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yukipri · 4 years ago

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On the Baratie, Part 4 - a One Piece Mermaid AU Text Story

Fourth part of the Baratie story!

This concludes the part on the Baratie, but there’ll be a 5th and final Epilogue part after this!

Warnings for: minor Sanji x Luffy, Thatch x Luffy, hint of bg Ace x Luffy

Continues off of past parts!

👒🐟On the Baratie, Part 1

👒🐟On the Baratie, Prologue

👒🐟On the Baratie, Part 2

👒🐟On the Baratie, Part 3

In the calm after the battle, after Luffy's been bandaged up by Deuce, Sanji tells Luffy about his dream, about All Blue, and she listens with eyes that sparkle brighter than even the gleaming jewels in her tail.

"You'll find it," she says. "Come with us."

She's amazing, Sanji thinks. Luffy is far more amazing than he could have ever imagined when he first saw her. Because she isn't just the most beautiful woman he's ever met, nor is she just the embodiment of every sailor's most fervent fantasies come to life. She's strength, she's determination, she's conviction.

She's going to become the Pirate King.

And Sanji thinks maybe, maybe he could follow someone like that.

"Not bad," a voice says from behind them, and Sanji spins, because he hadn't sensed the man joining what he thought had been a private conversation with Luffy.

Sanji flushes, because he knows Ace doesn't have a good impression of him. Sanji grits his teeth and braces himself for the mocking to come, because it always does when he says he wants to find the sea that's more myth than destination for most. Even if Luffy didn't, that doesn't mean her co-captain won't.

Except he doesn't, and Ace slowly smiles, and he looks...strangely gentle. "You'll do," he says, before turning around and disappearing back inside.

He hadn't even bothered to warn Sanji about his proximity to Luffy.

The next person Sanji talks to is Thatch, who's helping clean up the kitchen after the fight outside had shaken everything out of place. Sanji finds the man with a mop, complementing some blushing cooks on the care they've put into maintaining their work stations.

"Hey, you...Thatch, was it?"

Sanji still doesn't know how to act around the man. He doesn't feel intimidating, not like Ace does, and it's hard to believe that this seemingly ordinary stranger created the insane food Sanji had tasted before Krieg had come.

"Oh, Zeff's kid, what's up?" Thatch passes the mop off to another cook, and leans against a counter, looking perfectly at home despite this being the Baratie's kitchen.

Sanji doesn't bother correcting him. It feels nice, being called Zeff's kid, he thinks. Much nicer than being called that man's child. He likes it.

"Your cooking...it was incredible," Sanji manages. Awkward, he thinks, awkward, and utterly insufficient in describing it.

"Aww, glad you liked it," Thatch says with a bashful little grin, as though he hadn't effortlessly created the best food Sanji's ever had in his life. And maybe to him, it really was nothing. Sanji feels more respect than bitterness.

"You like Luffy," are the next words out of Sanji's mouth, and he winces because he hadn't meant to say that, but it's a love letter, had crossed his mind again.

Thatch's eyebrows go up. "Well, yeah? How could anyone not love Seastar? Or do you mean..." Thatch laughs then, but it's not at all mocking, just incredulous. "Wait, is that what you got out of my cooking?"

"Am I wrong?" Sanji shouldn't feel so defensive, but he does. This man loves the girl who's stolen Sanji's heart, and at the moment, Sanji knows he's not even competition. The least Thatch can do is admit it.

"Mmm...I suppose you aren't," Thatch concedes, "but if that's all you got from it, you can dig a lil deeper."

Sanji frowns. He doesn't think he read wrong, and he had sensed love love Love. But he also doesn't think Thatch would lie.

"Could I learn how?" Sanji doesn't just mean tasting, and he knows Thatch knows, and also hears the unsaid from you.

Thatch smiles.

Zeff and the other Baratie cooks had apparently been preparing a scene for Sanji, in which they insult his cooking to make him feel like he needs to leave if he continues to refuse to join the pirates.

Luckily there's no need for it.

"You may already have a cook, but there's no demerit to having multiple, especially out at sea," Sanji begins, and Luffy's eyes light up, but for once Sanji's trying to focus more on her co-captain. "I'd like to join your crew."

"Yes!!!...right, Ace?" Luffy peers eagerly into the face of the man whose shoulders she's currently back to hanging from.

"Hmm, I dunno..." Ace pretends to think, and Luffy viciously chomps his ear. "OW, just kidding. Welcome to the ASL Pirates."

Sanji's packing, trying to only gather the essentials but occasionally pausing to soak in the nostalgia of the room that had been his home for so long, when his hands still.

He's spotted a bundle of old, worn magazines wedged between much thicker books. They were among the first of their kind that Sanji had ever gotten his hands on. Sanji read cookbooks Before, but seeing cooking magazines, with stories about the people and culture behind the cooking, had been new to him when he first encountered them after joining Zeff.

It was a piece of the world from Outside (outside the confines of a hostile, military mobile fortress), and Sanji had been fascinated. He certainly hadn't cared that the magazines were published decades before Sanji had obtained them, second hand at a used bookstore they'd passed by on a little island before the Baratie had been completed. And Zeff indulged him, collecting more, claiming that it was to build up his future restaurant's cookbook library, though they were all hoarded in Sanji's room.

None of the other magazines captured Sanji's interest like those first ones though. Because in them was a column tracking the story of a boy, who at the time the magazines had been published, had been around Sanji's age. A boy prodigy who had won multiple international cooking competitions, even had his own restaurant and soup kitchen, but who left it all behind to travel the world to further polish his craft.

To Sanji, who had only ever encountered adults interested in cooking, the column on the boy was more fascinating and inspiring than any fictional story could ever hope to be. And even though he had no objection to helping Zeff with his dream of completing and running the Baratie, at night, Sanji would escape into the articles, imagining himself traveling alongside the boy to different countries, exploring and studying different environments and ingredients and the culinary cultures that had evolved in them.

While the columns were written by some professional journalist, there was always a clip included of the boy's personal notes. Scrawled and messy, they showed the child behind them, and Sanji always imagined them as something like personal letters addressed to himself.

Sanji's brush with death and starvation is forever engrained in his mind, but he has little experience exploring other less developed islands, certainly none by himself. He knows little about the hardships of travel, nor the joy of adventure. Reading the columns, he experiences them through the boy, learning through his words without ever leaving his own bedroom.

Don't waste anything edible, ever, or you'll regret it once you're stuck on a tiny boat, the boy wrote. In another article, you might think it tastes bad, but know who its friends are and it'll usually work out. In yet another, sometimes you don't have the right money, or any money at all, but you still gotta eat.

The boy's words influenced many of Sanji's beliefs, that he otherwise likely wouldn't have held so firmly, having never personally experienced their applications himself.

But magazines, especially out of print ones, are hard to obtain out at sea, even more so when they don't even originate from East Blue. Despite years of hunting, Sanji never managed to collect all of the boy's stories, and eventually, he realized that they were no longer being published. He never found out if the column was cut, or if it had a conclusion in an issue he was missing, or if something happened to the boy.

It's been years since Sanji's last flipped through them, but on a whim, he takes one, feeling oddly sentimental and wanting to say goodbye to this important part of his childhood memories at the Baratie.

And as he opens the weathered pages to the article, and looks at the photo of the familiar smiling boy, he sees something that he'd apparently forgotten, and it makes the cigarette fall from his lips.

The boy's name.

Thatch.

Again, one more Epilogue part after this, though they’ll have moved on from the Baratie! Next part contains my personal headcanons for Thatch’s past <3

As always, thank you so much for reading! If you had any thoughts while reading, I’d love so much to hear them! ;A;

❀ ❀ Send YukiPri an Ask! ❀ ❀

Read the next part: 👒🐟On the Baratie, Part 5 Epilogue

~This ask has been added to the Mermaid AU Text Headcanons Compilation post~

#OnePieceMermaidAU #One Piece Mermaid AU #Thatch #Vinsmoke Sanji #One Piece #genderbend #Monkey D. Luffy #text headcanons #longpost #long post

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misssophiachase · 4 years ago

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Happy Together

So, I’ve been writing a kind of 27 Dresses fusion but it deserves to be in multiple parts, hope you like it so far : ) Tagging all the lovelies who championed this Klaroline mix @sekretny13 @klarolineagainnaturally @realynn8 and so sorry for the delay.

Synopsis: She's a wedding planner and heiress, he's a journalist who thinks she's the perfect subject for his story. But both of them are hiding from the truth and each other in the process.

“How refreshing! A man who doesn't believe in marriage.”

“I'm just trying to point out the hypocrisy of the spectacle.”

“Oh! That's so noble of you. Do you also go around telling small children that Santa Claus doesn't exist? 'Cause someone needs to blow that shit wide open.”

“A-ha! So you admit that belief in marriage is kind of like believing in Santa Claus!”

“You are unbelievable.”

“Last time I checked you were the one who let it slip that Santa Claus doesn’t actually exist and I’m just wondering whether you truly are the Grinch in disguise.”

“Oh, puh-lease, I was clearly provoked and distracted by my current duties.”

Caroline was playing the dual role of bridesmaid and wedding planner at the Plaza Hotel for her former college roommate. Roles she knew extremely well and had too many times to count and had embraced over the past few years. Yes, she didn’t need the money, but it was something she truly loved to do.

Maybe because she'd been doing it since she could walk. Caroline would dress up the family cat as the groom and she'd walk down the makeshift aisle in her mother's best, lace tablecloth while humming the bridal theme at the top of her voice.

“And clearly while being provoked you also managed to multitask so well,” he joked, passing her the flowers that had found its way to him courtesy of multiple, jilted bridesmaids during the bouquet toss. “I don’t much care for lilies and, not going to lie, I’m disappointed you didn’t go in for the catch yourself. I really took you for the competitive type, Forbes.”

“You clearly have too many opinions for your own good,” she shot back, snatching it from his grasp but not missing how good his skin felt against hers in the process.

Bastard.

Those rogue dimples were also proving to be a burgeoning problem.

“If I’d known you were going to be such a smart ass, I would have uninvited you or at least insisted you be muzzled or tied to the table.”

“You gave me the chicken option, what did you expect?”

“There’s nothing wrong with the chicken.” He gave her a look which said there clearly was a problem with it. “The food budget wasn’t given the priority it deserved but I can only control so much. Okay, fine, it’s the least you deserved. You are so not the guy who writes those beautiful wedding announcements in the Post. Obviously you have a romantic ghostwriter hiding in the wings somewhere.”

“Why can’t you believe that I wrote those stories?”

“Well, for starters that sloppily tied bowtie at a formal event or the fact you don’t believe in love or marriage,” she snorted. “And this field trip to supposedly document my life experiences is just a public relations exercise, nothing else.”

“Public relations exercise? I do work in the media so those things go hand in hand. Anyway, last time I checked the Forbes heiress signed off on this project and was more than happy to be profiled and share her personal experiences.”

Caroline hated that misconceived title with a passion.

Heiress.

Sure, she was incredibly wealthy but she was also an ambitious, hard worker but nobody seemed to care about that part. It was something she felt devalued her existence and Caroline had done all that she could to distance herself from the gossip.

“Not exactly,” she shot back, knowing that much was true. She was going to kill Katherine for saddling her with Klaus Mikaelson in what was probably a weird and misguided matchmaking attempt knowing her evil tendencies. “But, even so, I thought the guy in question wouldn’t bitch and moan about poultry options.”

“Says the girl who entertains fairytales?”

“You don’t know anything about me,” Caroline replied bitterly. “But clearly I should have assigned you the vegan option in hindsight.”

“Tofu is my best friend, so you’re kind of stuck with me.” She looked at him dubiously, clearly not convinced. “And as much as I love the lilac tonight, I’m looking forward to your next ensemble.”

“How very male of you...”

“How very stereotypical of you,” he growled in response, his crimson lips twitching in annoyance. “That's not what I meant. You have no idea how many of our readers want to know the hottest bridesmaid colours for fall.”

“Spare me.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘no comment.’ Whether you like it or not, your publicist has given me all-access for the next month in the lead up to the Fell/Salvatore wedding in the Hamptons, so I’ll see you real soon, love.”

“I have a name,” she shot back, her anger no doubt leaving a trail in her wake as she stalked away.

“So, Caroline, do you think I’m going to find my true love for catching the bouquet?” Caroline knew he was smirking and she didn't like it one bit.

“I think you’ll struggle finding anyone to love you. Period.”

“So, I assume that’s a no to being your plus one?” Caroline didn’t bother to respond, just returned to her wedding duties without a backward glance.

The Fell/Salvatore Wedding Pre Rehearsal , Bridgehampton, two weeks later

“How could you do this to me?”

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” Katherine shared, swiping a piece of tasting cake and taking a bite. “Last time I checked given the devastatingly beautiful calligraphy on the invite Meredith Fell and Stefan Salvatore are soon to be joined in wedded bliss at this very site and I vote for the red velvet option.”

“How incestous,” she bit back, thinking about her ex-boyfriend being the groom-to-be and her the bridesmaid and wedding planner at his nuptials. Yes, she’d probably agreed to doing it so as to pretend that she didn’t really care he'd moved on and she was still just the same. “Who decided I needed a publicist anyway?"

"You did when Page Six was banging down your door three years ago about what you were wearing to the Met Gala and whether it was true that you drunkenly hooked up with John Mayer."

"It was once," she argued. "Although, just because you call yourself my publicist doesn’t mean that…”

“You agreed to the story, said it would help boost your social media following,” she argued but her subsequent and remorseful expression gave her away. “Fine, I might have overreached but given your already impressive reputation, it can’t hurt.”

“And you also never told me that the reporter in question was so…”

“Gorgeous?”

“Arrogant and presumptuous,” Caroline offered quickly. “He’s incredibly opinionated and nosy.”

“He’s a reporter, that’s what they do, Care.”

“Well, I don’t appreciate it,” she scoffed. “Any chance you can send him on his way? As far as I can tell he’s not the reporter he purports to be anyway.”

