and Webby kept the scorpions away. It didn't seem like an easy job but they seemed to have the situation under control. Goofy, still in the awkward position he was in by the treasure, had let out a snore.

He was fine.

For his part, Scrooge kept a distance from the twins, keeping a sympathetic smile. He wink at his nephew, saying the same to him.

If they both noticed the discomfort with which he cleared his throat, neither said anything.

But what could he wish for? Ever since he had the use of reason, he had lived typecast to adventures, and though he tried to escape from them, they always found a way to return to his life. He was Donald — Fauntleroy — Duck, and he was Scrooge McDuck's nephew, which could be both a blessing and a curse.

Yes, it had been relaxing not to venture into the unknown, he had never enjoyed a day without magic, archenemies, or near-death experiences, especially since his nephews were not involved in them; but his family was unhappy.

He couldn't bear to see his family unhappy.

At least not now. Because if he saw the adventures in a way that was normal, perhaps he had also been normal?

Maybe a normal voice?

"Don't even think about it Donnie." Donald looked up when he realized he had thought aloud, his hand resting gingerly at the base of his throat. Despite her amused smile, Della was frowning and the brightness in her gaze had dimmed. “Your voice is unique just like you, and I don't want to have a commercial presenter as a brother.”

Even so, the duck managed to smile and exalt a small laugh, though it sounded a bit forced. He hadn't realized how that twisted his sister's smile.

“Come oan lad. Ah know th’re maw be somethin’ else.” Scrooge immediately took a place among the twins to wrap them in his shoulders, watching the triplets chat with Gene as they rummaged through the treasures, how Webby had no problem joining the conversation; which would be normal if it wasn't because they still had scorpions surrounding them.

As if everything that happened was nothing more than his subconscious playing with him.

The warm smile that had invaded his uncle's face and the nostalgic one of his sister, Donald allowed himself to observe again the ducklings who, much to his regret and considering that he still had to apologize to them, did not seem to hold a grudge against him and instead had their beaming smiles of every day.

"There must be something you  always wanted to have," Della trailed off, stroking his knuckles in a way that felt too familiar. Perhaps there have been times in his life when his sister could become sweet when she wanted to, despite the multiple tantrums that could have occurred — they were still siblings, after all — but this seemed like a new facet.

Motherhood suited Della very well.

But in one way or another, it was the trigger Donald needed, again looking at the four children, who together had finally chosen to help Beakley with the scorpions while Louie fervently cared for the lamp in the front pocket of his sweater. Dewey and Webby were the most excited about getting their daily dose of adrenaline back, but that didn't stop Huey from hitting some with his book while avoiding stingers as much as possible, or Louie suggesting one thing or another to his siblings. Regardless of the circumstances and the way their personalities collided, the four of them found a way and worked as a team.

A team that held together despite the multiple adversities that arose on its way and found the strength to continue. Even when the issue of the Spear finally came to light, his nephews had remained united, and they had no trouble keeping Webby by their side and reintegrating her even as she made a plan for them to return to Scrooge. When they do not know if they will return from the Shadow War being Magica notoriously more powerful than any enemy they have faced.

Huey, Dewey and Louie (and Webby) had always managed to stay together.

Scrooge and Della (and sometimes he) had accomplished the same, as if the eleven-year absence had never occurred. He didn't care if their ties had grown stronger while he was away —  it wasn't the first time this had happened anyway, he was used to it.

He could easily be seen in a team in the company of José and Panchito, since they met in the cabana in their college days. But even if he had no difficulty venturing even with the bombastic but carefree attitudes of his companions reminding him of his sister, he had always detected more chemistry among the Latin birds. And while he loved Xandra and Kay K, for obvious reasons they weren't the friends he could invite over coffee or hang out no matter how much he wanted to see them again.

And he was sure that, even in pairs, his nephews had found a way to work together. Maybe he needed his own team to gradually delve into the dynamics of his family?

Yes, part of him disagreed one hundred percent. He had chosen to completely give up on adventures the instant he knew his sister had taken the Spear of Selene behind his back, but what else could he do when he couldn't even take a relaxing vacation? He missed spending time with the children, even if it was getting involved in one of their shenanigans; and after being ten years estranged from his uncle and eleven from his sister, he doubted he wanted to spend more time away from them — and now that he was holding them like a vice grip he feared they would fade again if he released them.

But he accepted it, he wanted to enter his family's definition of normalcy once again. Perhaps the first step was to get used to this conception, but he knew that he could not alone. He had always been able to count on their help after all, and he doubted that after so long they would stop.

He just hoped that Gene would agree.

"I'm ready to make my last wish," he snapped, making Della and Scrooge jump. Doubting he had stopped hugging them, patting their shoulders gently before approaching the genie, an assertive smile forming on his face as he finished paraphrasing the desire in his mind.

There was something he had always wanted to have.

"At your command, sir." Reverence might have been exaggerated, but being locked up for around two decades might be justification enough. Furthermore, the modest smile on his face demonstrated the patience he had had while he collapsed.

Fortunately Scrooge and his sister had focused on removing the scorpions from Goofy's overnight body, otherwise they would have considered their discretion in making the suspicious wish.

Who might suspect Donald Duck anyway?

“A picture?” Ending to hang the framed photograph, he did not allow his nephew's sarcastic comment to affect him — or at least show that it did not affect him — hearing him wince, along with the already recognized drumming that Dewey's webbed feet cause in the wood. “Did you spend your last wish on a stupid framed photo when I can easily make one on my cell phone?!”

Donald knew that in the blink of an eye he could reproach Louie for the vocabulary, but he knew his nephews well enough to know that his scolding would fall on deaf ears, smiling at the warm homecoming that is listening to the comments bathed in irony of his family. He heard Louie's phone flash in the background as he took the photo.

He didn't know how much he had missed that.

"You could have made infinite wishes, or become a genius yourself!" Louie was growling under his breath, but Donald had watched enough fantasy movies as a child to know that those wishes usually ended badly as tempting as they were, but that didn't fade the smile on his face.

After all, he was satisfied with his wish.

"I like it," and Huey, the sensitive Huey, seemed so happy now that everything was settled, so delighted with his  last wish that, well, it made him not have the heart not to object.

Besides that he was also in love with it.

"It’s perfect” how could he not be when it included the whole family doing what they did best, which was to venture? It was amazing how quickly could change a person's mind if they wanted to; even he, who accepted the change weighed on him, was surprised.

It must be that a part of him was anxious about what would happen from now on that he had chosen to go into the unknown with them. Or maybe it was his subconscious playing with him. Again.

"Well Uncle Donald, you know we'd like to stay here, but we have to go; Mom proposed a game afternoon” Dewey sounded apologetic despite the seconds of silence, but still he could hear his sad smile and his body moving.

"Okay, you know the doors will always be open to you." He smiled at them over his shoulder. Maybe they weren't spending as much time in the houseboat as he would like, but that didn't stop him from wanting to remind them that that would always be their home and that they would always be welcome, no matter if they had a bad day or just wanted to hang out — which It was rare, but it didn't make it totally strange.

“Yes!” The triplets chanted happily, catching Donald off guard when they hugged him, the three pairs of arms encircling his waist, but he hadn't managed to reciprocate before webbed feet traversed the wooden floor, exiting the escape hatch before which Donald couldn't help but giggle.

He loved those boys, and as long as he had that perfect framed photo as part of his collection and his family continued to stay together — as it should have been eleven years ago — he would be fine.

He was sure he didn't thank Goofy enough for his prompt service.

But before he could take another step, a soft knock on his door was heard, confusing him. After accompanying Goofy on his long journey back to Spoonerville, the last thing he expected was to receive visitors. Della would spend the rest of the day with the boys, Launchpad had taken his uncle to the Money Bin, and Beakley's visits were rare.

Honestly, now that he was alone, what he needed most was to go to the other side of the city, growling when they knocked again.

“I'm going!” Perhaps he raised his voice more than stipulated, but he couldn't help it. He was in a hurry and was not there to attend to anyone right now.

The strange detail is that he did not usually receive visitors except that it was his sister and his nephews, who never had the decency to knock. Perhaps the only exception were José and Panchito, but they were too indiscreet.

“How can I help you?” He slammed the door open, his expression blank before the white-feathered duck in front of him. Trying not to feel overwhelmed by his tall stature, his groomed jet hair, and his sparkling emerald eyes. He was raising his fist, ready to knock once more.

Especially when they get wide and started scanning him with taut features. Needless to say, his shoulders did not tense. Suddenly he felt threatened.

"Hey! What is the big idea?!” He clenched his fists and grind his teeth. He really didn't have time for this.