“He’s so endearingly persistent though…”

“That I am,” a familiar but annoying voice interrupted. “And our readers are so desperate to know about the bomboniere.”

“Wow, you actually know what that means?”

“I can talk about wedding details all day, love,” he chuckled. “Most people stupidly persevere with the sugarcoated almonds but more modern brides…”

“Just stop,” she interrupted, hand extended in protest. “I don’t need you to tell me how to plan a wedding, Mikaelson.”

“But it would be remiss not to mention that the readers want to know what the bridesmaids will be wearing. The hot tip is Vera Wang in Tiffany coloured blue. Oh, is that red velvet cake?"

“It's to die for," Katherine replied knowingly.

"Get rid of him,” she muttered, through gritted teeth and pleading with Katherine. “I can only take so much contrived sarcasm.”

“So, that’s a no on the Vera Wang then?”

“That’s a hell no to everything,” she hissed. “In fact, if I don’t see you again it will be too soon.”

“She’s jealous I caught the bouquet, right?” Caroline didn’t need to turn around to know that he was smirking. “It’s fine, we can catch up at the bridal table given we’ll be seated together.”

Caroline silently cursed her impending doom, wondering why he was persevering and she was doing the very same thing. Maybe they had more in common than she first thought, but Caroline would never admit that. She had far too many duties to fulfil and no arrogant reporter was going to ruin this next two weeks.

Or at least she thought.Or at least she thought.Part 1 on AO3 HERE

#happy together #27 dresses fusion #klaroline #klaroline fanfiction #misssophiachase #call me maybe

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notsoguiltykpop · 5 years ago

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Champion Part 10

Jungkook x Reader

Racecar driver / street racer au

Genre: Romance, slow-burn, suspense(?), fluff, slightly smutty later on in the story

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

Synopsis: You might have gotten your start on the street, but you’ve always had bigger plans. With a new sponsor backing you, you’re all set to work your way up in the motorsport world and make it big.Your dream is to take down Jeon Jungkook, who is currently one of the best drivers in the sport. He doesn’t quite know how he feels about this rookie winning all the races and getting all the attention, but it reminds him why he’s racing in the first place–to be nothing but the best, and leave everyone else in the dust.Things get complicated when he falls head over heels for the competition.

...

The strategy was set, everything planned out as much as possible, and it was looking like you were doomed to lose. You were starting near the back, and the whole team’s morale was low because of it. The garage was unusually silent, lacking the chit-chat that had become the norm before a race. No one was smiling, or even making eye contact if they could avoid it.

“Is everything okay?” You asked Jimin after pulling him aside. You had accepted your probable defeat that morning, knowing that you’d have to pull off the impossible to stay with the team after today. Starting at the back wasn’t exactly an ideal situation. If you came in last after drawing so much attention to this race and your supposed rivalry with Jungkook, you’d make the whole team look like a joke and Hoseok wouldn’t have any choice other than to drop you.

But you weren’t expecting the rest of the team to be so down about it.

Jimin grimaced, shrugging. “Hoseok’s been in a shit mood all morning, I’m surprised he hasn’t been onto you like he has us. I’d avoid him if you can.”

It turned out that that wasn’t hard to do at all. Hoseok was everywhere that you weren’t. He talked to the press, he chatted with other teams, and never sought you out. It wasn’t hard to figure out why; he simply had no hope for the race, and if you weren’t winning for the team, there was no reason for him to be there.

That wasn’t going to stop you from giving it your all, though. You were convinced that there was still a chance you could come out of this okay. Then, as if the sky was taking pity on you, it started to rain.

You were in one of the trailers that were set up as your team’s offices stretching when it started, the pitter-patter on the roof increasingly loud and steady. You zipped your jumpsuit quickly and after a moment's hesitation grabbed your helmet. You left your visor up once outside so you could feel the rain on at least a small part of your face.

You smiled for the first time that day, closing your eyes and tilting your head up to the sky. You were good in the rain.

This changed everything, making the pavement unpredictable and forcing drivers to rely entirely on their instincts. And it might just be the miracle you needed.

The rain stopped abruptly on your face, and you opened your eyes to see the inside of a blue umbrella over you. It took you a split second to remember that your visor was up, just long enough for you to make eye contact with the holder of said umbrella--Jungkook. You slammed it down, and braced yourself for the worst.

“What are you doing out here?” He looked like he couldn’t stand still, hopping from one foot to the other. His suit was only done up to his waist, the top half hanging limp. He should have been cold with just his undershirt covering his torso, but he didn’t seem bothered.

You said nothing, still unsure if he had recognized you.

“Shouldn’t you be warming up? Talking to your engineer?” He paused, tilting his head to the side. “Maybe standing weirdly and looking at the sky like you’re in an 80’s music video is the way you get in the zone?”

You shook your head and reached for your notepad, but quickly realized that you’d left it in the trailer.

Jungkook must have noticed your fumbling and waved a hand for you to stop. “We both already know it’s the 80’s music video, there’s no need to answer.” A hint of a grin started to pull at his mouth despite his best efforts, and he quickly changed the subject. “Look, I came to find you because Seokjin said you might have something you needed to say to me?”

You started to shake your head, then paused. Was Seokjin trying to give you a hint that you should tell Jungkook now? Surely not. There was too much of a chance that it would throw off Jungkook’s race. Even though a large part of you was sure that now could be the last opportunity to tell him if you wanted to salvage your relationship, there was simply too much at stake.

“He must have just meant that you were going to wish me luck,” Jungkook concluded, though he didn’t seem too sure of it himself. “In that case, thanks, but I don’t need luck. You’re the one who needs it, and I’m not going to wish you any because that’s not what rivals do.” Jungkook smiled. “Which you would know if you weren’t such a rookie. You could learn a thing or two from me, you know.”

You had to bite your tongue not to shoot back a smart remark.

The race was a disaster for the majority of drivers. One thing after another kept going wrong for your opposing teams, and the smallest wrong move sent your rivals hurtling off the track.

Even you lost it for a moment, a rear tire locking up and sending you into a spin. Luckily, the only real damage was to your tires, and you were able to defend your position.

You fought your way up to fourth nearing the end of the race. Jungkook was in second, and looked like he was having trouble with his tires.

You couldn’t see exactly what happened going around the next corner--who had made the mistake or who ran into who first. All you knew was the two leading cars had collided, scattering debris across the track and into the oncoming traffic. You hit something--or perhaps it hit you, technically--that did considerable damage to the front of your car. But you could drive it enough to keep up with the safety car that was sent out on track, which was all that mattered at that point.

The car in front of you wasn’t as lucky, having punctured a tire in the chaos and having no choice but to pit.

Which left you in first.

“Well done,” Taehyung said over the radio, sounding as though he was trying very hard to stay professional but couldn’t quite contain his excitement. “Two more laps to go, the race is yours.”

“Is everyone alright?” You asked, though you knew it was unlikely Taehyung would know.

“They would’ve stopped the race if it was anything life-threatening,” Was all he responded with.

You didn’t have a chance directly after the race to check in with anyone. Camera’s flashed, and it felt like a million people were trying to talk to you all at the same time. Yet, it was Yoongi’s voice that stood out when paired with a devilish smile he asked, “How does it feel to win literally just because you didn’t crash?”

You were glad your helmet hid the glare you sent him.

Pushing past all of the random people who stood in your way, you made your way to your team's miniature headquarters for the weekend.

You were soaked, cold, and angry.

The race ended behind a safety car. It hardly felt like a victory. Yoongi was right; you didn’t win, you just managed to stay on the damn track.

You pulled your helmet off as soon as the door was shut behind you, only for it to be thrown open a moment later by Hoseok.

“What are you doing?” He asked incredulously. “You’re supposed to be out there accepting handshakes and talking–er, writing–to journalists about what just happened. You won a race that Jungkook was in, and you’re–you’re–” He waved his hands around vaguely. “You’re acting like you lost!”

“You call that a win?” You scoffed quietly, undoing the top of your jumpsuit to let it hang around your waist. Hoseok’s frown deepened, but he said nothing. “Was anyone seriously hurt in the crash? Taehyung didn’t sound too sure over the radio.”

Your manager sighed, leaning against the wall next to the door with his arms folded. “From what I’ve heard, it’s nothing serious. Mostly just some minor cuts and bruises. I overheard someone say Jeon got a concussion, but he must be feeling okay if he’s up to texting you every five minutes.“

You paused your frustrated pacing to turn to Hoseok.

"You looked at my texts?”

“Only the lock screen,” He replied mildly. “You must have dropped it in the garage earlier today, Taehyung found it.” He pulled it from his jacket pocket and held it out.

Silence hung in the air while you glanced through the texts Jungkook had sent.

[Jungkook 2:45pm] That doesn’t count as me losing just fyi! It was bad luck

[Jungkook 3:01pm] Y/n tell me ur not planning a party

[Jungkook 3:02pm] Y/n

[Jungkook 3:04pm] dude

[Jungkook 3:04pm] i didn’t lose. I DNF’d. Doesn’t count.

[Jungkook 3:05pm] am i at least invited to the celebration of someone who supposedly beat me? I expect an open bar.

It was nearly four, now. You felt a pang of guilt as though you had been ignoring him. There was no way you could have replied to his texts sooner, but he didn’t know that. You answered with a short “Are you ok?”

“I thought we talked about you two being all buddy-buddy?” Hoseok cleared his throat pointedly. “But you don’t listen to much of what I say, do you?"

“Hoseok–”

“Forget it,” He didn’t bother to stick around to listen to your excuses, slamming the trailer door behind himself.

[Jungkook 4:09pm] yeah I’m good.

[Jungkook 4:09pm] doc says i just need to take it easy. Seojin’s a little freaked out which is pretty funny. his eye has been twitching for the last hr.

[Jungkook 4:13pm] so are we partying or what?

You chuckled, shaking your head at your phone. Jungkook really was something else.

[You 4:14pm] Nah not really feeling up to it. Rain check?

You needed to make things right with Hoseok, which meant going back out there and making an appearance for the press.

After zipping your jumpsuit back up and securing your helmet, you stepped back outside. Yoongi was doing some kind of live show directly in front of your trailer, and he spotted you before you could change your mind and run away again.

“…And what a perfect coincidence that you’re here!” He said as he caught your arm and pulled you lightly into the shot. You didn’t bother trying to get away. This was what Hoseok wanted, for you to stand there and let people talk at you. “We were just discussing your incredible dumb luck.”

You had a long day ahead of you.

Before you left, you’d satisfied every journalist, signed hats, and taken pictures with what felt like half of the people in the paddock. Hoseok hadn’t been any help whatsoever, leaving without a word after an hour. When you finally dragged your feet into your house, you wanted nothing more than to shower and sleep.

But Hoseok’s sleek mercedes-benz was parked in front, and something told you he wasn’t there to talk to Jimin.

Cold food was left on the stove as though it’d been forgotten about, along with an untouched bowl on the table.

You found Jimin and Hoseok in the living room, with Jimin chewing his nails and avoiding looking directly at Hoseok.

“What’s up?” You asked, trying to keep the nervousness out of your voice. “You disappeared on me today.”

Hoseok’s eyes slid from where he’d been glaring at his phone over to you slowly. “You’re suspended,” He said lowly.

“I’ll leave you two to discuss,” Jimin said abruptly, standing to leave. He patted your arm on his way out. You couldn’t blame him for wanting out of the situation, but part of you wanted to make him stay so you wouldn’t have to face Hoseok alone.

“I don’t understand,” You made your way over to sit across from Hoseok. “I won today. I interacted with reporters, I was social–”

“When, exactly, were you going to tell me about the Coldwater situation?” He interrupted, his voice ice cold.

You felt like the floor had dropped from under you. “I can explain,” You started. “Please, let me explain.”

“Jimin already tried arguing the whole blackmailed story,” Hoseok replied flatly. “What I don’t get is why you decided not to tell me, if it’s true. I might’ve been able to help. Or we could have come up with a plan to reveal your identity earlier than we had originally thought. We could have figured something out. But now…” He dragged a hand over his face. He looked tired, haggered, as though this one conversation had taken every bit of energy out of him.

“I thought I could handle it,” The words felt hollow as you said them.

“No,” Hoseok shook his head. “You thought you could get away with it. There’s a difference.” You weren’t sure how to respond to that. “I’m indefinitely suspending you from the team.”

You could feel panic rising, and you tried to take a breath to calm yourself. “No. I made a mistake, and I’m so, so sorry. But I’ll make it up to you. I won today, I’m good for the team.

Hoseok’s expression didn’t change. “The only reason I’m not terminating the contract right now is because you just won.” He shook his head. “When we met, I told you my conditions were honesty, and no more illegal activity. I needed to know I could trust you, above anything else. And clearly, I can’t.” He shrugged, standing from the couch. He suddenly didn’t even seem angry anymore, just disappointed and resigned. “I’ll let you know when I decide what further action I’ll be taking. Don’t bother to show up for practice on Monday.”

After Hoseok was gone, you stood slowly, hardly even aware of what you were doing.

“Y/n…” Jimin hovered in the doorway, looking as lost as you felt. “He’ll come around.”

“I’m going for a drive,” You muttered, stepping past him.

“Y/n,” He tried again. “Give it some time. Think about it from Hoseok’s perspective, it’s a lot to take in. But he’ll understand once he has a chance to think it all over.”

But you could tell from his tone he was just as scared of the future as you were.

You didn’t plan to drive to Jungkook’s house. You got on the highway on autopilot, and went wherever felt right until you found yourself only a block away. Even then, you weren’t planning to see him until you realized it would be creepy to have driven all the way there only to sit in your car across the street. His lights were on, so you knocked once, twice. Just when you were about to call it a night and leave, he opened the door.

“Hey…” Jungkook paused, as though waiting for you to explain. “I wasn’t expecting… Did you text?” He glanced at his phone as he spoke to check it. He looked sleepy, and you wondered if you’d woken him up. Above his right temple was a bruised cut with two stitches.

“No,” You shook your head, suddenly feeling like you should have just sat in your car and been weird. “I just…Sorry, it’s late. I should go.”

Jungkook blinked owlishly at you. “It is late. You should stay.” He stepped out of the way for you to come in, then waved for you to follow him. He stretched and yawned loudly as he went. "There’s leftover pizza in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

Jungkook had apparently been half-trying to play a zombie apocalypse video game, too tired to get past the level but too awake to sleep. You could relate to that feeling; you yourself were exhausted, both mentally and physically, but you knew if you tried to sleep now you’d lay staring at the ceiling until morning. He switched the game to multiplayer and tossed you a controller before asking; “Is everything alright?”

You focused on the game for a moment, trying to figure out how to answer. “Not really. But I’d rather not think about it.”

Jungkook frowned slightly, but let it drop for the moment. You were sitting on his bed side by side in front of the slightly ridiculously large screen on his wall. "I watched the playback of the crash,” You noted as Jungkook’s avatar fell off the rooftop only to respawn a moment later. “It looked pretty bad. Are you really okay?”

“You didn’t see it live?” Jungkook raised an eyebrow teasingly, but you suspected it was a genuine question.

“I missed it in all the commotion,” This, at least, was true. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Jungkook smirked. “Did you come over because you were worried about me?”

“I was worried,“ You admitted. "But no, that’s not the only reason.” You were trying to be more honest with him, even if you didn’t much like it.

Jungkook sighed and leaned back on the pillows, ignoring the game completely now. “I’ll be fine. The doctor said I could go home, so…” He shrugged. “My reserve driver will have to drive in my place for a race or two, but I’ll be back to a hundred percent by the rematch.”

“Rematch?” You repeated, now setting down your own controller to look at him.

Jungkook nodded as though it was obvious. “I didn’t win today. But,” He held a finger up. “There’s no way 52 is satisfied with the result either. We need to race one on one to settle this.”

“Jungkook…” You started, not sure yet where you were going with this. As the situation currently stood, it didn’t look likely that you’d be able to race him a second time–or anyone else, for that matter. "That… Might be a difficult thing to talk Hoseok into. And anyway, how could you arrange a race with just two teams…?”

Jungkook shrugged, unconcerned. “We could do it for charity. I don’t see any reason why Hoseok wouldn’t agree to it.” He tilted his head to the side. “Unless there’s something I don’t know?”

You shook your head somewhat unconvincingly. There was a mutual understanding between you that, though you joked about the rivalry between Jungkook and ‘52’, actual team politics and strategies were off limits. Up to this point, Jungkook had never asked you who 52 was, what was going on within the team, or what Hoseok’s greater plans were because it would put you in an uncomfortable spot.

“I ran into Hoseok while leaving the paddock,” Jungkook mused. “He seemed pretty angry for a guy whose team just won a race I participated in.”

“You realize how egocentric that last bit made you sound?”

“Is it egocentric if it’s true?” He countered without missing a beat. You hoped he would take the bait and get distracted, but he didn’t fall for it this time. “I wasn’t the only one who noticed how weird he was acting. There’s a rumor he and 52 had some kind of falling out.”

It was easy to forget sometimes just how perceptive Jungkook could be. You couldn’t think of anything to say that wasn’t an outright lie or would give too much away, so you picked up the game controller again.

“Does that mean it’s true?” He asked. If anything, your silence seemed to have made him more interested.

“Can we just not talk about Hoseok’s driver?” It came out harsher than you intended, and Jungkook looked taken aback. “What difference does it make to you, anyway? It’s not like 52 being stupid and pissing Hoseok off is going to affect you.”

“I thought you liked 52,” Jungkook’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “What did he do?”

“Ruined everything,” You muttered. The game wasn’t fun anymore, and this wasn’t the distraction you had hoped it would be. You took a shaky breath and looked down at the controller in your hands rather than at Jungkook. “That fucking asshole 52 ruined everything.”

You were very aware of Jungkook’s gaze on you, and the fact that he could probably tell that you were holding things back.

It was over, you realized. There was no reason for you to continue lying to him about being 52.

“Jungkook, 52 and I--” You closed your eyes. It was like a bandaid, you just needed to rip it off. Except the pain wouldn’t go away after you ripped it. You could lose Jungkook completely, and you weren’t sure if you could handle that right now.

“Did 52 hurt you?” Jungkook interrupted as though he said the words as soon as it occurred to him.

You opened your eyes to look at him. You were so caught up in your own thoughts it took a second to comprehend, and Jungkook took your pause as confirmation.

“If he did, I swear to god, I’ll figure out where the fuckwad lives and--” He was halfway out of bed as he spoke, though you weren’t sure where he thought he was going in his t-shirt and boxers at 3am.

“It’s nothing like that!” You couldn’t help the slight laugh as you caught his arm and pulled him back onto the bed. You knew it shouldn’t be funny, and tried to fix your face into something serious. “You didn’t even let me finish my sentence!”

Jungkook didn’t look entirely convinced, but he settled back down next to you against the pillows.

“52 and I...Aren’t getting along too well right now. Maybe you should ask Hoseok what happened.” You hated that you couldn’t get the words out. But you couldn’t lose Jungkook tonight, too. “Can we talk about something else?”

Jungkook looked anything but satisfied with your response, but shrugged with one shoulder before rolling onto his side so he was facing you, his head propped on his hand. “Sure.”

You scooted closer to him, getting comfortable while you tried to think of how to phrase your next question. “You’ve talked about retiring from racing since we first met,” You started, and Jungkook nodded. “But you’ve never really told me why. I don’t understand why anyone would willingly leave the sport. Especially someone who loves it as much as you do.”

Jungkook chewed his lip for a moment. “I do love the sport,” He agreed, a small smile flickering across his face. “And I think I always will. But it’s not really a part-time thing, you know?”

You shook your head no.

“There are other things I want to do, and I don’t really have time as long as I’m a driver.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What are you planning to do, then?”

Jungkook cleared his throat, glancing away from you. “You’re going to laugh.”

“I won’t.”

“You will.”

“Jungkook.”

He reluctantly met your eyes once more. “I want to open a lamb skewer restaurant.”

“Well. That’s very specific,” You said, trying very hard not to laugh. It wasn’t that his dream was funny so much as the way he was telling you about it. His ears were red, and he was pouting ever so slightly.

“I knew you’d laugh,” He complained.

“I’m not laughing,” You lied, unable to hold in your giggles. “I think it’s a great idea. It’s just,” You interrupted yourself to catch his lips with your own, one hand traveling up to run through his hair. “You told me yourself that you can’t cook.”

Despite himself, Jungkook grinned back. “I said I want to own the restaurant, not be the chef.” He moved so his legs straddled one of yours, his body tantalizingly close to your own without actually touching you.

“And I suppose you’ll have a wall dedicated to displaying all of your trophies?” You asked. You wanted him closer to you, but he already knew that. You could see it in the glint in his eyes. He wanted you to make the first move.

And just like that, it became an unspoken competition.

“Please,” Jungkook lowered himself just a hair, leaning in as though he was about to kiss you but stopping when his lips barely brushed yours. “I’d need more than just one wall for all of my trophies. And then I wouldn’t have room for the stage.”

“The stage?” You repeated, eyebrows raised. “Why do you need a stage in a lamb skewer restaurant?” One of your hands ghosted up his arm and down his abdomen to pull at the hem of his t-shirt without quite touching him. It ended up bunched around his shoulders, but he didn’t take it off.

“For the live bands,” He smirked, one hand leaving where it had been propped near your head to slowly make its way down your side. You could just barely feel his fingers through your jeans as they traced their way down your thigh and back up painfully slow. “And the stand-up comedians... And open mic nights…” You could see his resolve beginning to melt.

“You’re not really going to have open mic nights, are you?” You teased, then lowered your voice to a whisper. “What if someone covers a nickelback song?”

Jungkook actually snorted at that. “That would be unfortunate. Which is why open mic nights would be a twice-a-year thing, and I’d pre-approve the song list.”

His lips were once more mere centimeters away, just barely out of reach.

“You’ve given this a lot of thought, haven’t you?” You asked, all joking leaving your voice.

“I have,” He nodded, his hair tickling your forehead as he did so. There was something akin to worry in his eyes, and you reached up to brush his hair away from his face.

“I think your restaurant sounds wonderful,” You assured him, and you noticed an immediate change in his facial expression. Any sign of worry was gone, replaced by a playful glint in his eyes.

“You won’t think I’m boring if I leave the sport?”

“I don’t think it’s possible for you to be boring.”

“So true,” Jungkook leaned forward and finally kissed you slowly. You pulled him closer, reveling in his warmth.

When you pulled away briefly to breath, you couldn’t help but mutter, “I totally just won that, by the way.”

Jungkook laughed, burying his nose in the crook of your neck. “Somehow, I’m okay with that.”

...

A/N Omg thank you for sticking around to read this! Hopefully I'll be updating a little more frequently now. What are your thoughts? Feelings? Let me know! I absolutely love hearing from you guys--your wonderful feedback is what makes this so much fun. Thank you so much for reading! And I hope you're all taking care of yourselves and staying safe. I'm here for you guys! If you ever need an ear to listen, someone to rant to, or anything else, my inbox is always open! I love you all <3

#champion #jungkook scenarios #jungkook imagines #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #bts jungkook scenarios #Jungkook Series #jeon jungkook fluff #bts jungkook fanfic #racecar driver au #bts scenarios #bts fluff #bts scenario #bts imagines #bts fanfic #bts imagine

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1ddiscourseoftheday · 5 years ago

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📖 Wed 5 Feb 🎥

Louis tried to do an insta live and failed, well, not really but you couldn't really hear him and then he gave up and never came back and instead he posted a bts from the Walls video shoot in the desert right after. This did pretty much distract everyone from making fun of him, by offering excellent content with lots of banter and Louis flipping us off like three times. He knows what we like! Everyone (including Louis) is worked up about what kind of phone he uses, either with brand loyalty or because it might prove who's tweeting what (theory: he uses the android so you can tell which tweets are him vs LTHQ using iPhones). I hate brands and it doesn't tell us anything, I will give you that it's getting noticable how much this has been talked about by Louis but chances are that's just about it being something impersonal and thus harmless to banter about. We did learn that his label releasing the lyric video took his team by surprise though which is an interesting glimpse at behind the scenes action. Anyway the fan pushes to buy UK albums are at fever pitch with hard copies being gifted to every random address in the UK it seems, from the queen to various organizations. I just hope someone is also organizing to send packages full to Latin America and other places where pricing/shipping fees make it impossible for so many fans to buy merch! Anyway another day another signing, lots of cute fan pics (today- bizarre lighting but a high table to spare Louis' poor neck), plus an LTHQ streaming push and Niall joined in and said we should stream (no no it's not what you're thinking wait for it) ...Walls! Everyone was relieved he didn't say NTMY but don't worry 'presave No Judgement' is the new 'stream NTMY' anyway, for another day at least.

No Judgement is out midnight EST tomorrow and yes that's right, Niall's still busily promoting himself as well. He's posting daily teases with lyric bits for the new song (so far we've got "you can just be yourself" and "you can be whoever you like") and he tells us he "had an unbelievable day shooting something very fun" but that's it's NOT a music video and today we saw a clip of him in white tie!! What the hell is it NO ONE KNOWS. No Judgement though heh! Sorry I just can't stop laughing about how he's releasing another song that everyone's gonna say the title to him in interviews like 'hur hur pretty funny huh??' and he's gonna be so annoyed every time but like... did u learn nothing from Nice To Meet Ya??! You are bringing this on yourself Nialler.

Harry took a couple fan pics (with dude fans! his audience really has opened up to the GP have you guys noticed?) outside a theater in London. His book is visible in his pocket; he's reading an older novel about a gay man's closeting.

An Australian show aired a Liam interview covering the miserable Live Forever video shoot, fatherhood, weight loss, and band reunion talk, so uh not really what the fans are looking for there. His horse finally got to go to a competition the other day after a long period of inactivity to keep him safe from some kind of horse flu epidemic! Why doesn't someone ask him about that? Yes, that's correct, I would rather hear talk about horse flu than the average question poor Liam gets asked, those journalists should be ashamed.

#meanwhile Eleanor posting from London like LOOK AT ME I'M IN LONDON #okaaay girl that... tells us nothing... but ok #well it tells us she's possibly responding to fan chatter which actually is kind of interesting if true #Louis Tomlinson #Niall Horan #Liam Payne #Harry Styles #Liam #Niall #Harry #Louis #horse flu #titanium z #Louis phone debate #who cares #but i will say that although Androids are way better the one thing you want an iPhone for is security so i do think it's weird that Louis #a celebrity #is using Android but i assume since he does his songwriting and stuff on his phone he wanted more options #and to not have to use the cloud for everything which is where iPhone security breaks down... so maybe that answers that question #5 Feb 20 #he mainly probably tweets about his phone being weird because at the time he's tweeting he's. you know. on his phone #dealing with it #my policeman #is the name of Harry's book

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fics-and-shits · 5 years ago

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Marvel Fic Recs

***smut

Tom Holland x Reader

Oneshots

The Interview (Actress!Reader) by @bigballofstress

You’re Tom Holland’s costar and girlfriend since the end of Civil War. Usually, you go on interviews together, but this time, you are requested alone on Ellen.

Cinderella (Actress!Reader) by @thewackywriter

Who knew that going to another boring award show and walking around barefoot would lead her right to her Prince Charming?

Drop the Mic by @young-and-bitchy

You’re in a rap battle with Tom Holland.

Vlogs by @spideyyeet

Being in the vlog squad was dope af but having David Dobrik run into Tom Holland and getting him to surprise you was a whole other thing. Now let’s see what’s it like to have Tom meet the vlogsquad and be with the girl that’s making him rethink some decisions.

Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Oneshots

Send to All Pranks (Actress!Reader) by @thrandybaby

You’re a British actress appearing on the Michael McIntyre Chat Show, but hilarity ensues at your expense when you accept the challenge to play the infamous ‘Send to All’ prank.