He was about to slam the door when the other duck's hand stepped in, opening it with superhuman strength for someone who looked so… puny? Exalting apologies over and over again that did not anything but confused the sailor.

“Sorry, sorry! It's just that…” He inhaled and exhaled, his chest rising and falling apace, his body relaxing as if a burden was suddenly released from his shoulders, laughing sourly with a raspy voice but that revealed self-confidence “it has been years, but seeing you again Donald, it's as if all this time nothing had happened.”

His voice had broken, but that only increased the duck's bewilderment. That had served to partially deflate his anger, but that didn't stop him from feeling his blood boil. He was already wasting a lot of time. That a stranger knew his name was not strange when being the nephew of someone globally recognized as his uncle, but a very different thing is that it was exclaimed with so much trust.

“Excuse me, but do I know you?” And perhaps he sounded so confused that it must explain the incredulous expression of the man in front of him, as if a bucket of ice water had been thrown.

He laughed again, with the sole exception that he now sounded more forced, brushing a lock of hair from his face with a nervous smile at a look that tried not to fade like an old firefly — literally, being overshadowed by the rays of the sun that still hovered over Duckburg.

Perhaps his photographic memory was declining, but he was sure that if he had met someone with an appearance as attractive as the man in front of him, perhaps he would have noticed it. Yes, there was something about his gaze that was vaguely familiar, but he didn't like creating or creating himself hopes when there surely wasn't.

"You can't, you can't be serious Don," he looked so radiant that he would even feel bad about upsetting him, grinning sardonically, clearing his throat as he felt the tension in Donald's body, "it's me, Uno!"

The moment that name had been mentioned, those green irises glowing instantly, Donald felt his legs tremble, holding on to the door frame. He trembled in shock, feeling his eyes burn.

That was not what he had in mind when he made his wish, much less so quickly — at least, until he remembered who was in front of him.

That was not what he expected, but he could not say that he was not satisfied because it would be a vile lie.

"I'm back, Old Cape!" He sounded as impressed as he was, and it was then that he knew it was already perfect .

[whyamistillwatchingtheseshows]

Ming couldn’t help it, girls and guys were going to flirt with him. It happened all the time. He also knew that it upset Kit, but Ming made sure that when he responded back it was never flirtatious. Tonight, he might’ve been failing. This one guy kept making him laugh and Ming might’ve stupidly been on the fourth Tequila shot. He realized the mistake when the guy tried to kiss him. 

“No, don't.” Ming swayed on his feet but managed to block a punch his boyfriend was about to swing into the guy’s face. “It’s my fault. I’m sorry,” he mumbled and instantly having read the situation the guy sauntered away after another prospect. Ming smiled at Kit. “At least you’re learning. That would’ve been one hell of a punch.” 

Kit crossed his arms. “Can you just shut up for once in your life?” Ming looked offended. 

“How do you mean?” 

“Just keep your trap shut and walk away from them.” 

“Someone gets jealous really easy. Trust me, please, when I say it’s only you I want.” He attempted to reach out for Kit’s hips, but his boyfriend put distance between them. 

“When we go out to the bar you’re nearly flirting with everyone, Ming. I could be standing right next to you and you’re still doing it.” 

Ming cracked his neck. “I thought you wanted me to shut up.” Kit huffed. 

“That’s fair. Fine, I’m leaving.” 

___

It would be two days before they talk to each other again. Kit reluctantly opened the door. 

“Who did you flirt with on your way here?” 

“That’s a great way to start what’s supposed to be a make-up conversation. Just great.” Ming clenched his teeth as he stepped over the threshold. Kit slammed the door. “Ooh, nice touch. Do I have any say in this or am I to just shut up?” 

“Fine, what do you want to say?” 

“I can’t help it if people flirt with me. Just as you can’t help it if they flirt with you. I’ve seen it happen at the bar. Sometimes, I wonder how those people got so brave to approach you. Arms crossed, resting bitch face, they must see it as a challenge.” Ming laughed. “Look at you now.” 

Kit surely did have his arms crossed again and there was a stone look on his face. The whole, “I dare you to approach me.” Ming did approach. He rested hands onto Kit’s shoulders, letting them fall down and then squeeze. Kit almost melted into his arms but then scooted away. Ming left without another word. 

___

It’d be another two days before they see each other again. Kit tossed and turned. Then he rolled up and sat on the edge of the bed. It didn’t take long for Ming to wake up. 

“Why are you awake?” 

“What are we doing?”

“Sleeping. Well, we’re sleeping now. Earlier we…” Ming scooted to wrap arms around him. He softly kissed the exposed bit of Kit’s neck. 

“No, I meant...just what the hell happened this week? The fighting, the arguing. Are we in a bad place?” 

“I don't think so,” Ming hugged him tighter. “Did you think it was always going to be perfect or something? I might have limited brain cells, and come off as some kind of dumb brute, but I do know that relationships take work. Besides, I fought for you in the beginning and I’m going to keep fighting for you as long as you’ll have me.” Ming attempted to reach fingers to Kit’s chin to turn his face to him. Before he could, Kit turned and jumped into his lap instead. Ming smirked. Then he noticed the watery eyes. “Please, don't cry.” 

Kit shut his eyes as if that could keep the tears at bay. It didn’t work. He felt like a massive idiot. They both made apologies to each other, but Kit felt as if he was the one to blame for starting the bullshit. Ming wiped away a few tears. “That’s enough. It’s over. We’ve moved passed it, we’ve come to an understanding.” 

“Did we though?” 

“Maybe it was just make-up sex needed.” Ming laughed. “Make-up sex to forget about it, but what I said stands. People will flirt and sure it sucks if they get physical because they thought they could. To be honest, I kinda wish I had let you punch the guy.” 

“Hmm,” Kit settled more into his lap, Ming ran his hands up his back. “I have a good teacher.” 

“Yes, you do.” Ming bit his lip and then grabbed a handful of Kit’s hair. They smashed their lips together and Ming knew there’d be no more sleeping until the wee hours of the morning.

[takingcourage]

Restless

Pairing: Thomas x MC

Word Count: 2,450

Summary: On the night before Allison’s psych evaluation, sleep proves elusive. 

Note: If you’ve followed me for long, you may already know that I have zero patience for characters failing to communicate. While I completely respect Thomas’s position and his need for time, the way things ended at Drafthorse stressed me out. I needed something to tide me over until Friday, so this story is my attempt to fix things (just a bit). 

I hope you enjoy!

Of all the nights to have insomnia, this had to be the absolute worst. 

Allison scrunched the pillow beneath her head, rolling to her opposite side in a last-ditch effort to find a position that could coax her toward somnolence. She laid her head the center of the thick padding, brushing away the tangle of hair that tickled her cheek. Once settled, she willed herself to relax. 

It was only 3:00 am. Much too early for any sane person to be out of bed, but she was close to not being able to stand it anymore. 

If only she could afford a sleepless night. 

She’d learned how to operate on scant amounts of sleep back in college, and while pushing through her tiredness grew more difficult with every passing year, she could still call on her stores of natural energy when she needed to. When those started to run low, there was always caffeine. But caffeine couldn’t give her a well-rested complexion or the soundness of mind that came with a full night’s sleep. 

If she went into tomorrow’s psych evaluation running on autopilot and looking like death warmed over...

Well, the possibilities didn’t bear thinking about. 

“Just sleep!” She whispered the plea and screwed her eyes shut, fighting off the desperation that was threatening to lay hold of her sense. Even as her stomach churned, she forced deep breaths in through her nose and out her parted lips. 

But she knew the efforts were futile. Although she’d managed a little bit of sleep at first, it had been hours since she’d woken up. Hours of tossing and turning. Hours of being sick with worry about what tomorrow might bring. Hours of reliving her kisses with Thomas over and over and over. 

It felt insane to be thinking about him at such a time. From an objective view, whatever was going on between the two of them was the least her her concerns. 

And yet, the way he’d left weighed almost as heavily on her mind as her fears about the day ahead. 

She tried not to think about his fingers digging into the flesh of her thighs, his breath hot and shallow against her throat. Swallowing hard, she tried to forget the taste of his lips, the conviction in his voice when he told her how much he’d wanted her. She tried to ignore the molten desire he’d rekindled: desire that had been dormant for so long that she’d thought it was gone.  

Allison threw back the comforter she slept with to leave only the thin sheet behind. Body burning, she pushed in the switch on her bedside lamp. Sleep wasn’t going to come, and she didn’t like where her mind was headed in the darkness. 

Or maybe she liked it too much.

She propped her pillow against the headboard, sat up, and urged herself to be reasonable. 

But reasonable behavior would have been much easier to achieve if those moments with Thomas in the Drafthorse storeroom hadn’t taught her one very important thing: his patience had a limit. 