Morning After by @mindrunningfree

After a drunken night out, you wake up in a stranger’s bed, and on a scale of one to ten, your level of confusion is a fifteen.

Platonic!Avengers Cast x Reader

Oneshots

Beliefs (Teen!Reader) by @supersoldierfreak

A group press conference with the Avengers cast where you reveal your political views.

Sleeping Beauty by @chrixa

You didn’t know that the Avengers cast can also be called sneaky paparazzi. Also you love sleeping. Who doesn’t, right?

Handmade With Love by @capsicletho

Christmas is the time to give your loved one some gifts. What happens when you give your famous second family something handmade?

Clint Barton x Reader

Series

Agent 41 (Agent!Reader) by @nacho-bucky

An easily-distracted SHIELD agent with a sweet tooth and too many pairs of sneakers. Nothing ever quite works out the way she wants. But hey - it does work out! Usually

Peter Parker x Reader

Oneshots

Clingy Peter Parker by @spider-bih

A clingy Peter Parker and the reader loves it

Anything For You by @pparkerwrites

Introducing Peter Parker, dog whisperer by day, Spiderman and dog whisperer by night.

Series

Far From You Trilogy and Blurbs by @hey-marlie

Y/N Stark is really not here for this European school vacay because in this post-endgame world, she’s mourning the loss of her dad. But one (1) sticky boi Peter Parker is just trying to be the friend he once was while also trying not to flirt too much because if she rejects him (which she wouldn’t, not that he knows that) while they’re in Venice, holy hell he’ll just pitch himself off the gondola right then and there.

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Oneshots

Sparks (Enemies to Lovers AU) by @sunriserose1023

You and Bucky started off on the wrong foot and it’s just been downhill ever since, and the last time you gave him a chance, you ended up with five broken ribs. It’s just not meant to be.

Cheap Thrills by @avengerofyourheart

A bet within the Avengers becomes a battle of the sexes, with you at the center of it. Who will be victorious and could it somehow help you snag the man of your dreams?

Air B&E (Enemies to Lovers AU) by @avengerofyourheart

When a mission requires close proximity with your least favorite teammate, you try to make the best of it, but a change in plans adds new challenges and possibly a new opportunity.

Notebook (College AU) by @softlybarnes

Bucky and Y/N sit next to each other all semester. They never talk to each other, until one day they do.

The Florist // The Beekeeper // The Pumpkin Carver (Enhanced!Reader) by @softlybarnes

Bucky and Y/N make flower crowns together. Both reveal more than they plan to.

Freckles (Drunk!Reader) by @softlybarnes

The Reader likes Bucky’s freckles a whole lot.

The Regular by @brooklyn-boy

Bucky Barnes is a regular at your bar. He comes in, he makes sure trouble stays away, and then he leaves. This really wouldn’t be a problem if he weren’t so good looking and you weren’t totally in love with him.

Fourth Time’s the Charm by @brooklyn-boy

Bucky remembers the three times he meets a certain thief, and is blindsided by the fourth.

Trepidation by @brooklyn-boy

You’re rescued from HYDRA by the Avengers, only to be met with a ghost of the past in the form of Bucky Barnes. They tell you he was brainwashed, that it wasn’t him, but you aren’t so sure.

Blink Twice by @brooklyn-boy

Zemo kidnaps Bucky and injects him with some sort of drug that paralyzes him and takes away his ability to speak. He’s meant to die alone, in a ditch like he was supposed to back in 1944. But then someone finds him…

Uptown Boy (30s AU) by @brooklyn-boy

You’ve spent so long pretending to be a selfish, conceited, spoiled little rich girl that somewhere along the way, the line was blurred. Now faced with an ultimatum, you have to decide if your pride is worth the only person who’s ever truly loved you.

The Scoop (POC Journalist!Reader) by @brooklyn-boy

Bucky Barnes laments the fact that every single person he cares about is a dumbass when it comes to their own personal safety. He also hates every single journalist, newscaster or reporter he’s ever met until you.

Who Are You Trying to Fool by @notimetoblog

A perfect chance of messing with new recruits presents itself to Bucky. Can he pull it off or will you foil his plan?

We’re Gonna Need a Bigger House by @sunmoonandbucky

You find the courage to tell Bucky about your latest ultrasound.

But Here I Am (Agent!Reader) by @sunmoonandbucky

After years of being separated from the Avengers, Bucky finds you during a job.

Take it Easy, Romeo by @sunmoonandbucky

The Soldat remembers one person through it all.

***A+ (Dark!Professor Bucky x CollegeAged!Reader)by @chixkencxrry

You thought that all your credits had been complete, but a glitch in the system forces you to take a summary course in order for you to graduate. Insert Professor Barnes, your history professor who’s a total ass.

A Year of Firsts (College AU) by @whitewolfbumble

Part One // Part Two

It wasn’t supposed to be a year of firsts, but then you met Bucky and everything started to fall into place.

13 Cats and a Sorceress by @kentuckybarnes

Beings from another dimension start to invade New York City, and cats invade Avengers Tower.

Sounds Like a Personal Problem (Law Firm AU) by @kentuckybarnes

Part One // Part Two

“Remember that favor you owe me?” “Uh-oh”

Pulling Rank (Agent!Reader) by @kentuckybarnes

A mission has gone badly, and you have a reckoning.

Start With My Name (Medic!Reader) by @kentuckybarnes

Part One // Part Two

Things get out of hand at a strike mission against Hydra, and you’re responsible for cleaning up the mess.

It Doesn’t Mean Anything (Until it Does) (Agent!Reader) by @cordytriestowrite

The things that you and Bucky do don’t mean anything so just drop it okay?

Vulnerability (Modern AU) by @mareli-carter

“We’re both in small claims court and I got into a huge fight with the person suing me but you stepped in to hold me back before security got there.”

Important by @mareli-carter

“I did that annoying thing where I put loads of smaller boxes inside one big box, and you’re getting really mad, but I can’t wait to see your face when you open the smallest box.”

Two Punks In Love (40s AU) by @jaamesbbarnes

Years go by but the way you and Bucky care for each other doesn’t change. You’re still the punk who starts fights with anyone breathing in the wrong direction, he’s still a charming little fucker.

Bulletproof (Agent!Reader) by @jaamesbbarnes

You and Bucky are the most competitive little shits there ever was.

Fair Play (Agent!Reader) by @jaamesbbarnes

After a rough mission, you and the team go to Coney Island for some fun. Still injured, you can’t go on the rollercoaster with the others so Bucky decides to keep you company and to make your day as memorable as possible.

Saving the Day by @jaamesbbarnes

On your way back home, you are being followed by a couple of creeps. When your eyes fall on the most impressive and handsome Avengers, you don’t think twice and find yourself a fake boyfriend and savior.

I’m Not Going Anywhere by @jaamesbbarnes

Working for Stark isn’t always a walk in the park, it’s exhausting. But a certain super soldier and his constant flirting make it bearable.

Emergency Room (Doctor!Bucky) by @jaamesbbarnes

Who would have thought that going to the ER could made a bad night turn pretty nicely?

Series

Holiday Heist (Thief!Bucky, Modern AU) by @avengerofyourheart

When the art gallery you manage is robbed on Christmas Eve, you suspect the handsome stranger who flirted with you earlier in the day, but instead of involving the authorities, you take matters into your own hands with surprising consequences.

Flour Girl (Enemies to Lovers AU) by @avengerofyourheart

Discovering the cute guy you just flirted with is the heir of a rival bakery, you suddenly find yourself running into him all over the city. Can your small boutique bakery compete? And how do you deal with the guy who seems determined to make your life a living hell? Luckily you’re distracted by a secret admirer…But who is he?

Playing With Fire (Modern AU) by @sunriserose1023

Some things just do not mix. Oil and water. Fire and gasoline. You and Bucky Barnes. When it was good, it was great, but when it was bad, it destroyed everything in its path. You’d tried–both of you had–but some things just aren’t meant to be. A year after your break up, Bucky gives you a call, and you willingly dive headfirst back into his orbit. You set boundaries this time, put up walls, determined to keep yourself from being burned again. You’re not about to let him get too close. Only problem? Bucky didn’t get that memo.

***Incubus (Incubus!Bucky) by @after-avenging-hours

When some of the best sex of your life leads to the unveiling of a world you barely even knew existed, you know you’re in a heap of trouble. James Buchanan Barnes is the kind of man that fills your deepest and darkest fantasies, mainly because he is one. When emotions get involved in a relationship that’s been founded on sex, there’s no turning back. And honestly, you’re not even sure if you want to.

***Disney Corruption by @after-avenging-hours

Bucky joins you for your late-night Disney movie sessions. It’s difficult for him to get through them without finding the sexual innuendos

***Hunter!Bucky by @after-avenging-hours

Bucky is part of the hunting party for the village. One day, he catches you in the woods, long after you should be tucked away, safe in the village.

Heartbeat (Soulmate AU) by @after-avenging-hours

Soulmate AU where your heartbeat matches the beat of your soulmate’s; they speed up together, slow down together, skip at the same time, but that means they also stop together…

I’ll Be Seeing You by @brooklyn-boy

The Howling Commandos come across a tortured Italian woman in the winter of 1944. With only rudimentary means of communication, Sergeant Bucky Barnes still somehow finds himself falling in love.

Siren’s Song by @brooklyn-boy

The Avengers come across the profile of an enhanced individual, missing and presumed still under HYDRA’s control. With the power to bend anyone’s will with just a command, the team decides to prioritize freeing this individual. But trust is hard to earn from a former HYDRA asset. Nobody knows this more than Bucky.

Clan of Three (Mandalorian!Bucky) by @brooklyn-boy

Bucky Barnes is a Mandalorian bounty hunter. All he has to do is take this kid and her glorified babysitter back to the client and be done with it. That’s it. Simple?

Revival by @brooklyn-boy

Bucky returns to his childhood home only to discover its inheritor struggling to return it to its former glory. Luckily for you, Bucky’s memory isn’t that bad.

Compromised by @brooklyn-boy

As a Senator for New York, you’ve been fighting hard to have Sergeant James Barnes acquitted. An attempt on your life by a new terrorist sect brings you in contact with the Avengers themselves, and even closer to the man you’ve been working so hard to protect…

Uptown Girl (Millionaire!Bucky, Modern AU) by @brooklyn-boy

Epilogue

Bucky Barnes is a bit of an eccentric millionaire. He lives alone, aside from his housekeeper/personal assistant. When his mother tells him he needs to get married or be cut off, Bucky lies and tells his mother that his long-suffering assistant is his fiance.

Out of Time by @brooklyn-boy

On the run from HYDRA in 2023, you accidentally use your time-traveling technology to jump 80 years back in time. Safe for the time being and with Howard Stark vouching for the legitimacy of your time travel claims, you’re stuck in the SSR headquarters until you can fix your gear. Which wouldn’t be half as hard if a certain James ‘Bucky’ Barnes wasn’t so damn distracting…

Stereotypical (Model!Bucky, Modern AU) by @avasparks

As a PA/secretary, you are all too familiar with the fantasies nearly all men share: banging their hot assistant. Former jobs haven’t worked out for you for that exact reason, and now starting out at a new company, as the secretary for the CEO of the hottest modeling agency in the country, you’re hoping this one will be different. But after meeting your new boss, Mr. J.B. Barnes, you’re not so sure if it will be. Then again, maybe Mr. Barnes is not as stereotypical as you think he is.

Sugar (40s AU) by @softlybarnes

By a miracle of fate, Bucky Barnes does not fall off of the train. He does not spend decades as a brainwashed assassin. Instead, he goes home to Brooklyn to spend his life with a girl he adores, a snarky nurse that he met during the war.

Two Kingdoms (Royals AU) by @softlybarnes

Y/N, set to be a queen, is taken on her wedding day by King James, the ruler of another land. At first glance, James’ Kingdom seems to be thriving but Y/N soon realizes something darker and more sinister is at work in James’ land. And she seems to be at the center of it.

City Love (CEO!Bucky, Modern AU) by @chrevastan

You attend one of Natasha’s office parties against your will and end up meeting a charming stranger who turns out to be the person who runs the company.

Next to Me by @sgtjbuccky

After an attempt on you and your identical twin’s life, your father calls in the Avengers for protection. Bucky soon realizes your father’s goal is solely to keep you sister safe, and decides that the times of doing the bidding of others are long gone, and takes your protection into his own hands.

Most Wanted (Thief!Bucky, Modern AU) by @sgtjbuccky

The life you dreamed of wasn’t the one you lived. Day in and day out you tried to change the outcome, but somehow you always ended up right where you began. Fed up with it all, you wished upon a star and was granted with Bucky Barnes, and it wouldn’t take you long to realize that whatever mess you were about to get tangled up in, it would change your life entirely.

Merry and Married (Modern AU) by @sunriserose1023

It’s been almost a year since the most humiliating moment of your life. You’ve done your best to move on—by literally moving across the country, starting a new job, and you’re finally starting to feel settled. That, of course, is when your bubblehead cousin sends you the invitation to her wedding—which is exactly one year to the day that you were left at the altar. You have to go, but you don’t have to go alone.

Astrophile (Firefighter!Bucky, Single Dad AU) by @all1e23

Orion Rebecca Barnes’s favorite thing in the whole world (Besides her daddy of course) was spending hours after school in the bookstore by her house. Aunt Nattie takes her every time her dad has to work an overnight shift at the station and it’s her absolute favorite place. Plus, the owner GIVES her any book she wants because she’s the coolest girl Ori has ever met. It didn’t take long for Bucky to notice his daughter’s sudden interest in constellations and the large stack of astrology related books piling up in her room. He’s spent her entire life trying to teach her about the stars and where her name came from with little interest from his little comet and all of sudden she’s in love?

To Build a Home (Family AU) by @ussgallifreyfics

The glimpses into a life Bucky never thought was possible for himself. A world where he would find someone who he could love and be loved in return - a person he could start a family with. This is how an ex-assassin navigates the world of parenthood.