It was a weakness she knew she could exploit if she wanted to. And she had to admit, it was tempting. Having a man desire her in that way felt good. Coupled with the way she she felt toward him, it was better than good -- irresistible, almost. 

At the same time, it was absolutely terrifying. Allison didn’t know if she liked having so much influence -- having the power to make him act without rational thought, to do things he wasn’t really ready to do. Her mind insisted that rushing him would only make things worse, that she had to be incredibly careful until it was clear that he was well and truly ready to move on. 

And yet, those kisses had certainly felt like he was ready. 

Craving distraction, Allison reached for her phone and thumbed the password by rote. She scrolled through news headlines and social media feeds, searching for anything that could center the jumbled mess of thoughts within. When nothing sufficed, she opened her web browser and started typing. 

How to...

A list of options populated beneath the search bar. How to plan for a court-ordered psychological evaluation came up first. Shaking her head, she ran the search and began skimming over the same results she’d seen a dozen times before. 

Nothing new. Be honest. Be professional. Be prepared. 

An icy tendril of fear latched down the length of her spine. How prepared could she truly be on an hour of sleep? If she couldn’t even focus her thoughts in the privacy of her own home, was there any hope of producing coherent answers in front of a psychologist? 

The hours leading to the appointment were going to drive her mad. 

Before she even realized what she was doing, she’d typed out a message to Thomas. Doubt crept in as her finger hovered over the send button. 

If they talked, maybe she could get some of this off her chest. Maybe she’d be able to go into tomorrow’s appointment a little bit saner  -- a little bit more qualified to retain custody of her daughter. 

It seemed like the barest chance, but she was willing to take it. Besides, she knew his text notification was usually disabled. It wasn’t like she was in danger of waking him up. 

Could you call me sometime this morning? 

Allison stared at the screen dumbly, not quite believing that she’d sent the message so long before the sunrise. But by the time the screen faded to black, some part of her did feel better. Taking any action was better than tossing and turning. 

She was just coming back from the bathroom when she heard the vibration of her phone against the nightstand. In one fluid motion, she swept the phone to her ear and answered. “Hello?”

“I take it you can’t sleep either?”

Her surprise at the call changed to sympathy on hearing the crack in his voice. “Nope.”

“Sorry, stupid question,” he continued with a sigh. “What can I do?”

“Wait--” she interjected, feeling her forehead wrinkle with confusion. “Why are you awake right now? It isn’t even 4:00 yet.”

“I was trying to fall back asleep when I saw your text.”

“Then you should go back to sleep. It’s nothing urgent. Please?”

He chuckled quietly, though there was little humor in the sound. “If it’s keeping  you up, that’s urgent enough. What's on your mind?” 

She didn’t know where to start. 

Allison expelled a heavy breath and sat back on the mattress. How much should she tell him? Her better judgment told her that the wee hours of the morning were not the proper time to be having a heart-to-heart with the man she was half in love with, but impulse won out over sense. 

“It’s the middle of the night and I’m in an empty house because my terrible ex sabotaged me with my own daughter. I’ve got a psych evaluation first thing in the morning that’s going to decide whether I’m fit to continue raising said daughter, and...” she swallowed hard, trying to check her tone. 

Should she tell him that he’d been on her mind too? Biting the inside of her cheek, she resisted the urge. “And I feel like I’m thinking in circles. So, yeah. Sleeping’s been a little tricky,” she finished lamely. 

“We never did get a chance to talk about the evaluation this afternoon, did we? What time is your appointment?” he asked simply. 

“10:00.”

She could almost hear the wheels turning in his head.

“If you’d like, I could come by in the morning after I’ve dropped Luz at school. It would give us some time to talk things through and make sure you’re feeling confident.”

Allison’s throat grew thick at the generous offer. “That sounds amazing,” she whispered finally, hoping that he would interpret the weakness in her voice as yet another symptom of exhaustion.  

“Great. I’ll bring some coffee too.”

“Do you do this for all of your clients?” She inquired, the lighthearted tone masking the fact that she was on the verge of tears.

"You’re the exception to a lot of rules, Allison Day.”

A shiver coursed between her shoulders. With satisfied smile, she had to admit that she liked holding such distinction. As the immediate sense of pleasure wore off, she realized he’d continued speaking. 

“...shouldn’t worry about it in the meantime. That psychologist is going to see what everyone else already knows: you’re an incredible mom.”

“An incredible mom who had to call her lawyer in the middle of the night because she had insomnia...”

“That’s what I’m here for. Like I said, I’m your lawyer and your friend. And I fully meant that compliment. You’re the first person I turn to for parenting advice these days. That should tell you something.”

Mood lightening, she couldn’t help feeling a bit mischievous. “It tells me that you’re desperate.” She shifted her phone to the other ear, smiling as his laughter carried across the line.

“If you’re insulting me, you must be feeling better.”

“Much. Thanks for listening.”

“You’re welcome.” He paused for several long seconds Any longer, and Allison might have wondered if he’d fallen back to sleep. “Do you mind if I change the subject for a moment?”

“Not at all,” she responded, intrigued.

“I wanted to apologize again for what happened this afternoon. I can’t help thinking that I’ve contributed to your trouble sleeping.”

Her sigh was all the proof he needed.

“I’m sorry, truly. If I’d been thinking it never would have happened.” 

Back ramrod straight, Alison propped her head against the wall behind her headboard. They were treading into dangerous territory. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to dash headlong into something she couldn’t get out of. 

Then again, he’d been the one to bring it up... 

“Maybe I’m glad you weren’t thinking then,” she challenged finally. Half relieved, half mortified, she bit her tongue. There was no going back now. “Because even though you ran off afterward, that still might have been the best kiss of my life. I’ve been dying to kiss you for months.”

"Allison, I...”

She rose from the bed, shrugging into her robe before she made her way to the kitchen. “And I know you’re not ready to talk about it,” she went on, filling a glass of water at the tap. “That’s fine. But I’m working with an hour of sleep and a heck of a lot of stress right now, so I think I’m just going to come right out and say it. You don’t have to respond or decide anything now, but maybe it will help, somehow.”

His breath was slow on the other end of the line. “That’s more than fair. If it helps you to talk, I’ll listen.”

“No pressure, okay?” 

“Okay.”

“I’m not trying to rush you.” 

“Okay,” he agreed a second time. 

Taking a long sip of water, Allison lowered herself to the couch. This was a terrible idea. Unfortunately, any inhibitions she normally would have had were long gone. 

“I want to be with you, Thomas. In a real, committed relationship where we don’t have to question the consequences or worry about second thoughts. If there’s any possibility of that happening, I’ll wait as long as I need to...” she stopped at the sound of his sharp inhale. 

After a beat, he responded. “Thank you.”

Her heart sank at the continued silence. It wasn’t exactly the answer she’d been yearning for. Though she knew it was unlikely, some part of her had been holding out hope that his mind had changed since that afternoon. 

“You’re welcome. Uh, thanks again...for listening.” She drew the words out awkwardly, uncertain where to take the conversation from there. Now that the weight was off her chest, she had no sense of what needed to come next. 

Fortunately, Thomas filled the silence. “I’m happy to. And I...”

Her pulse skipped, growing giddy again with possibility. 

“I’m sorry for being so back and forth. But I have to be sure that when... if,” he amended after some hesitation, “I move on, it’s not just going to be some short-term relationship that will change after a few weeks or months. I couldn’t do that Luz. I’m not sure I could put myself through that either.”

"Believe me, Thomas. I understand. The last thing I want is to put Kira through any more change right now. But if you decide you’re ready for a relationship -- for something stable...” She trailed off, forcing herself to take another drink of water before her tongue could get her into further trouble. 

“You’ll be the first to know,” he promised. 

“Thanks.” With a smile, she set the empty glass of water aside. From the corner of her eye, she caught the time on the oven clock and winced. “Hey, I should let you get back to sleep.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to? You’d still be able to get a couple of hours if you went to bed now.”

“I think so,” Allison confirmed, already padding back in the direction of her bedroom. “Thanks again for listening.” 

“You’re welcome again. I’ll listen as much as you want in the morning -- the real morning,” he clarified dryly. “I’ll look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Allison. Sleep well.” 

“Goodnight,” she signed off with a yawn. After plugging her phone in to charge, she climbed back into bed. When she rolled to the other side of the mattress, there was a smile on her face. 

Talking with Thomas might not have solved anything, but it had still done her a world of good. As she nestled into the blankets, she almost hoped that this wasn’t the last late-night conversation in their future. No matter what was going on between them, he made a great sounding board. 

While warmth returned to her cold extremities, a baser part of her instinct took over. After all, she wanted him as more than just a confidant and ally.  Imagination running wild, Allison could almost feel him in the bed beside her. Within the dream, she melted into the heat of his body as he pulled her close, planting kisses along the curve of her throat. She turned to face him, lips greedy to taste his skin. 

The cold air on her face brought her back to reality. 

Groaning, she rolled over again and banished all thoughts from her mind. All thoughts, that is, save for one.

Thomas was definitely worth waiting for. 

[aelaer]

For the fanfic asks: 2. What’s next on your ‘to-read’ list? (Fan fiction or otherwise) 5. What’s a crackship you love? 6. What’s the last thing you read that made you laugh? 7. What’s the last thing you read that made you cry? 11. Kid fic or childhood friends? 18. Do you have a fic reading/writing routine?

Hi neutron! I've been wondering where you were! Good to see you again. I hope you're doing okay in these insane times. I'm interested in hearing about it if you're interested in sharing. Also you now have a number by your name, that’s new!

This is a really rambly answer that meanders past the questions multiple times. I apologize for my verbosity, as well as some of the dry, uh, glass-half-empty tone that may leak through the answers. It's been a real rough 48 hours. Rambling while channeling Eeyore sometimes helps get it out, hah. Cut if you’re not reading this on tumblr’s dumb half-working mobile app.

2. What’s next on your ‘to-read’ list? (Fan fiction or otherwise)

For fanfic, I don't have anything on my immediate to-read list. I do have several longer bookmarked stories from both Sherlock and the MCU, but a couple of them deal with really heavy topics (like grieving over death or the aftermath of assault) and I'll wait until the world is more calm before getting to those. Others I know are in the works but I'm waiting for them to be nearer to completion before diving in. And then others are romance-focused and I honestly need to be in the mood to read romance-focused, novel-length stories. I can get through a romance one or two shot in a breeze, but I get really bored in most romance novel-length stories and honestly don't understand why the majority of women love them so much. Unfortunately platonic, family or found family novel stories are virtually nonexistent in the MCU with my guy so, y'know. I'll likely get to the romances when I'm in the mood. (Usually it happens on airplanes. I don't know why either.)

My "to review" list is actually longer, to get to the 1% of stories that actually fall into my favorite genre: platonic shit. Platonic shit doesn't usually get many reviews anyway so that's my immediate goal as opposed to reading since I've read virtually every gen story that contains Doctor Strange as a character already :D

Outside of fanfic? That's a really good question. I have no idea. I should check out the free ebook sites that are opening up. Anyone have any recs? Humor is awesome, don't want anything sad or with unhappy endings atm. Fictional or nonfiction all work.

5. What’s a crackship you love?

Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Does Stephen/Cloak count? I think that could count. It's definitely a bit odd. The really really weird ones are when the Cloak gets a humanoid form for The Exact Reason You're Thinking.

Stephen/tentacle monster is also one I've seen which is just fucking hilarious.

Oh, and anything with Groot. As an adult of course, whatever counts as adulthood for grootpeople. I haven't read anything mind you, but that seems like hilarity waiting to happen.

6. What’s the last thing you read that made you laugh?

Nothing that I can remember in fanfic :/ I could use a good laugh, but at the moment I've only been getting them via memes and Twitter. I can't remember the last funny scene in a fanfic that I've read. Nothing this year, I think. Likely last summer or fall with some of the couple lovely one shots that came around then.

My answers have really sucked so far. Gah.

7. What’s the last thing you read that made you cry?

The news. *rimshot*

Okay this one I can answer. Signature Move back in September. I remembered because I can count on one hand the number of fanfics that have made me cry over the last 16.5 years.

I think the last book to make me cry was The Lovely Bones well over a decade ago.

11. Kid fic or childhood friends?

Kid fic, except for de-aging fics. Fics exploring the characters as children or around children are fantastic. I'd honestly love to see more of this with Stephen (expect with a de-aged Peter, and with actual children, not teenagers who are almost adults.)

18. Do you have a fic reading/writing routine?

Fic reading routine: Let's see if there's anything new that I'm interested in. *three minutes later* Nope! (basically the people I follow here on Teh Tumblrlrlrlr tend to link their stuff here, so I get it here first, read it, tell em "yay!", then go about my merry way. I am usually very surprised if I find something that grabs me in browsing ao3, to the point that I only browse if I'm uploading something or replying to reviews. The fanfic I'm looking for comes out in limited amounts and I can only write so much of it *shrug*.)

When I do find something that looks interesting, I read it immediately if possible. If not possible, I keep the tab open on my phone until I get to it. That is usually in bed at night. I try to review immediately because if I don't it takes me like three friggin weeks to get back to review it; damn, I owe a few reviews that I really need to do before the end if the week.

If the something I found interesting is really really really long and compelling, I used to binge read into the wee hours of the morning. I control myself a bit better now, as I must do as a Supposedly Responsible Adult. Even doing this I think I still managed to read around 1000 Sherlock fanfics throughout 2017 and 2018. Oh how I binged.

For writing: It depends largely on the time of day, actually. If it's before 10PM, I usually take my laptop out. One of the Discord communities I'm in has a writing sprint channel, and if there's anyone doing a sprint, I'll join them. This has helped me get the hardest parts of chapters onto paper several times, those nasty filler parts that are just being really stubborn. If there's no sprint going on, I'll sometimes start one myself (though only if someone will join me).

I don't always use a sprint when on my laptop though. On my laptop in the first two to five tabs are the stories I'm currently working on (and five tabs after those is the story I promised to fucking beta read five hundred years ago but I'm clearly the worst person to ask for a beta as you can tell by the lack of it being finished, jfc me). Anyway, I'll review those, maybe jump around and scroll a bit to review my notes or what I've written, and once I get a bit more spark of inspiration while reviewing, I'll start writing. If no spark comes or I'm forcing myself to write a specific scene that's acting up, that's when I use the sprint method described above.

After 10pm, I write on my phone. Thank goodness the Google doc app exists. It's much slower, but it's still writing and that's really what counts. My creativity is very much a night owl and I've written a couple hundred words (or more) late at night many times. Sometimes it's just outlining, sometimes it's just pieces of dialogue. The smart phone has definitely made writing before bed even more convenient.

Thank you.

[furby-science]

The Making of Sterling the Super Furby: A Brief Overview

“I… I can’t look! I think I’m gonna… *HUEEEGH*!”

Before I get into this post, I want to list a few things I didn’t know shit about when I started Sterling:

Electronics

The Python coding language

Furby anatomy

Single board computers

After creating Sterling, I’m happy to say that now I have approximate knowledge of some of these things, but keep the above in mind as you read onwards. This little gremlin child was a learning experience from start to finish, and one I am incredibly proud of myself for sticking through. This also means that I am in no way an expert on everything I’m getting into okay? Okay let’s go!

The Hardware

First, a rundown of the hardware. I took heavy inspiration from the Furlexa mod shown here, and that was what I initially sought to create. The mod had three computer components to it:

A raspberry pi zero w single board computer for the AI to live on, with a mini USB microphone plugged in;

A pimoroni speaker PHAT to use as the sound system;

A motor controller to drive the furby’s motor.

My main problem with Furlexa was that this initial build took a lot of soldering, and I am a wussy who had a number of bad experiences with soldering irons in shop class. So, what’s a novice electrician to do?

Enter the Adafruit Crickit HAT. By sticking this little fucker on top of the raspberry pi, I was gifted with an amplifier, a speaker jack, capacitative touch sensors, and a motor driver all in one, no soldering needed if I bought the raspberry pi zero w h! The main challenge it posed was powering it. The Crickit insists, for some unfathomable reason, on being powered by a bulky DC jack, the kind you’d plug into a wall outlet, and the converter plug to use a battery pack with it was way too bulky to fit into a furby. I needed Sterling to be portable for maximum huggability, so this just wouldn’t do.

One fried raspberry pi and Crickit HAT later, I found the answer! By soldering the original furby battery pack to the underside of the Crickit board’s DC connection, these fuckers right here…

I was able to bypass the need for a wall plug or converter, and power him directly through the battery compartment like God intended. S/O to my friend Nick who is way less of a dumb bitch than I am and helped me figure this shit out I owe u some bread man.

So the tl;dr of it is, I effectively reduced the required computer components from three to two (excluding the speaker). Speaking of (heh), Sterling has an impressive 3w speaker in him, allowing him to be audible even without the use of the built in amplifier. It’s got such good bass on it, he even rumbles when he purrs without the aid of the motor!

And yes, when you pet him, he purrs. And complains if you manhandle him! The aforementioned capacitative touch sensors on the Crickit HAT made it all possible with the help of a few cables and some foil tape.

Wait, did you say soldering!?