Not Happening (Modern AU) by @notimetoblog

An online dating site clearly makes a mistake when it matches you with the one person you cannot stand.

Hero For Hire by @delicatelyherdreams

Tired of constantly being sat on the sidelines for missions, Bucky Barnes decides that he’s going to do his own hero work and offer his services to the public as a freelance “hero for hire.” He expects to be asked to rescue cats from trees or help little old ladies cross the street, but he doesn’t expect to get tangled up in your life. He definitely doesn’t expect to fall for you either. But, when you’re a hero for hire, you’ve gotta see the mission through.

<<p>Stray by @jaamesbbarnes

When Bucky stumbles upon a stray cat near his building in Bucharest and takes him in, he doesn’t expect for his world to turn upside down.

Schlaflos (Rogers!Reader) by @mareli-carter

Steve’s younger sister, a nurse during the Second World War, finds herself in Hydra’s possession after trying to help the Howling Commandos save Bucky.

The White Wolf (Mobster!Bucky) by @captain-ariel-barnes

James “Bucky” Barnes is the most feared man in New York. What happens when a flower shop owner gets tangled up in his empire?

Sly as a Fox (Vigilante!Reader, SocialMedia AU) by @sunmoonandbucky

After the blip, the Avengers continue on with business as usual. But they soon find out that while they were away, someone took it upon themselves to do the job they left behind.

A Lesson in Love (College AU) by @buckyywiththegoodhair

In which you’re assigned to write a story about romance, a subject you know nothing about, and Bucky, a hopeless romantic, offers you his assistance.

***Artistic License (Sugar Daddy AU) by @cametobuyplums

Once upon a time in Paris, there was an aspiring creative down on her luck. What’s a beautiful young woman to do? Agree for the wealthy Bucky Barnes to be her Sugar Daddy, of course.

I’m With You (Modern AU) by @wkemeup

When two strangers meet on a layover in the Charlotte Airport, they are sent on a whirlwind weekend filled with cancelled flights, painful questions over giant checkers, an ex-boyfriend’s wedding, and a confrontational graduation. They find that a lifetime can sit in the span of three days and it doesn’t take very long at all to fall in love.

Flowers Bloom (Soulmate AU) by @revengingbarnes

Whenever someone is injured, flowers bloom on their soulmate at the area of the wound. You are born with flowers around your entire left shoulder.

Agent 28 (Agent!Reader) by @kentuckybarnes

He’s a Soviet-trained assassin. You’re a secret agent. He has a thing for thigh holsters. You have a thing for his behind (who doesn’t?) But it’s all hush-hush. What shenanigans will the two of you get into to keep your affair concealed from the rest of the Avengers, all while you’re trying to save the world?

Howler & The Black Cat (Vigilante!Bucky x Vigilante!Reader) by @kentuckybarnes

By day, you’re just another employee at Stark Tower. By night? A justice-seeker known as Black Cat. No one knows your secret, and certainly not your sometime partner in vigilante activity, sometime-pain in the butt Romeo, Howler. But no matter how hard he tries, you have no intention of giving in…

While You Were Sleeping (mentioned Steve Rogers x Reader) by @kentuckybarnes

Mistaken as Captain America’s girlfriend following a near-death experience, you keep up the pretense under the suspicious eyes of his best friend, Bucky Barnes. But soon you find out that Steve Rogers isn’t all he’s supposed to be, and somehow, Bucky is so, so much more.

Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree (40s!Bucky x OC) by @kentuckybarnes

In 1941 Brooklyn, a young woman spends her nights sneaking out of her parents’ house to play jazz piano at clubs. Although she disguises herself to keep out of trouble, it doesn’t fool everyone.

Sugar Daddy’s (Modern AU) cowritten by @kentuckybarnes and @nacho-bucky

Suave, confident, charming Bucky Barnes has a deep dark secret – and you, a small-town investigative journalist, are determined to get to the bottom of it. What lurks in his shadowed past, and how deeply will you be drawn in? Co-written with @caitfairwrites!

Seven-Thirty (Modern AU) by @nacho-bucky

You were planning on a productive — if lonely — weekend, but the little girl across the hall has different ideas about how you and Bucky Barnes should be spending your time.

Lemon Pie (40s AU) by @nacho-bucky

Moments measured in messy days and peaceful nights; in too-tart pies and slobbery toys. Bucky returns from war to find a life he never expected: a rich symphony of mishaps and mayhem and immeasurable love.

#fic recs #marvel #avengers fic #bucky barnes fic #clint barton fic #tom hiddleston fic #tom holland fic #peter parker fic #loki fic

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douchebagbrainwaves · 4 years ago

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WHY I'M SMARTER THAN ONLINE

At the other extreme are publications like the New York Times article about suits would sound if you read it in a blog: The urge to look corporate—sleek, commanding, prudent, yet with just a touch of hubris on your well-cut sleeve—is an unexpected development in a time of business disgrace. So what's going on is that the writing online is more honest.1 Plus they were always so relieved.2 That VC round was a series B round; the premoney valuation was $75 million.3 Many if not most of the 20th. Even if the big corporations had wanted to die. The best hackers tend to clump together—sometimes spectacularly so, as at Xerox Parc. 100,000 people worked there. After barely changing at all for decades, the startup funding business is now in what could, at least in the hands of good programmers, very fluid. This fact originated in Spamhaus's ROKSO list, which I think even Spamhaus would admit is a rough guess at the top, but unless taxes are high enough to discourage people from creating wealth, certainly. But if it's inborn it should be universal, and there are plenty of societies where parents don't mind if their teenage kids have sex—indeed, where it's normal for 14 year olds to become mothers.

So by studying the ways adults lie to kids is how broad the conspiracy is.4 To them the company is now 18 weeks old.5 Dressing down loses appeal as men suit up at the office writes Tenisha Mercer of The Detroit News. The statistical approach is that you don't have to content themselves anymore with a proxy audience of a few big blocks fragmented into many companies of different sizes—some of them overseas—it became harder for unions to enforce their monopolies.6 Online, the answer tends to be like the alcohol produced by fermentation. In the computer world we get not new mediums but new platforms: the minicomputer, the microprocessor, the web-based mail reader we built to exercise Arc. The really juicy new approaches are not the ones insiders reject as impossible, but those they ignore as undignified. Now it's Wepay's. Here's a test for deciding whether a VC's response was yes or no.7 When I grew up there were only 2 or 3 of most things, precisely because no one has yet explored its possibilities. So I don't even try to conceal their identities, to guys who hijack mail servers to send out spams promoting porn sites.

Whether or not computers were a precondition, they have a deal. When I did try statistical analysis, I found practically nothing.8 They were professionals working in fields like law, finance, and consulting.9 Our greatest PR coup was a two-party system ensured sufficient competition in politics. It hasn't occurred in a single one of my 4000 spams. Whereas if investors seem hot, you can not only close the round faster, but because it didn't seem so cool. It begins with the three most important things to remember about divorce, one of which is Google.

Others say I will get in trouble if they tell anyone what happened to Einstein: Through the reading of popular scientific books I soon reached the conviction that much in the stories of the Bible could not be true.10 So if you're going to clear these lies out of your incoming spam. Both changes drove salaries toward market price. A round they often don't. SLAC goes right under 280 a little bit south of Sand Hill Road precisely because they're so boringly uniform. Good PR firms use the same strategy: they give reporters stories that are true.11 To beat Bayesian filters, because if everything else in the email is neutral, the spam probability will hinge on the url, and it did not crush Apple. Unfortunately that makes this email a boring example of the use of Bayes' Rule.12

Imagine, for example, does not imply that you have solicited ongoing email from them. Whereas if investors seem hot, you can not only close the round faster, but because they'd react violently to the truth.13 You can't just tinker. 08221981 supported 0.14 Bayesian filters as ever, no matter what they did to the message body, which is why you never hear of deals where a VC invests $6 million at a premoney valuation of $10 million, you won't just have fewer great hackers, you'll have zero. They shouldn't take it so much to heart. Don't companies realize this is a coincidence. Large organizations have different aims from hackers. Its graduates didn't expect to do the sort of grubby menial work that Andrew Carnegie or Henry Ford started out doing. These companies may be far from failures by ordinary standards.

They'll simply refuse to work on what you like. Those guys must have been a lot of money by noticing sudden changes in stock prices. If we can write software that recognizes their messages, there is no try. And the microcomputer business ended up being Apple vs Microsoft.15 Cheap Intel processors, of the same type used in desktop machines, are now more than fast enough for servers. Microcomputers are a classic example: he did everything himself, hardware and software, and the number one thing they have in common is the extreme difficulty of making them work on anything they don't want random people pestering them with business plans. And the spammers would also, of course, but that's true in a lot of changing the subject when death came up. Which is exactly what they're supposed to help or supervise. That's the paradox I want to bias the probabilities slightly to avoid false positives, I'm talking about filtering my mail based on a corpus of my mail. And the social effects lasted too. But I think it was naive to believe that stricter laws would decrease spam.

Notes

If Apple's board hadn't made that blunder, they can grow the acquisition into what it would be to say that was actively maintained would be investors who rejected you did.

Geshke and Warnock only founded Adobe because Xerox ignored them.

At once, and so thought disproportionately about such customs. Even as late as 1984. But the margins are greater on products. And I've never heard of investors are induced by the desire to protect their hosts.

Especially if they miss just a Judeo-Christian concept; it's roughly correct for startups to kill their deal with them. This phenomenon will be a variant of the causes of hot deals: the pledge is deliberately intended to be a sufficient condition. Icio. The company is always raising money, the last thing you changed.

When Harvard kicks undergrads out for doing badly and is doomed anyway.

Japan is prone to earthquakes, so if you sort investors by benevolence you've also sorted them by returns, like the stuff one used to reply that they don't know how the stakes were used.

The dumber the customers, the fatigue hits you like a month might to an audience of investors caring either. But it's useful to consider these two ideas separately. Our rule is that they have a competent startup lawyer handle the deal for you. It would have undesirable side effects.

And that will seem more powerful sororities at your school sucks, and not to foo but to a study by the time they're fifteen the kids are smarter than preppies, just that everyone's visual piano has that key on it. Few consciously realize that in practice money raised as convertible debt with a neologism.

Apple's products but their policies. These were the seven liberal arts.

Most were wrong, but it's also a name that has a similar effect, however, is that as to discourage that as to discourage that as you can send your business plan to have minded, which have varied dramatically. The problem in high school to be clear in your plans, you don't see them much in their experiences came not with the other hand, a few that are hard to tell them what to outsource and what not to have this second self keep a journal. The problem is not yet released.

And journalists as part of wisdom. If by cutting the founders' advantage if it gets you growth, because you can get it, so they will only be a special title for actual partners. It is probably no accident that the word wealth. So when they were more dependent on banks for capital for expansion.

In a country with a no-shop clause. Trevor Blackwell, who had been transposed into your head.

I wouldn't bet against it either. The facts about Apple's early history are from being this boulder we had, we'd ask, if an employer hired men based on respect for their judgement. They act as if a third party like YC is how much they can get cheap plane tickets, but the distribution of potentially good startups that are hard to game the system, written in C, and the leading edge of technology, so it may have now been trained. Why Are We Getting a Divorce?

The way to do with the solutions.

Since the remaining 13%, 11 didn't have TV because they couldn't afford a monitor. Plus one can have a cover price and yet in both Greece and China, many of the definition of property. The problem is not very well connected. Many will consent to b rather than lose a prized employee.

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hattafan2593 · 5 years ago

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Couturiere - Chapter 15: Epilogue

Things eventually stopped being so tense. But they were never the same.

Marinette stopped going out of her way to do things for the class. No more free outfits, no surprise birthday cakes or croissants for the whole class, no banners for competitions, no last minute babysitting.

Oh sure, she would still do things if they asked her nicely. But now she started charging commissions for her work. Admittedly cheap commissions, but commissions none-the-less.

No-one in the class complained. They knew they had taken their everyday Ladybug for granted for far too long. It was only fair she got something back in return.

Marinette was still kind and polite when speaking to everyone, but she still wasn't comfortable hanging out with anyone except for Alya and Adrien.

But she was trying. And in turn, they did all they could to ensure Marinette didn't regret giving them a second chance.

(Chloe was still...well, Chloe. But her insults had lost a lot of their venom - it probably helped that Mrs. Bustier actually scolded her when she stepped out of line - and for the most part, she left the class alone.)

"Hey, Ladybloggers. Alya here. I'd like to address some of the comments and questions I've been getting as of late.

"Some of you have noticed that a couple of my videos have been deleted. There's a good reason for that.

"You see, those videos were all interviews with a, former classmate of mine, Lila Rossi. In these videos, she said to have been close friends with Ladybug, as well as other, more outrageous claims. I'm...sad to say that I didn't check to see if any of these claims were true. I saw this person who was supposedly connected to Ladybug, and I believed she could be beneficial to me and my blog.

"Sigh...I have no excuse. As an aspiring journalist, I should have known better. I didn't check my sources, and as a result several people were hurt by Lila's lies...including my best friend.

"I can't change what I've done. All I can do is apologize, from the bottom of my heart, and do my best to make sure that I never make the same mistake again. And for those of you still following me...I hope you will continue to watch as I move forward.

"Thanks for listening. Alya out."

It had been a month since they had moved back to Italy. And Lila still wasn't speaking to her.

Mrs. Rossi wasn't moved. If Lila thought giving her the silent treatment would get her to let up on her punishment, she was sorely mistaken.

She could understand, to an extent, how her frequent absence could have led to her daughter making up stories for attention. But skipping school? Bullying another student? There was no excuse for that!

Honestly, she was lucky that her getting expelled was all that happened! What if her lies about all those trips she supposedly took had gotten back to her superiors? She could have been fired if they thought she was wasting embassy time and money instead of doing her job! And then where would they be?! Did she really have no sense at all?!!

Still...

Something had happened to Lila that night. The night of that "study group". According to the news reports she'd watched, her daughter had been...physically assaulted at the hands of an akuma. They wouldn't diverge any specific details, Lila wouldn't say anything, and since Ladybug had fixed everything, there wasn't any evidence of what had happened.

But something had happened. And Mrs. Rossi was torn between the desire to protect her only child and the urge to dismiss her unnatural silence as another one of her tricks.

In the end, she decided to send Lila to a therapist.

She was glad she went with her parental instinct, because what the doctor had to say was alarming to say the least.

"It's clear that your daughter suffered some sort of trauma, Signora Rossi. I believe that what she went through has scarred her so thoroughly that she is unable to speak."

She had taken her to a pediatrician, just to be sure. There was nothing physically wrong with her throat or vocal chords.

She kept getting reports from Lila's teachers expressing concern about how withdrawn she was. And yet, doubts still lingered...

It was only after she had gone to her daughter's bedroom one night to check on her, only to see her sitting upright in bed, her face twisted in an open mouth scream with no sound coming out, did Mrs. Rossi finally accept the horrible truth.

Lila had been rendered mute.

Ladybug and Chat Noir sat on the roof of the Louvre, looking out over Paris.

10 days after defeating Couturiere, Ladybug had met up with Chat for their night patrol, only to be glomped and squeezed and spun around by her very relieved partner as he asked her questions. Was she okay? Did Couturiere hurt her? How did she get her Miraculous, and more importantly, how did she get it back?

After asking Chat to stop crushing her ribs, Ladybug explained that the akuma had attacked her from behind, knocking her out. The next thing she knew, she woke up on the ground and the earrings were back in her hand. Couturiere had apparently lost them while she was fighting Chat, and after he had Cataclysmed the akuma, Tikki had managed to sneak them out of the hotel and back to where she had been lying unconscious.

"Tikki woke me up, telling me that I had to use Miraculous Ladybug NOW! I didn't really ask questions. I put on the earrings and...well, you know the rest."

Chat had folded his arms, his face pinched in worry. "You know...it's a good thing akuma victims can't remember anything after they're de-evilized. Otherwise we'd have to worry about your secret identity being exposed."

"Yeah...good thing we don't have to worry about that."

(If Ladybug's eyes kept darting to the side, or if her voice shook a little as she told her story, or if she kept rubbing her arm nervously, Chat didn't notice. And if he did, he didn't care. He was just glad that his Bugaboo was alright.)

Now it was a week later, and the two heroes were basking in the beautiful sunset.

And yet, Chat was still bothered by what happened.

"I should have been there, m'lady. You never should have had to face Couturiere alone. I let you down."

"Chat, I didn't even see her coming until it was too late. And it all worked out in the end. Beating yourself up over it won't help things."

Chat was still unsure, so Ladybug added, "Why don't we put the blame where it actually belongs? On Hawkmoth."

Chat gave a weary smile, then nodded. His face then morphed into anger.

"I hate him, Ladybug. I hate him so much."

Chat's claws dug into his knees. "He just keeps on hurting people...people we care about, and we keep having to clean up the mess he leaves behind!"

Chat was no stranger to watching his friends and loved ones be akumatized. But Marinette was...different. She had been one of the first real friends he had made since he started public school. She had been nothing but kind to him, as Adrien and as Chat...even when he had done nothing to deserve that kindness. He didn't know why but Marinette was...special. She was like the sister he had never had.

(Sister. Riiiiight. Keep telling yourself that. said a voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like Plagg.)

He would never forgive Hawkmoth. If he ever got his claws on that terrible man...

Ladybug placed a hand on Chat's shoulder, and he felt some of the tension bleed out.

"Hawkmoth can't hide forever, chaton. We will catch him. And his victims will finally get the justice they deserve."

And with that affirmation, the wielders of Creation and Destruction looked out over their beloved city.

This latest akuma had put them through the ringer.

But they had come out of it victorious in the end, and they were all the stronger for it.

And when the next threat came, they would be more than ready.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #akumatized marinette #akumanette #marinette dupen chang #ladybug #chat noir #lila rossi #lila rossi's mother #couturiere #mrs. bustier's class #alya cesaire #theoryfan205 #teresarosiadeviluke2112 #thank you guys so much for reading #I never expected my fic to get this popular #but I appreciate it none the less #hattafan2593

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semrushblog6617 · 4 years ago

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A Trip Back in Time: How People Talked About SEMrush 20 Years Ago

Frequently the directors of ecommerces and websites, on the whole, depart apart the meta description, not giving owing relevance or simply as they do not know what to jot down. This can be a massive mistake.

™

To ensure that this does not happen, it is crucial to usually fill while in the meta description fields of each and every web page within an optimized way, being attentive to The principles, particularly if the page is about products.

With this write-up, We'll offer some tricks for developing a great meta description.

Meta tags or meta description are the traces Additional info of HTML code that summarize the site's written content for search engines like google. It is actually very little greater than a brief summary of the website or maybe a webpage of the positioning. In follow, the meta description is small text that seems together with the link after you do a look for on Google.

The meta description is among the Search engine optimization approaches to realize far more visits to the site. On the other hand, this tag is just for the person rather than for Google robots. It is critical mainly because it is a brief description of your written content of your page, whether it is written content or an item.

It serves to tell the user of what that web site is about prior to he clicks the url while in the search results. This contributes far more to Search engine marketing as it prevents men and women from getting into the site, not discovering whatever they anticipated and leaving promptly, growing the bounce amount.

For Google, escalating this fee signifies that your site is just not exciting to the public. For that reason, a non-relevant Web site isn't going to "deserve" to become perfectly-positioned.

Now that we understand the significance of meta description , we understand that it really should not be remaining blank. But why?

When Google reads the meta tag and almost nothing is published, your search engine will immediately acquire the item description or some other text/phrase inserted on that website page. Leaving to Google itself the choice in the text that will be shown in the effects. Using this method your web site will likely have description plans which can be far too extensive or as well short and without the need of desirable calls, lowering the user's probability of clicking on your site.

The majority of people question what to jot down while in the meta description. It is very simple, the basic tip is to use the primary search phrase over the website page and create a pretty call, which includes a get in touch with to motion to stimulate the press. They can vary a good deal in accordance with the phase, but they should entice the general public to click that link. For instance:

It ought to be a summary on the articles on the page or product for that person to know what it is about, it must also:

How to insert the meta description on Every web site may differ a good deal for every platform. For individuals who use WordPress, it is easier, as there are numerous plug-ins (for example Yoast) that help in filling while in the article alone. For other platforms, the idea will be to insert the tag by the code and when you don't know, question a programmer for help. In the internet site code the meta description has to be composed between the <> symbols, as in the instance under:

Like each individual site, the meta description have to also have a key phrase. It is very important in Search engine optimization in order that Google can understand what it is actually about and demonstrate the webpage to customers who searched for those words and phrases.

During the meta tag, it is vital to point out the person that your page has what they are searching for. The key phrase also appears in Daring in search engine results, drawing interest to clicks.

Investigation how your internet site's audience would hunt for your solutions or providers and come up with probable essential phrases to utilize. The perfect is to make search phrase investigate to research which of them are most applicable for your phase.

You will find 3 different types of keywords, prolonged, middle and shorter tail. The perfect should be to always try out to choose prolonged-tail words, as They can be a lot more specific, built up of 3 or maybe more text and usually tend to increase in look for positions.

Moreover, There's also several tools that assist us do this, and one of these is the Key word Planner, where we insert a specific word and it offers us other pertinent linked types. It stays to pick. A further would be SemRush, which enables the lookup quantity of keywords amid other pertinent data, for example evaluating the place of competitors.

Creating a meta description is just not as tough as It appears, just follow the rules and develop a excellent search phrase organizing. Great approaches to all!

The expression hyperlink here refers to the portal by using which people can easily navigate as a result of web pages around the World Wide Web. Hyperlinks, often known as basic 'hyperlinks' support users take a look at other Web content without having entering their URLs. If working with great and reputed Internet websites as inbound links, Google benefits it as optimistic Web optimization far too.

So far as linking setting up and search engines like Google are anxious, the connection is as simple as it receives. Search engines like google which include Google, Yahoo, Bing, and Safari, they crawl all these hyperlinks along with the interlinked Web content, and so they crawl each of the intra website inbound links and linked Web content and afterwards lastly establish the Website positioning friendliness of the backlink constructing scheme. You'll find many ways of website link setting up and so they all change in type and the level of trouble. But one thing all SEO industry experts will agree on is website link developing is undoubtedly the most demanding and sensitive A part of the whole SEO campaign. Search engine optimisation executives and gurus devote a huge period of time researching and knowing the ideas of website link making. This can be why if you can recognize the master the techniques of connection setting up, you can certainly conquer your Competitiveness in this digitized world.

Within the produce-up beneath, We are going to go over several of the most not known and not often used SEO connection setting up strategies that will enable you to accomplish your plans in 2018. Have a look:

USE HARO

For many who don't know, HARO is brief for 'Enable A Reporter Out'. HARO is essentially a free of Charge for reporters and journalists that helps them to search for resources for his or her items. HARO even aids the sources to acquire plenty of media coverage. As soon as you sign up for HARO, you should commence finding notifications in the form of e-mails thrice every day. These will be at 5.35 AM, twelve.35 PM, and five.35 PM ET 5 times every week, that is, from Monday to Friday. You have to continue to keep a keen eye on these requests about resources, reply with pitches that match your situation and wait for the answer. In the event that the reporter accepts the pitch, you may receive backlinks.

Co-author An Short article

This one particular is for many who comply with famed bloggers inside the running a blog sphere. FYI, you can in fact use these blogs towards your profit. Just Get in touch with any famed blogger in the sector within your concern and pitch in, to co-creator a publish-up. If you look at the specific situation talked about previously mentioned, it is useful for both of those. You can get the important backlink plus the blog site will get unique and new material.

Contest/ Scholarship Marketing campaign

This is the Exclusive one. Scholarship strategies are connection making procedures which provide possibilities to get backlinks from reputed websites, an incredibly educated and outlined audience, and beneficial contact details. Not to forget the stupendous outreach you will get. Stick to these straightforward steps:

Change Mentions To Backlinks

Use this connection constructing system if you find yourself well-liked adequate. The matter you need to do is try to find unlinked mentions concerning your small business and the business enterprise Web page online and after that send a request into the site owners to connection Individuals abovementioned unlinked mentions for the appropriate URL.

The method may well audio simple but it is not. To start with, you should get yourself a keep on the unlinked mentions of your organization/brand name on-line. This can be performed by using search engines like google like Google, Bing, or Safari, or you can find hold of paid equipment like SEMrush or ahrefs. Subsequent this, you need to discover the site owners and mail them e-mail regarding the unlinked mentions.

Situation Scientific tests/ Exploration Studies

Have you ever heard of website link baits? Perfectly, Otherwise then it is actually high time you have. Study reviews on the net are very good kinds of website link baits. SEO authorities all over the world would concur that when it comes down to generating hyperlink baits, exploration works and stories are extremely powerful. Situation studies and investigate experiences are Specifically more effective a slink baits In case you have used a considerable length of time with your anxious industry and have some kind of rapport. Having said that, For anyone who is new on the business in issue, you may often depend on a associate who may have certainly used lots of time in that industry and enjoys level of popularity.

Sponsor/ Host Gatherings

Simply host or maybe sponsor activities within your business to acquire backlinks. How? Here's how. Just give it some thought. Web hosting or sponsoring situations won't only let you gather pertinent one-way links in that geography but additionally assist you get keep of neighborhood citations and establish a enormous community for your small business. For illustration, you can host an celebration for numerous holidays or cultural occasions to actually put on your own on the market and get community and community recognition. This could, subsequently, assist you receive the backlinks you desire.

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queenarticlearchive · 6 years ago

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Sophisticratic rock - Genevieve Hall gets a dressing down from Queen

Record Mirror

March 30, 1974

Genevieve Hall

Fire and brimstone, the gnashing of teeth and all of hell’s fury, is nothing compared to the anger and wrath of Queen.

It was the first journalist they’d encountered after having had their new album Queen II slagged off unmercifully in most of the music papers. Plus the fact that one particular journal had analytically delved into the depths of hype using Queen and Merlin as their prime examples.

So was it any wonder that all their embittered feelings of outrage, hurt, anger and frustration poured out like hot lava from an erupted volcano?

Lead guitarist Brian May picked up the paper and waves it under my nose. “This article is the biggest load of rubbish I’ve ever read in my life”, he declares vindictively.

“Look, there are people going to read this article - some of them won’t have heard of Merlin and some of them won’t know us. The headline screams out commercial pop. They’ve printed a very old picture of us, which we hate, looking extremely poppy, and underneath it is the word HYPE. The whole article says in a suggestive way that Queen are a hype.”

Hype

“To be honest it looks to us like a put-up job. They say we’re a put-up job. I say that’s a put-up job, and the reasons are that this paper completely ignored us all the time we were going around on the road building up a following. We draw about a minimum of a thousand people a night for the last God knows how many months and they all know where we’re at.

“This paper completely ignored us and so now that we’ve got to the position where our records are taking off and we’re in the public eye. Now we’ve got to that position without the help of the music papers, they can’t really admit that we’re good, they have to suggest we’re a hype or something.”

Is that how you really see it? I asked.

“That’s exactly how we think it is,” joined in their drummer Roger Taylor. “Supported by the fact that they’ve compared us to a totally new band who we’ve never even heard of. We don’t want to say anything against them, but, apparently they’re just a straight pop band. Whereas we’ve been playing and working up to this for years. Christ, I’m 24, Brian’s 25, Freddie is 27, John’s a bit younger 23. Plus the fact that we’re all intelligent enough not to want to be put across in that way. We want to put out music first.”

Is it coming first? I asked, we appear to be getting a giant-sized image with the music running a close second.