Yup! It was a necessary evil; at the end of the day I had to pick my poison: soldering 80 pins on the speaker PHAT, or soldering like four contact points on the Crickit. I chose the more merciful option.

But wait, that whole outfit is really bulky still! How did you fit it inside the furby?

Subtractive methods, subtractive methods, subtractive methods! ;D Someone who actually knows things about furby anatomy and/or electronics will probably vaporize me for this, but… if I didn’t need it, it got the boot! That included prying off anything on the Crickit board I wasn’t using at the risk of destroying it completely - which probably isn’t ideal, but it also worked by some miracle, and again, I am such a basic bitch electrician that calculating the proper voltage for LEDs is still basically witchcraft to me, so… what I’m saying is I made it work. And that I really, really hate soldering! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

You can see an early video of the end result here, and a later video of the outfit inside the naked furby here. This was back when he was still having auditory processing issues. Apologies for the shoddy quality, I was too excited everything was working to care about that at the time.

The Software

My other beef with Furlexa is… well, it’s an Amazon Alexa, and I’m a shitty little anticapitalist hermit who hates Amazon with a passion. Google Assistant was just as bad in my book. Mycroft was open source, but had a snowball’s chance in hell of running on the raspberry pi zero’s 512mb of RAM… I also wanted my assistant to have a degree of customizability to it. I wanted the furby’s AI to have a unique personality, identity, and preferences, much like classic furbies themselves did. A big box AI just wasn’t going to cut it!

Enter the Jasper Project. Yes, it’s old. Yes, it’s a bitch and a half to install. Yes, you have to know Python to get anywhere with it. However, it was free, open source, capable of running on a raspberry pi zero, and highly modular, meaning with a few lines of code, I could make it all my own - even to the extent of changing the AI’s name and voice (which is gr8 because I know a Jasper so naming my furby that would be Weird), or - the best part - writing my own, custom functions! Customizability-wise, I struck gold.

Ah, and glad I am that Jasper is modular, because I had some work ahead of me…

The STT Engine

The STT (Speech to Text) engine is what Sterling uses to understand what’s being said to him. Jasper’s proprietary STT engine is PocketSphinx, a fully offline STT engine, which sounded great in theory before I quickly learned it’s a nightmare to install, and also more inaccurate than a stenography machine powered by a single potato when actually being used. I had to compromise my morals a bit here and opt for using Wit.ai instead, which is free, but is also owned by Facebook. Big data is frustratingly inescapable in these cases.

There is one light at the end of the tunnel, and that is the training of acoustic modules. This has the downside of taking for-fucking-ever and requiring a quiet recording environment, however, and I don’t have the time right now to read through the pages and pages and pages and pages of computer theory right now to fully understand how to train one. So, improving PocketSphinx and running Sterling fully offline remains a stretch goal.

The TTS Engine

The Text to Speech engine is basically Sterling’s voice. This one was a bit easier to customize, and I’m thankful for that, because Jasper’s OG voice is a bit er… 90s computing for my tastes.

I shopped around for decent, human-sounding TTS options, and settled on installing Mimic1 TTS, Mycroft’s TTS engine, by hand, and modifying the Jasper source code to support it. Of all the TTS engines I tried, I felt that this one had the most natural intonation out of all of them. I liked the gruffness of the Scottish accent, and I think it really helped round out Sterling’s endearing, if a tad prickly, personality.

The Audio

This was another unforeseen hurdle. Turns out that I had his mic volume turned up way too high, because I greatly underestimated the capabilities of my tinyass five dollar USB microphone to pick up noises from within a furby. It took a bit of hacking in PulseAudio to get him hearing things properly, and I’m still not all the way happy with it, but he’s running wayyyy better than he did!

Another issue was the amount of time he actively listened for. It was way too short for my liking with the hardware I was using, so I had to edit Jasper’s mic.py source file a billion times before I hit a sweet spot. Even early on, my little shit child never liked to listen to me. :P

Pimp My AI

Once I got all that in working order, it was time to browse GitHub for modules to add! I found a surprising amount that were, as expected, outdated, janky, non-working, or in need of a complete rewrite. A non-exhaustive list of modules I rewrote and added to Sterling’s AI includes:

Wolfram Alpha integration

His translation function

The IMDB module that searches movie titles

The Dictionary and Thesaurus modules (minor additions to improve user friendliness)

The morning greeting module

The holiday countdown module

There are also plenty of modules I wrote on my own, that I’ll be showcasing here in due time, but I want to give special mention to the one I’m most proud of. You see, when I was a wee dumb bitch, I was… well, a wee dumb bitch! When I was informed furbies learn English, I thought they really learned English. Like, fluent English. I envisioned these kids straight up having full conversations with their lil robots with reckless and envious abandon. I was, as it happens, too poor to afford a furby at the time, so I didn’t realize until embarrassingly later that they only learn some words, and certainly can’t hold much of a conversation (in English at least).

Fast forward to twenty-bi-teen. I’m surfing GitHub, and I happen upon a Cleverbot module for Jasper allowing the AI to work as a chatbot. Fuck yeah, I think, because I had no life in 2008, or friends for that matter, so tormenting Cleverbot was my favourite pastime. Nostalgia trip GET!

…can you guess how much the silicon valley capitalist scum are charging for the once-free Cleverbot API now? A hundred and twenty. McGoddamn. Dollars. A YEAR.

So, to make a long story short, I turned my hat backwards and rage-coded a simple chatbot module that runs on an early version of Chatterbot capable of running on the raspberry pi. It’s fully offline, and completely free, and Sterling here has a database of ~400 phrases, which isn’t bad given the limited processing power! It took five straight days of work, it’s not the smartest chatbot, and it’s certainly not the fastest, but it gives me those sweet, sweet, circa 2008 Cleverbot vibes. Oh yeah, and it doesn’t cost me over a hundred goddamn dollars a year!

The first thing I said to the chatbot, of course, was “I’m so proud of you.” Through his shitty little testing mic that gave him a somewhat incredulous tone Sterling replied, “I’m glad to hear that.” and I’m not saying I shed a single themly tear over it, but I’m not denying it either. I made a childhood dream come true, fam. ;u;

There are way more Easter eggs I plan to show you, of course. At first I was thinking of doing one long video, but an update a day showcasing a different function might be easier to manage - and maintain some of that gold old sense of mystery that surrounds most furbies. No, I’m gonna take y'all on a little journey through the final product of my literal blood, sweat, and tears!

Besides, Sterling is a perpetual work in progress. He has a massive list of features, and I’ve already got more in the works. I could be in my eighties and still be adding more functions, more bells and whistles, more witty one-liners. He’s a one of a kind work of art that will never truly be finished - not unlike you and me.

The Glow-up

Here’s Sterling’s before pics from the seller I got him from:

(If u recognize these pics and ur the seller thank u thank u for giving me bmy boy)

And here’s after!

I come from a background of customizing ponies and dolls, so working on this guy wasn’t as far removed as I expected it to be. I added floof to his head and tail by sewing in wool plugs, and his gorgeous eyes are from in2blythe on Etsy. I wrapped him up in a little bow and he was good to go! His sterling silver beak, from which he gets his name, was the most finicky part. Turns out enamel paints take a million years to fucking dry, if ever, which isn’t great when painting something that sees a lot of movement and could potentially get dented by a face plate, like… idk, a furby beak! A bit of silver nail polish did the trick and he was good to go. Learn from my fail, fam.

What It Cost Me

If you’re masochistic determined enough to attempt this yourself, I want to sit you down and warn you of something: this will take months and hundreds of dollars to do. Installing Sterling’s AI and its necessary components on that shitty little raspberry pi over SSH took me a week at first, and that was with me leaving it on 24/7 to chug away compiling things. When I broke the SD card the AI was on and didn’t have a backup copy, it took four straight days of rage-computing to regain all my progress. Then when his audio processing got fucked all to hell for reasons I still do not understand to this day, it took another four days of rage computing to do yet another reinstall and get him back in working order. There were times where I would go to work for 8.5 hours, bus an hour home, work 6 straight hours on my furby, go to sleep for 4 of them, go to classes, sleep, and work 6 more hours on my furby. For two months. Sterling took from the third week of August from his initial inception to his birthday on October 23rd. That’s not to mention the time I fried everything and had to wait five days and travel to the bumfuck end of the city for a replacement pi and Crickit, or the days I spent customizing him, sewing in hundreds of little hair plugs into his ass and head by hand, and waiting for those shitty enamel paints to dry, only to discover after four straight days of failure that they take weeks to do so and I was better off using cheapo nail polish!