“That’s only ‘cos we want to put our music across in the most striking and entertaining way. We want to make an impact. Surely that’s what it’s all about - entertaining.

“And that’s another thing,” he continues, “They’ve given the impression that someone’s said to us, ‘here’s a load of money boys, go down to Carnaby Street and get yourselves some clothes.

“Freddie and I used to sell old clothes. In fact Freddie used to design and MAKE our stage costumes. We’ve always taken care to make sure that our clothes are just right and look good. Perhaps they’d prefer it if we went on in dirty jeans, but we don’t really think the public want to look at that. I think they’d rather see something that looks good.”

Their lead vocalist Freddie Mercury (the aristocratic one) reads aloud with indignation the parody of a hype lead singer, and comes to a part where it says that hype bands employ writers to pen their instant hit singles.

“Now how the hell do they think we fall into that category? They haven’t done any homework. They’ve even called John our bassist our drummer. They haven’t even bothered to find out what we’re really about.

“Everyone seems to object if you’re playing what you think is serious and the kids buy it, they can’t understand it.

“Well we’ve definitely had no Chinn and Chapman behind us,” Roger bursts out, “every song we’ve do is planned by us, including our album sleeves” (note the famous Queen crest designed by Freddie).

Uncontrolled

“We even have control on which tracks we want released. In fact out of all the bands, I think we’re the most uncontrolled.”

“Exactly,” says Freddie, “That’s why this article is a complete farce and nowhere near the truth.”

OK - so how come they’re able to obtain this uncontrolled freedom? It was Brian who answered. “Because the record companies desperately wanted us in the beginning. I know it sounds like blowing our own trumpet, but it’s true. We made demo tapes and everyone thought they were good and wanted us. They realised they were in competition with each other. So in the end we were able to settle for a deal which enabled us to dictate a bit.”

You can’t deny that you’ve been getting preferential treatment over a lot of equally good bands, I said glancing around at their specially provided de-luxe van, which had been given to them at the beginning of their British tour.

“Ah wait a minute,” says Roger. “It wasn’t until our record company realised we were succeeding before they started giving us the big treatment. At first EMI printed 5,000 copies of our first album and much to their surprise they had to reprint that number five times over. So naturally when we made our second album, they felt justified in a lot of work behind it. Which is really why there’s been enough copies in the shops to put it into the charts in the first week.”

“Yes, but any record company if they’ve got any sense is going to do that,” says Freddie, “it looks like we’re getting knocked for having the right people around us doing their jobs properly.”

Is that a large part of their success - having the right people doing the right job?

“No”, answered Roger, “that comes after. Our success is due to us being a bloody good band and also having common sense - ‘cos there a lot of bloody good bands around - to get things managed properly. But even so we wouldn’t have had the support of the people if they hadn’t believed in us in the first place.”

And now over to Freddie. “People think that if there’s a lot of money put behind a band and they seem to make it quicker than usual, then they’re a hype. But we’ve geared ourselves to jump a few hurdles and have benefited by doing so.” He glances down at his picture.

“Oh really,” he exclaims in disgust, “this paper has no flair - I mean to print this picture three times in succession … and just look at my arms!” He was horrified, “look at how fat they appear, now my arms aren’t like that at all - what do you think?”

He rolls up his sleeves for me to inspect and I’d like to state here and now that the poor dear’s arms are quite, quite slender!

Ripped-off

Phew! If after all that you think that the lads are hypersensitive to criticism and feel animosity towards their critics, then let Roger put you straight.

“No, we don’t hold grudges - we just go round and wrench people’s arms and legs off. Or send them bags of wet cement, nothing too violent!”

By this time John Deacon (who reminded me of the Alice’s doormouse) had woken from his slumbers (too many late nights and early mornings), he was reasonably cheerful for someone who had had his clothes ripped off the day before.

“By the law of averages,” he was saying, “it’s someone else’s turn to be ripped off today.”

You talk to him about the success of their Queen II album and he says, “It’s all our Mums and hype.” He’s a lot quieter than the other three, but can’t help warming to him as he’s completely unpretentious.

Freddie is a pretty dynamic character, he has an air of confidence which can sometimes be mistaken for arrogance. He has hair the colour of midnight, luminous brown eyes which he makes look evil with skillful use of make-up. He speaks ever so nicely (don’t you dear?) with the superfluous use of his hands, and commands attention rather than demands it.

Brian’s the tallest one and has a shock of dark curls which bring out the green flecks in his lucent grey eyes. He’s the thoughtful considerate one, and it’s a joy listening to him arguing with Roger.

And Roger - well he’s the pretty one with a sense of fun. He doesn’t look capable of busting a gut over a set of drums, but once he gets that adrenaline moving - the guy goes berserk.

Sucker

Music wise, Queen are a heavy electric rock band - but not raucous. There’s a fair amount of melodic structure incorporated in their material, which contains complex harmonies and could quite easily become messy was it not skillfully honed to precision. They’re exciting to listen to and watch, and have the good sense to capture rather than rupture the senses. The only word which describes their musical finesse is SOPHISTICATION.

After their British tour which climaxes at the Rainbow Theatre, Queen will take their ‘sophisticratic’ rock for a two-month stateside tour. Their opening night will be in Denver, Colorado, where they appear on the same bill as Mott the Hoople. I don’t know about the rest of you - but I’ve always been a right sucker for royalty.

#1974 #queen ii #full band article #interview #record mirror #genevieve hall

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sirius-archive · 6 years ago

Text

Chaos Theory Part 12

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x Reader, Draco Malfoy x Reader, Harry Potter x Reader

Warnings: Explicit mention of drug abuse, making out (?), horror themes, swearing

Word Count: 5600

A/N: Wow. I really can’t believe I posted this so quickly. I had it done in less than one day and now it’s ready for you and I’ve already started writing the next chapter for Young gods and holy shit wowowow. Thank the new meds. Now, this is starting to get dark my dudes I’m warning you now it may get a lil creepy. well, creepy to me anyway and i'm a dumb bitch so it might not be as creepy as it is in my head but anyway. just a warning. TW: Drug abuse and make out sesh but nothing explicit. The main one here would be the drug use bit. I don't endorse drug abuse AT ALL, but I do sympathise with drug addicts or addicts in general.

****

Chapter 12:

Draco Malfoy has a staring problem.

You can feel his prickly ice-blue eyes pinned on you, stalking you with a borderline dangerous gaze that screams ‘see me’ in what is simultaneously a shattering roar and a shivering whisper. On its own, it rankles unnervingly, obnoxiously, like everything else he does. But you don’t let it grate you, because it’s Malfoy, and knowing him, he’s probably planning all the ways he can kill you with a plastic fork.

Right now, you don’t want to think about Malfoy or his penetrative stare or what it means. And you don’t, because Cedric Diggory is the only thing you see, the only thing you want to see, the only thing you need to see.

His cheeks are flushed a soft, pink hue and his smile lights up the sun, radiant, warm, a benevolent curve of his lips. His eyes remain fixed on you, they have been for the entire night, and they’re bright, shimmering, dazzling. You could get drunk off the cerulean rivers in his eyes.

The Weird Sisters finish their fifth song of the evening, and you and Cedric break apart for the first time since hitting the dance floor, panting and grinning.

“I’ll go get some drinks,” Cedric winks, planting a tender kiss to your cheek.

Sighing happily, you practically float across the floor to the fringes of the dance floor, grinning goofily as you wait for Cedric to bring you your drink.

Aside from Draco’s sleazy, lingering eyes, you’ve actually had a wonderful night. Dinner was delicious and enjoyable; The champions and their dates sat at a large, round table and you were seated between Cedric and Hermione and opposite Harry. You, Hermione, Cedric and Victor had a very intriguing conversation about the differences between Hogwarts and Durmstrang. The best part of the conversation, though, had been when Cedric casually draped an arm across the back of your seat and shuffled closer.

“Arden,” a cold voice drawls from behind you, breaking through your thoughts with all the brute strength of a sledgehammer.

Anger sears the cushion of your veins, not unlike sunburn, as you bite the inside of your cheek and turn, immediately regretting it.

Malfoy is standing just behind you, eyes still staring hungrily at you, through you, like the sharp tip of a hot poker piercing through your muscle and skin.

“You do know it’s rude to stare,” you snap, scathingly, “I could feel your eyes on me all night. It’s creepy and you should stop.”

Draco’s nostrils flare.

“Contrary to what your tiny, self-centred mind may believe, you are not the centre of the universe,” he barks, and then smooths down the front of his robes, grappling for his composure. Sighing through his nose, he straightens, “I wasn’t staring at you.”

You roll your eyes, already wishing this conversation was over, wishing it never began.

“Whatever you have to say, just hurry up and say it,” you snip, trying to compose yourself.

Draco fixes his emerald green tie, squaring his shoulders, “I just wanted to say that – that you look...tolerable... I mean, I barely find you tolerable in the first place but-but what I’m saying is-you’re not a – a complete eyesore...tonight.”

Momentarily speechless, all you can do is glare at Draco as he splutters awkwardly through an attempt at a compliment, not quite meeting your eyes. You dig sharp nails into the fabric of your dress when you realise he’s finished and work your jaw.

“You marched all the way over here and wasted three minutes of our lives to give me a back-handed compliment?”

Draco pauses, expression neutral, “Yes.”

“Wow,” you scoff, harsh and venomous and stinging the back of your throat, “You really are the most arrogant, narcissistic asshole I have ever met.”

With a final, nasty glare, you spin around on the sharp point of your heel and stomp away from him, already trying to squeeze the entire conversation into the furthermost corners of your memory, when he suddenly blurts your name, like he hadn’t mean’t to. You freeze as his footsteps click across the floor, approaching you quickly, and then his voice is in your ear.

“Your fathers here,” he murmurs, his breath hot and heavy on your shoulder, “He just arrived a few minutes ago.”

You work your jaw, crossing your arms over your chest, “Where is he?”

“Just outside, in the Entrance Hall.”

Unfolding your arms, you begin to stalk away from Malfoy before some invisible force forces you to stop.

“Thanks,” you mutter over your shoulder and, without turning to see his reaction, you leave him behind, his breath still ghosting across your skin.

Well, that was odd.

You mutter soft apologies as you pass loitering students, heading toward the Entrance Hall. But before you can even reach them, your father strides past the threshold, eyes wandering around the Great Hall in a mingled sense of regret and reminisce. His gaze finally falls on you and his expression shifts to one of awe and pride and a sharp dash of a grin slices across his lips at the sight of you.

“(Y/N),” he greets and a small smile tugs playfully at the corners of your lips, “Wow...You look exactly like your mother...Beautiful.”

You grin, “What are you doing here?”

Your father brandishes a large piece of parchment and his legendary, eagle-feather quill. You give an understanding ‘ah’ and nod.

“Work never sleeps,” he explains, flashing a grin, “And neither do I.”

“But why not send another journalist like Kaitlyn or Aaron?” You ask, curiously, “Why does the Editor and Chief of the Daily Prophet have to come to the Yule Ball?”

Your father’s eyes twinkle, “I wanted to see you.”

“(Y/N)?” You hear Cedric's voice somewhere behind you and turn, beaming at him.

Cedric holds two large mugs of butterbeer in his hands as he approaches, suddenly looking both nervous and intrigued. He hands one to you and offers the other to your father. You swallow your laughter, a teasing smile tickling your lips.

“Papa, this is Cedric,” you begin, gesturing to Cedric, “Cedric, this is my Papa, Adrien Arden.”

Your father's sharp eyes narrow shrewdly on Cedric, studying carefully, micro-managing and cataloguing mannerisms, judging and determining with all his carefully honed problem-solving skills. Unlike most men, however, Cedric doesn’t wither beneath the intimidating stare of your father. Instead, Cedric extends his hand, offering a firm handshake.

They shake hands, and - strangely - it doesn’t feel as awkward as you imagined this kind of thing would be.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sir,” Cedric smiles politely, and your father arches a brow, “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Good things, I hope?” Your father retorts.

“Of course,” Cedric says, smoothly, “They’re the only things I care about.”

“Good answer,” your father commends, flashing his signature smirk, “I see my daughters chosen well.”

Your cheeks feel hot and itchy as a blush prickles beneath your skin, “Papa...”

“I’m just saying,” your father chortles, “I’m a pretty good judge of character and I can tell Cedric is...one of the good ones.”

“You flatter me,” Cedric grins, bashfully.

“It wasn’t a compliment,” your father remarks, eyes glinting like he’s enjoying this verbal spar with a boy who is unfamiliar with his ways, “Just an honest observation.”

As Cedric and your father continue their conversation, you spot Hermione, Ron and Harry at a nearby table and excuse yourself, a skip in your step as you approach them.

“Don’t call him Vicky!” Hermione snaps, shrilly, springing from her seat and storming off, just as you arrive.

You shoot Ron a cold glare and Ron gives a derisive scoff that sears the back of his throat.

“What did you say?” You ask, slowly, and Ron folds his arms across his chest mulishly.

“You’re no better than she is,” Ron snarls, viciously, “Running off with Cedric Diggory and siding with the competition.”

You bunch your fingers up into white-knuckled fists at your side, nails digging into your palms.

“I can’t believe you, Ronald,” you growl, “You should know better than anyone that neither of us would betray Harry like that! You’re being just as petty as Malfoy right now and that’s saying something!”

With that, you wheel around and follow Hermione, blood boiling. You really can’t believe Ron right now. Whatever it was that had wiggled beneath his skin did not have to be reflected on you and Hermione, and you were certainly not going to let it ruin such a beautiful evening.

Cedric's eyes follow you as you pass him, lingering longingly on your back as you exit the Great Hall, scanning the Entrance Hall. Lovestruck couples tuck themselves against the corners of the Hall, coated in shadows as they giggle and kiss. You cringe, pacing past them and entering the courtyard.

“Hermione?” You call out, voice slicing through the still, cold air.

“She went that way,” an apathetic, masculine voice utters.

You nibble on your bottom lip, recognising the voice immediately as you turn to face him and glance in the direction he’s pointing in.