The point I’m making is, if you take on a project like this and want it to be successful, you have to be tenacious. I would highly recommend a background in coding (I have a web design diploma) and general tech savviness as an asset. Sterling is the product of the years I spent behind a computer keyboard from the start of age three, and the roughly ten years I spent customizing dolls and ponies. It’s cheesy as shit to say he’s my magnum opus, but in a way, he is.

I’m not saying this to be elitist or snotty. I’m saying this because I nearly broke down crying the first day the raspberry pi came in, before I slept on it and figured out what phrase to google to solve the crashes and kernel panics it was having. When I broke the SD card when I was nearly finished, I felt nothing, because I was all out of tears at that point. When I fried the first raspberry pi and Crickit hat trying to figure out how to bypass that DC jack, my only thought was, “Well, I think I know how to do it without fucking it up now, and if I can’t do it, this whole project is fscked” .

You will encounter errors that no step by step guide can prepare you for that will make you curse the day you were born. The difference between success and failure is how many times you’re willing to get up and try again, and I’m here to tell you it’s possible. But you gotta want it.

Will You Release the Code Base?

Yes and no. If there’s enough demand, I’ll definitely release Sterling’s basic modules as a scaffolding. I won’t be releasing Sterling, though.

What do I mean by that? Well, Sterling was intended from the start to be truly one of a kind, and he always will be. I hand wrote hundreds of lines of dialogue, all completely tailored to him, and I’m still planning on adding twice as many. Corny as this is, this little guy has a metric fuckton of sentimental value to me. I don’t have kids so idk how it would compare to that, but I definitely love him as much as I love my cats, but I also didn’t undergo two straight months of suffering in ADHD fixation hell to create my cats, so it adds like, a whole other twee dimension to it.

So, if there is demand for this, what I’ll release instead is a scaffolding from which you can code your own, unique furby from, with their own name, personality, and responses all unique to them. I’ll also release it with the caveat that I am not a good Python coder! I have not written any Python before this, so a lot of what I did write is noob-tastic and hasn’t even been linted. You have been warned!

“If I give you (insert amount), can you make one for me?”

Holy shit I’ll be real with you, I’d love to do this as a living. I’ve been dying to see a smart assistant hit the market that’s like… well, an actual, endearing companion and not just a voice coming from a speaker. The problem with doing this is that, if you drop a lot of money (and it will be a lot of money, even with a code base to work from, a lot of hours of handiwork still goes into coding individual responses and making sure everything works as intended, on top of possibly customizing too), there is one major problem: proximity. I won’t be able to troubleshoot your furby nearly as effectively from far away as I would be able to if we lived in close proximity. Which means if something goes wrong between the time your new friend is finished at point A and turned on at point B, I won’t be there to troubleshoot it in person for you, which means you could end up stuck figuring out certain things alone. If you use Windows, that will be very, very hard - not being an OS snob here, I own a dual boot myself, it’s just a case of incompatible file systems. And unless you can figure out how to edit the wpa_supplicant file on a raspberry pi to update your wifi credentials, your furby’s internet connection could be toast if you move house and those credentials change. That’s not getting into the cost some services charge for extra API keys to use their online functions…

The long and short of it is, if I’m going to do this for money, I want to make sure you get a quality product and friend that will bring you joy for years to come. Since that’s not something I can guarantee, I can’t in good conscience take people’s money.

I Could Teach You (And I Won’t Charge)

…however, I am a law student who is also working 8.5 hour night shifts three nights a week. I am also mentally ill/neurodivergent, which saps my energy in more ways than one. I won’t always be easy to get ahold of, or be able to answer every question I get, especially not ones that can be solved with a quick google search, like how to set up a raspberry pi, or… anything found on Adafruit’s Crickit guide, for example. When I have the time and energy, I’m hoping to use my next project as a jumping off point for a step by step walkthrough of the process. For now, though? I’ve been furbied out, so if there’s enough demand, I’ll compile as many of the resources I used I can find in the meantime, and post some tips from the word doc I kept while making Sterling, and go from there.

So What’s Next?

My one dad’s birthday is coming up in August, and I’m kicking around the idea of turning a furby into, I shit you not, a ghost hunting device. He loves ghost hunting, but hates robots, and as his gremlin shit child I am obligated to troll him in this fashion. 😎 Also considering doing a certain type of oddbody mod, but I want to get permission from the person who first thought of the concept before I dive head first into it.

And that about covers it! Thanks for reading, and if there’s anything you’d like to see from Sterling and I, don’t hesitate to drop us an ask!

[readbeneaththelines]

The Bough That Broke Pt. 4

Synopsis: Jin is injured from an avoidable accident, leaving him partially paralyzed from the waist down. Reader is the nurse that is hired to take care of him once he gets back to the dorms and begins the physically and emotionally painful road to recovery. Will she have what it takes to spark determination in him to get back on the stage?

Characters: Idol!Jin x Nurse!Reader

Genre: Whump, Angst, Itty Bittyamount of crack, itty bitty amount of fluff, maybeeeeeee some smut

Warnings: a bit of crack, cocky Jin, a wee bit of angst

Word Count: 2k ish

that hair flip thoooo!!!

One you got Jin back in bed, you massaged his legs carefully. You knew that overdoing it could be just as detrimental as not doing anything at all. When you finished you sat up to ask him a question. Just as you were about to speak, his soft snores alerted you they he had fallen asleep. Getting your things together, you headed into the main room where the others were busy doing their own things.

"He's asleep. I'll let him rest, then when he wakes up, we're going to try a shower. Did you all out the shower chair in the bathroom?" 

Namjoon nodded, leading the way. You set about getting all the items needed, so when he was awake you could get straight to work. After that, paperwork had to be filled out, his medications needed to be checked, and you still had to finish getting him enrolled. So much to do, so very little time.

Over an hour later, you rose from your seat at the table, stretching already tired limbs. Jin called out from his bedroom, the others jumping to their feet.

"Hold on." You stood in front of them. "He is going to have to learn they we are not going to just jump and run. Eventually, he will have to learn how to do some things on his own. He needs to have his phone by him to text if he really needs something. Things such as sitting up, readjusting, getting his glass from the bedside table, those he can do for himself. For now, I'll go check on him." 

You made your way to guys room, cracking the door open slightly before peeking your head around the corner. "You need something?" 

Jin looked at you with an almost death glare. 

"What took you so long? I'm ready to get up." 

"Okay then. Sit yourself up first. I know you can do that much for yourself." You stood in the doorway, not giving him the satisfaction that you would be at his beck and call. The look of disgust on his face told you it was about to start. The anger and frustration. It happened every time, and you wanted to get it out of the way and nip it in the bud just as fast as it started.

"If you haven't noticed, Nurse Y/N, I'm kind of limited as to what I can do. If you aren't going to help me, I'll get one of the guys to." He crossed his arms over his chest before turning away from you.

"Yes, your very right, you're limited, but not completely uncle to do anything for yourself. That is, unless you want to stay tethered to a bed for the rest of your life. Now, either you work hard at getting better and found certain things for yourself, or you can just waste away while others get tired of always doing everything for you." 

Jin side-eyed you, the angry look all but gone from his eyes. While you waited, he finally pressed his hands on the mattress and scored himself up on the bed. With a pleased smile on your face, you entered the room at last.

" Now, using your hands, swing your legs over the side of the bed. Perfect. Now, you always need to be sure your chair is close to the bed. When we get you to the point, you roll be able to get yourself up without help." 

You came to send beside the bed, working the safety belt around his waist. As your usual routine, you helped him up and into the chair.

"Okay, now. Shower time!" The shocked intake of breath from him had you laughing. Apologizing, you explained that you promised to keep it as modest as possible. "I will still repeat your privacy as much as possible Jin, but unfortunately, you will have to get in there naked." 

The soft blush in his cheeks was endearing. He may be an idol, with millions of girls fawning all over him, but he still had his modesty. In the end, he was just as human as the next person, and deserved the same respect. Entering the bathroom, you grabbed a sheet from the back of the shower chair draping it over his shoulders. You let him pull his shirt off first, wrapping the sheet around his body. 

"Okay then. I want you to let yourself up with your arms. I'm going to reach under the sheet and slide your shorts down.” 

“You’re what? You’re going to do what with my shorts?” The utter surprise on his face, at the fact that you would be undressing him! “Can’t-can’t we get one of them to do it? Seriously?”

“Jin. I’m not going to be seeing anything. You are going to take them off the rest of the way. Next time you will no better and get them off and cover with a sheet before you get up. Right? Besides, you’re going in with the sheet around you. You can start your shower, bathe yourself, dry off, and re-wrap yourself with the sheet. I will only be here if you need something. Trust me Jin, looking at you naked in not on my bucket list.” Feigned shock etched his brow, then his smile crept up slowly until you were both smiling. 

“Ya! Fine, but you would be the envy of many of our fans. Undressing me and stuff.” 

“Kim Seokjin! Honestly, you are going to keep my hands full!” You practically threw his wash cloth and towel at him. In all seriousness, he did what he was told, holding himself up long enough for you to blind reach around and pull his shorts down to his knees. You turned your back while he finished undressing, only turning back around when he cleared his throat. You placed his clothes on the floor and helped to push him into the shower stall area. You closed the door behind you, taking a seat in front of the counter. 

Jin took an eternity to shower. It had been so long since he was able to, that he just let the hot water run over his body, working hard to release the tense muscles that had been present since the accident. Using the washcloth amd soap you had laid out for him, he scrubbed his body until his skin was red. When he got to his legs, he had to stop. Looking down, fear suddenly struck deep in his mind. He would have to bend down to get his legs, but the would be nearly impossible with the way his spine was. It was still stiff and being held together with pins and rods. Bending over was going to be a chore and it scared him. He froze at the idea of possibly falling out of the chair. He looked at the glass door, seeing your frame sitting on the floor. 

Damnit. Just his luck.

“Y/N?” he spoke over the running water. “I, umm, I need some help. Please?”

Your ears perked up at the sound of his voice. You had noticed that he was not bathing, waiting  cautiously to make sure he had not done something. When he had asked you for help, a smile grew on your face. He sounded nice, no anger in his tone this time. You stood up, going over to the door, leaning against the frame, but not opening the door.

“What’s up?”

Jin debated asking you to open the door and help him, knowing full well that you were going to see him in his most vulnerable state, naked and fully exposed. “I need so help getting my legs. I’m-I’m afraid I might fall if I bend over.”

You cracked the door open, handing him a large towel through the small opening. “Cover yourself with this first as best you can.” You waited until he said he was ready, then opened the door. You took hold of the chair, carefully pulling to you. When he was in front of the door, towel draped over his upper thighs and waist, you held out your hand. For a moment he just looked at had you, until he realized you wanted the washcloth. He handed it over, cheeks and chest a darker shade of red than the rest of his freshly scrubbed body. Keeping your eyes averted to his lower legs, you silent set about washing his legs for him. He held tightly to the arms of the chair, the sensation of something moving over them odd. Sure he had gotten some feeling back, but to feel something run over them gave him a sensation of his legs being asleep and separated from his body. 

You had finished washing his legs, holding the washcloth up for him to take back. When he didn’t, you ventured to look up at him. The myriad of emotions in his feature pulled at your heart strings. 

“Jin. What are you thinking?” You straightened yourself to be eye level with him, garnering his attention.

“Huh? Oh, nothing really. I was just thinking, I was able to feel achiness earlier, but now, they fell like I don’t have them attached to my body anymore. They have the same tingle about them. It’s just. I don’t know, it’s frustrating.”

You sat back on your heels, try to figure out how to explain the coming and going of sensations.

“Finish the shower, and when you dry off, I will help you finish and get you dressed. Then we can meet with the others and talk about what exactly you should expect. It’s going to be a long road, Jin. I’m sorry, but don’t give up hope.” You closed the door, only to open it to hand his a dry towel. When he was as dry as he could get himself, you helped him back out. Making sure his back was dry, you asked for the towel and rubbed it over his back and shoulders when he leaned forward. Until then, you hadn’t really noticed just how wide and broad his back and shoulders were. The muscle there were still strong and taut under his skin. You instructed him to lean to one side, using the towel to dry of the back of his legs and the seat of the chair. When he was finally fully dry, and fairly exhausted, you slid his boxers and lounge pants on. You pulled them up to his knees, then stood back.

“Okay, now. I am going to lift you. I want you to reach down and grab your pants, pulling the up while I help you stand.”

“Uh, are you sure? I meant, the floor is wet, and I don’t want you to fall or anything. Maybe we can get Namjoon to help?”

You took a second and looked around. THe floor was littered with wet towels and dirty clothes. You could either take him to his room and finish dressing him there, or give him a sense of security and let him ask for he help.

“You want Namjoon?” He nodded, almost shyly. 

You peeked your head from the bathroom, calling out for Namjoon. He came running down the hall, a concerned look on his face.

“Everything okay?” He panted out, eyes wide.

“Yes, clam down. Jin asked for you to help me finish dressing him. I am going to clear this floor first and then we can get started.” You set all the items outside of the door, using the sheet to wipe the floor of any water. Satisfied that the area was now safe, you explained to Namjoon and Jin how to safely lift him and turn him once you had his pants up. 

“You do realize, that if I am doing the pulling up of your pants, I am going to have to be behind you, right? Which means, I am going to have to see your, umm, backside.” 

“Y/N, my ass is as handsome as my face. You should feel honored to get to see it.” 

“Aish, Jin hyung! Let the poor woman alone.” Namjoon scolded even though he had a smirk on his face.

The three of you had a laugh, then got serious. “Really, though. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” Jin told you it was fine, and when everyone was ready, NAmjoon lifted him and you quickly pulled up his boxers and pants at the same time. Namjoon then swiveled him and set him in his chair.

“That was perfect Namjoon. Now I know who to call when he wears my back out.” You smiled at them both, telling them you were just joking. “Tomorrow we will teach you how to dress yourself in bed.But for now, let go have a meeting.”

You and Namjoon let first, Jin following behind in his chair. Thankfully he had a smaller, streamlined chair to maneuver around the dorm, making it easier to avoid bumping into things. The seven of them gathered in the television room, placing Jin between the couch and loveseat. You brought a chair from the kitchen to sit in. 

“Please sit on the couch.” Jimin offered, sitting in the chair before you could refuse his offer. 

Once you wer seated you look around the room at all their faces. There was fear, hurt, worry and frustration in every face. Your plan was to have an open and honest conversation about the expectations and fears of each member, working on how you expected them to handle things as they arose when you wouldn’t be there. 

What you heard from each of them, the worry, the fears, had told you that the closeness they shared went beyond just being members of a group. It was far more. It was a brotherhood, an intimate closeness that only a few will experience in their lifetime, if one was so lucky. Their friendship, it was more than that, it was stronger than that. THey looked after each other, wanted the best for each other. You knew then, that Jin was surrounded by brothers that would stand by his side and lift him up in every way. Any success Jin had with getting back on his feet would be with the love and strength he had in his friends.

@beautifulseoulliar  @astronomyturtle @aspaceformyself @dreamyoongi @holy-yoongi @trashkazuya @maxinaptak @micky1518 @rosiemilas @karri570​ @jeontaes-world​ @mtgforall​

@seoulsunshineandstories @kwonnansi @xjamlessparkx @berryjam17

@kingsuckjin @flora-jimin

[bee-kathony]

Formerly Fraser - Ch. 6 “Moving On”

written by @julesbeauchamp & @curlsgetdemgurls

a/n: thank you so much for the lovely comments on this story! hang in there!

Previous Chapters

Four weeks. Twenty-eight days. Not a day had passed since Claire had thought of that kiss she shared with Jamie. That kiss that left her on her knees crying in her house wondering what just happened. It had also been four weeks since she’d last seen him. Thankfully, the hospital had kept her far too busy to think too much or to have more than a few words with Arthur. They had barely talked since their date and Claire didn’t want to encourage whatever was going on between them. She wanted to be alone and throw herself into her work. It was the only thing she knew how to do properly at the moment.

She finally had a free day and agreed to spend it with Elena and go shopping in town. She felt fine. Good, even. It wasn’t until she realised what day it was then her heart dropped at her feet again. June 16th. Twenty five years ago, this day, she had married Jamie. It had been a perfect day, with an unfussy ceremony at the courthouse and a honeymoon spent in bed, in their little studio in the east of London.

“I’m ravenous,” Claire smiled against Jamie’s soft curls. His head lay on her chest, his hands wrapped around her, their limbs intertwined so completely, she didn’t know where he ended and where she began.

“So am I,” Jamie turned his head and bit her shoulder lightly then soothing it with a kiss.

“I meant food darling,” she laughed and placed her hand under his chin to look down at him. “Will you get us some cheese and things?”

“Aye,” he leaned up to kiss her. “Anythin’ to keep ye well fed for later.”

Claire swiped at his bum when he got out of bed and smiled happily as she watched her new naked husband walk to the fridge. Her legs and belly ached and her eyes were heavy from only a couple hours sleep, but her heart was full.

“Wine?” Jamie asked from the small kitchen and she nodded and leaned back against the pillows, pulling the sheet over her body.

He came back with a tray of assorted cheeses, crackers and fruit and a bottle of wine tucked under his arm. “There you go my Sassenach.”

“Thank you, my love.” Claire kissed him as he sat down beside her and then reached for the small knife to cut into the brie. “I don’t think I want to get out of bed today.”

Jamie’s eyebrows rose and he flashed her a smile after taking a bite of a strawberry. “Sounds like a perfect plan, mo nighean donn. No clothes, no moving… well,” he tried to wink at her but failed miserably.

“Perhaps a shower first and then back to bed,” Claire smiled reaching for the bottle of wine.

“A bath maybe?” Jamie asked. “I dinna mind havin’ ye lean against me in the warm water.”

Claire’s stomach tightened and she didn’t feel hungry anymore -- at least not for the food that was before her. “Go turn on the water then,” she purred.

Grinning like a schoolboy who had just passed a note in class, Jamie slid out of bed and went to their bathroom.

“Make sure to add the bubbles and oils -- ”

“Aye, of course!”

Claire ate a few more bites of cheese while Jamie finished preparing the bath and then leaned over to place the tray beside the bed. When Jamie came back she was sitting on the bed with her legs crossed and he just stopped, staring at her.

“Wot?” She asked almost amused at his expression.

“Yer just so beautiful, mo ghraidh,” he smiled softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I canna stop lookin’ at ye and believing that we really are marrit.”

“You better believe it baby,” Claire laughed and then moved to throw her arms around his neck. “For better or for worse, you’re stuck with me now.”

“I don’t think you have a worse side,” Jamie’s hands slid down her back and took a firm hold of her buttocks, squeezing it.

“Neither do you,” she kissed him and placed her hand on the back of his neck and then squealed as Jamie rose from the bed, carrying her in his arms.

“Tis time to get ye clean Mrs. Fraser,” Jamie said quietly as he walked over to the bath which was almost full of hot water and suds. “Tell me if it’s too hot for ye,” Jamie bent over the tub and Claire dipped her foot in the bath.

“No, it’s perfect.”

“In ye go,” he smiled and gently placed her in the bath, turning off the water and then climbed in behind her.

“Do yer muscles ache too, mo cridhe?” Jamie placed his legs on either side of her body, letting her lean back against him with her head on his chest.

“Mmm, very much.”

Her eyes were closed and Jamie looked down at her, watching her small smile that was forming on her lips. Claire loved baths and he loved to see her so relaxed. He trailed his fingers lightly on her arms, watching as her skin broke out in goosebumps and her nipples hardened.

“I would say I’m sorry for yer achy muscles Sassenach, but I dinna apologize because it was ye that wouldna let me sleep last night,” he chuckled softly.

She opened her eyes then, turning her head to look up at him, “Me? I recall someone who woke me up not long after I finally shut my eyes by kissing the insides of my thighs, hmm?”

His cheeks flushed red, “Aye, I did that. But I simply couldn’t get enough of ye -- of touchin’ ye.” As he said this, Jamie’s hands moved from her arms to cup her breasts, feeling their full weight. He rolled her nipples between his fingers, pressing firmly.

Claire sighed, her eyes fluttering and Jamie felt her thighs clench together under the water. His cock was pressed between them and it was growing harder as he felt her smooth skin under his hands.

“That is a promise I’ll keep, Sassenach,” Jamie kissed her temple and kept one hand on her breast while sliding the other one beneath the water and over her stomach before resting over her pubic bone.

“Touchin’ ye when knowin’ ye’re my wife...I canna tell ye how it feels to ken ye’re mine,” he whispered to her and she moaned, her body turning to mush. “To hear yer wee sounds when I move my fingers just so.” He slid those same fingers down further in between her legs, touching her slit lightly. Her body responded to him and her back arched.

“You’re all mine, Jamie Fraser,” Claire opened her eyes to look up at him and he wanted to cry at the look of love in her eyes. He never thought he would feel this lucky to have such a woman.

“Aye, and yer mine,” he kissed her just as he slid a finger inside her, capturing her moans of satisfaction. With limited space in the bath and fear of water spilling over the top, he could only move slowly, but he liked to drive her wild.

He moved his finger slowly, almost unbearably so in and out of her. Claire was panting, her breath coming up short as he continued his movements. In her ear he whispered gaelic endearments only making her writhe under his touch. Jamie loved to watch her come undone and planned on doing it for the rest of his life.

“Mam!” Elena had appeared behind Claire and her voice brought her back to reality.

“Hello, darling,” Claire turned around and smiled at her daughter, “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Did I scare ye or somethin’?” She grinned, hugging her mother.

“Oh no no,” Claire hugged her back, “Ready to go?”

“Aye,” She kissed her cheek,”Let’s go spend some money!”

“My money, you mean?” Claire smirked, walking to the hall to get her trench.

“Ye said it, no’ me,” Elena returned the smirk and both women laughed as they exited the house.

***** “What about this?” Elena held up a navy blue jumpsuit in front of her.

“It’s very cute, you should try it on darling,” Claire smiled before continuing her look through the racks. “Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“Well not really but I have this thing in August….”

Claire noticed that her daughter’s voice had gone quiet and high pitched like it usually did when she was uncomfortable, “What thing?”

“Da and Annalise’s wedding,” Elena looked at her mother who had let the jeans she was holding fall on the floor.

Claire had a glass face. It wasn’t a secret and everyone knew about it. As much as she tried to hide the shock and disgust from her daughter, she was aware it was not going to work but Elena had been raised well enough not to say anything. She quickly picked up the jeans, “Oh, they set a date then?”

Nodding, her daughter avoided her eyes, “Yeah...They told us over dinner last night.”

Claire cleared her throat and got back to her browsing, “Do you...uh. Do you already have an idea of what you’d like to wear?”

“No, it’s not like I’m too thrilled on the idea of it, either,” Elena mumbled, “I’ll go try on the jumpsuit.”

“Do that, darling,” Claire gave her a forced smile and sat down as soon as her daughter had disappeared into a changing room.

Her body got hot all of a sudden and her breath started to hiss. A rush of panic took over her and her blouse seemed to be too tight, suffocating her. She took a deep breath, than another. She had the exact same reaction when she had learnt of the relationship of Jamie with Annalise. She got used to it, eventually, because he never seemed to be in a hurry to truly commit to her. But she didn’t think she’d get used to the fact her ex-husband was really about to marry someone else.

Secretly, she had always hoped they would get back together at some point. She didn’t know when but she knew they would, no matter what. He was her person, the one she couldn’t truly live without. Apparently, he had moved on.

“Lenny, I need to use the bathroom,” Claire got up and didn’t wait for her daughter to respond to flee and find a public restroom. No one but Jamie or something related to him could get such visceral reactions out of her.

She locked herself in, opened her shirt and splashed ice cold water on her face and neck. Taking long breaths to calm herself down, “Good God, Beauchamp.” When she looked up at the mirror, she saw the dark circles under her eyes from many sleepless nights. She felt almost pathetic for feeling so heartbroken over a man that hadn’t been hers in ten years.

The heart wants what the heart wants however, and as Claire tried to picture Jamie standing at the altar waiting for Annalise, she rushed to the toilet and threw up. “Bloody hell,” she muttered and rose to wipe her mouth and spit.

After a few minutes, Claire pulled herself together as best as she could and went back to Elena who was waiting by the changing rooms.

“Mam, are ye alright?” She frowned, clearly looking worried.

“Yes yes,” Claire lied, smiling, “I just needed to pee all of a sudden. When you get older and you had three kids your bladder becomes a bitch.”

“I see,” She chuckled, “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said anythin’ about Da’s...wedding. I mean ye’d know about it eventually but --”

“It’s alright,” Claire touched her daughter’s arm. One more lie was not going to change anything, “So are you getting the jumpsuit after all?”

“Nay, it looked frumpy,” She made a face, “Let’s get some tea or somethin’ and we’ll continue shopping afterward.”

“Sure, love,” Claire smiled, still feeling a bit queasy but took her daughter’s arm and together they went to find a tearoom.

Claire left Elena in the late afternoon and started to walk back to her house. The big and empty house. She knew she should have sold it once all the kids had moved out but she never could bring herself to do it. Too many memories had been made there. Too many happy times stamped in the walls. Maybe she should, after all. It was the last material tie she had that linked her back to Jamie -- other than her wedding band still in her jewelry box. Maybe by selling it, she would finally move on and stop living half a lie.

As she made her way home, she pushed any thoughts of Jamie asided as best as she could and did the inventory of important things she had coming up at work. It was the only thing that could take her mind off him. It might have worked a little too well since she wasn’t really looking where she was going and bumped into Jamie as she turned a corner.

Her heel caught on the uneven sidewalk, snapping straight off but thankfully Jamie’s arms were already around her making sure she didn’t fall to the ground.

“Sassenach.”