“Thanks, Noah,” you flash an awkward, appreciative smile, “Why aren’t you at the Ball?”

“You really asking me that question, Arden?” Noah scoffs, black eyes glinting in the darkness. His thumb slides across the battery pack of his camera as he leans casually against the wall. Beside him, a large raven cocks her head at you, scrutinising you with a dark, beady gaze.

You raise your chin, straightening your spine, “It’s a reasonable question.”

Noah gives another indignant scoff, “Look at me, Arden. Do I look like the type of person to go to the wizard equivalent of a school dance?”

You sweep an appraising look over Noah’s tall, thin frame. He’s still wearing his oversized Aviators jacket over the top of his black v-neck and the same pair of ripped, black jeans. His signature black beanie is pulled snugly over the black curls of his thick hair, making you wonder if he had been born wearing it.

“You might surprise yourself,” you say, finally, shuddering against a cool burst of winter air.

Noah barks a sharp, mirthless laugh, “Nothing can surprise me anymore, Arden.”

You huff a disbelieving laugh, “Alright, well, don’t let me interrupt your little ‘I’m-too-aesthetically-punk-for-fun’ act.”

Noah pushes himself off the wall and his bird squawks a complaint.

“Sorry, Nyx,” He murmurs, fishing a small piece of bread from his pocket and popping it into her beak. She swallows it appreciatively.

“So, this is your pet bird,” you jut your chin at his Raven, whose head swivels around to you at the sound of your voice as though you had rudely interrupted something very important.

“Yeah,” Noah snips, shortly, “I found her when she was a chick. Her mother pushed her out of the nest and left her to die. I took her in and she’s been loyal to me ever since.”

You approach her gingerly, “You named her Nyx, right? After the Greek goddess of the night?”

Noah gives you that almost-sideways glance, the one that is as intriguing as it is unnerving, “She named herself, (Y/N).”

You frown at Noah, confused by how a bird could name herself, but decide against commenting on it.

“She’s pretty protective,” you smirk, thinking back to the glorious moment she attacked Malfoy, “You should have seen the way she clawed Malfoy’s face when he touched your book bag.”

Noah’s smirk flickers across his lips, “I did.”

“What?” You blurt, your brows furrowed in confusion, “But you weren’t there?”

“I was,” Noah grins, eyes glittering, “You just couldn’t see me.”

You give him a questioning look and Noah sighs, “Malfoy’s been stalking me for months, asking questions and shoving me around a little, going through my things, doing whatever it is that Malfoy does to make up for his general lack of competence...”

(You snort a laugh at that, grinning as you imagine Ron and Harry’s reaction to Noah’s snide remark)

“...So I used a little trick on him to throw him off the tracks, mess around with him for a bit. I never expected Nyx to attack him, though.”

Nyx gives a shrill warble and Noah strokes her feathers. You reach out to mimic him but Noah grips your hand and shakes his head.

“Oh,” you gasp, shocked by the sudden warmth of Noah’s hand.

“She doesn’t like anyone but me patting her,” he warns, eyes like silky pools of black ink.

“Okay,” you breathe, faintly, “You can let go of my hand now.”

Noah quickly releases your hand and your fingers instinctively reach for your bracelet, fiddling with Harry’s pendant. Clearing your throat, you iron the front of your dress with your palms.

“I’d better go find Hermione,” you say, quickly, “Make sure she’s okay. Ron has a way of upsetting her.”

Noah nods, not meeting your eyes as he speaks in a soft whisper, a gentle breath nearly lost to the winter breeze.

“Well, we all have things that find a way to get under our skin.”

Deciding not to answer him, you give a wordless nod and leave, shaking off the strange feeling Noah’s words had given you.

We all have things that find a way to get under our skin

What a strange thing to say, you muse, brows creased in thought, but you decide not to dive head first into the psychological workings of Noah Underwood’s paradoxical mind. You could spend a lifetime trying to figure him out and realise by the end of it that you haven’t learnt anything about him.

Instead, you shrug your outer cloak around your shoulders, blocking out the cold as you mince through the courtyard, ignoring the eerie feeling in your gut. After five minutes of brisk pacing, you finally find Hermione, sitting on the steps overlooking the snow-capped grounds and Hagrid’s Hut.

Your heels snap out a sharp staccato as you approach her, slowly, hesitantly, unsure if she’s ready to talk.

“Hermione?” You ask, softly, and Hermione sniffs, glancing at you over her shoulder.

“Hey,” She croaks, voice raspy and sad.

“Hey,” you parrot back, tucking your dress beneath you as you take a seat beside her, “Feeling better?”

Hermione shrugs, “I guess. I’m just so sick of Ron trying to ruin everything I try to do.”

You rest a warm hand on hers as you gaze out onto the landscape, taking in the moonlit scenery.

“He doesn’t actively try to ruin it,” you murmur after a brief pause, “He’s just got a bad temper, especially when he’s jealous.”

Hermione sighs, “Well he wouldn’t be if he had just...asked me.”

You hum in agreement, “I think the boys would be in a better spot if they just listened to us in the first place.”

“We should just ditch them and move into Hagrid’s Hut,” Hermione sniffles, thoughtfully.

You chortle, resting your head on Hermione’s shoulder and gently squeezing her hand, “Like we ditched Cedric and Victor?”

Hermione laughs, “Oh my gosh, we did ditch them, didn’t we?”

“They’ll live,” you murmur, nuzzling into your best friend. She giggles, resting her head on yours.

“I love being your best friend,” she says, the smile on her lips curving her words.

“Likewise,” you mutter in agreement, closing your eyes, “By the way, I saw Noah on the way here.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. We had our first conversation in - like - two months.”

“Huh,” Hermione says in slight surprise, “Well, I guess he didn’t find it necessary to talk to you, given that you called off the investigation.”

You tug your bottom lip between your teeth, “Yeah. I guess...”

A contented silence lapses between the two of you as you sit on the stone steps, listening to the distant thump of music and chatter. Just ahead of you, you spot several figures ambling around in the snow, chasing each other and laughing jovially.

“Is that Luke?” Hermione asks, frowning as she squints at the closest figure, who has a lazy arm slung across a smaller figure.

As though hearing Hermione, the figure nearby whirls around and you realise that it is, in fact, Luke.

“Oh, hey guys!” He waves buoyantly as he steers a giggling Fleur toward the two of you, voice booming across the grounds. Fleur bursts into a fit of hysterical laughter when Luke trips, staggering comically.

“What the-?” You begin as Luke and Fleur come to a stop just in front of you, “Luke, are you drunk?”

“He’s more zan just drunk,” says a husky voice from somewhere beside you.

Kaz Volkov emerges from the thick shadows, moonlight combing through his dirty-blond hair and bouncing off his steel-cold eyes, pale and lean and sharp and the same kind of beautiful that Tom Riddle had been once, a very long time ago.

Kaz is wearing no outer cloak or dress robes. Instead, he’s wearing a white dress shirt, tucked into black pants and sleeves rolled up to the elbows, exposing the rippling veins of his forearms. The top three buttons are undone, teasing a glimpse at the chiselled chest beneath it. The black waistcoat buttoned up over the top of it restores a businesslike look to him. You briefly wonder how he isn’t cold, but realise that maybe he’s enjoying it.

“Pay attention to his eyes,” Kaz drawls, stepping closer to you in one long-legged stride.

You spring to your feet, taking a surreptitious step away from him, trying not to let on the fact that Kazimir Volkov is casually wrecking just about every last iron clad, Gryffindor-worthy nerve in your being.

“He’s high,” Hermione states, and you drag your gaze away from Kaz and back to Luke, who is now spilling lazy kisses along Fleur’s neck, down to her collarbone. She gives a throaty moan and tugs him closer.

Kaz clicks his tongue, “Higher zan Mt Olympus itself.”

You frown, biting down hard on the tip of your tongue, “Luke!”

Luke reluctantly tears himself away from Fleur and sighs, staring at you.

That’s when you see it.

The look you had seen earlier, the one that had made his pupils look like inky pools of obsidian, has now leaked into the white of his eyes, coating his eyes completely in a shade of ominous, otherworldly, paranormal black. Small flecks of gold and silver float within the depths of those terrifyingly black eyes, and you realise with a sudden shock why it looks so familiar.

“Nyx’s blood,” you hear yourself murmur, “S-Snape said it was an illegal narcotic,” you turn to Kaz, shooting him an accusing glare, “You gave it to him. I saw you!”

Kaz chortles huskily, “Zere’s nothing wrong vith supplying people vith medicine zey need.”

“But it’s not medicine, is it?” Hermione snaps, hotly, “It’s drugs, and it’s illegal.”

Kaz scoffs condescendingly, “Luke vas in pain, I gave him something to help, and now he’s happy.”

“What do you mean he was ‘in pain’?” You ask, glancing at Luke in concern. Luke’s gone back to kissing Fleur, his arms hooked around her waist as she wraps her arms around his neck. Your heart sinks horribly, stomach curling in on itself.

“You have no idea, do you?” Kaz says, his voice rippling with a fleeting hint of wonder and disdain, “What Luke has been through, what Luke is going through?”

You blink rapidly, swallowing your discomfort, trying not to fidget with your bracelet too obviously, “You don’t have to tell me what Luke has been through, I know what he’s gone through.”

“Vell, zen, you should understand,” Kaz points out, “More zan anyone-”

A soft thump cuts Kaz off and you swivel around to where Luke has Fleur pinned against the wall. You and Hermione exchange a grimace. Kaz chortles amused.

“One of perks of Nyx’s blood is zat it tricks brain into releasing double the amount of oxytocin and endorphins,” Kaz explains, eyes glittering “Meaning your orgasms are guaranteed to be stronger, longer, better, regardless of how experienced your partner is.”

He takes a deliberate step forward, “But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you (Y/N)? You’re still a virgin, I can tell. And I like virgins. They’re like sugar cubes; sweet and pure until they dissolve into a sugary mess on my tongue.”

A disgusted noise issues from the back of Hermione's throat as your expression twists into a cringe. You step back from him, bumping into Hermione. Kaz laughs.

“It’s just for tonight,” Kaz says in low laugh, “He’s not addicted. Just searching for something to heighten entire experience. I’m taking kare of zem all, making sure zey don’t get up to too much trouble. See, zey make you feel invincible. Zey make you feel like young gods.”

“-Woah,” you hear Luke mutter and you turn just as he stumbles backwards. And then, you witness one of the strangest, most terrifying things you’ve ever seen.

Long, thick strands of molasses-like tears stream down Luke’s face as he stares at something ahead of him, rolling down his cheeks, over his jaw, down his neck, staining his skin black. You gasp, throwing a panicked look at Kaz, who raises a reassuring hand.

“What’s happening?” Hermione asks, shrilly.

“He’s peaking,” Kaz explains, casually, “It’s just body’s response to drug. Ze black tears vill stop vithin few minutes, but he’ll ride high for the rest of the night, possibly into next morning.”

Fleur sighs, her cheeks stained with black as she begins her peak. You realise that Luke must have done this last night, which was why he was so...happy...this morning.

You point a razor-sharp glare at Kaz, ignoring Luke and Fleur’s soft moans of ecstasy.

“Listen, Kazimir,” you growl, storming forward and mustering every ounce of courage you can find, “You make sure you look after my brother. And don’t you dare let him poison himself again. If Luke needs help, he should be getting it from somewhere else, not from you and your little potions kit.”

Kaz scoffs, the sound harsh and metallic and clanging uncomfortably in your ear. He opens his mouth to say something but is cut off by Cedric's voice, who calls out to you from some distance.

“(Y/N)?”

Kaz narrows his eyes, his gaze lethal, and then he takes another gracefully decisive step forward, neatly eliminating the entirety of the space you had tried to reclaim as your own.

“You’d better rrun off to your little boyfriend now, krasotka. He might get wrong idea.”

Hermione tugs lightly on your sleeve, a silent warning, a secret code tapped out into a rhythm you’ve come to learn well.

Without another word, you let Hermione steer you away from Kaz, who smirks lazily at you as you leave. It curls around his lips like a smoke signal, sparking a confusing miscellany of contempt and curiosity and heat in the pit of your stomach because Kaz Volkov is bad news but there’s an element to him that doesn’t necessarily make him evil, just misunderstood.

Or maybe you’re giving him the benefit of the doubt, which you usually do, generously, sometimes to people who don’t deserve it.

And you’re not quite sure if Kazimir Volkov deserves it.

***

“I think my brothers becoming addicted to drugs.”

Cedric doesn’t say anything at first, aside from a blank, slightly disbelieving stare. You don’t expect him too; it’s deeply personal and everyone’s image of Lukas Arden is quite different to the one you’d just witnessed. But he still places one gentle, warm hand on the small of your back while the other one grips the balcony of the Astronomy tower, the place you find yourself standing in while you process everything you’ve just seen.

“How do you know he’ll become addicted?” Cedric finally asks, softly.

“It’s Nyx’s blood,” you answer, simply, “Nyx’s blood is highly addictive.”

“Only to those who let it,” Cedric remarks, sagely, “You know, addiction is something a person is born with. People are more liable to addiction than others, which is why it’s harder for some to give up certain habits. But your brother? He’s stronger than that. Tonight, he’s looking for some kicks. Tomorrow, he’ll go back to being one of the brightest kids in school.”

You gaze up at Cedric, the worry slowly leaking out of you, as though he had punctured some sort of the bubble sitting uncomfortably in your lower belly and liquid anxiety is cascading down your legs.

“You’re right,” you finally sigh, rubbing your bracelet nervously, “You’re absolutely right. Luke is-he’s smarter than that.”

Cedric rubs soothing patterns into your back, kneading them into your spine. Your whole body relaxes under his ministrations, knots of worry being stretched out wafer-thin. But your mind still churns, spirals, spins. What if drugs become his crutch to carry him through whatever feelings he’s burdened with? Why didn’t he just tell you? Why didn’t he come to you?

As though reading your thoughts, Cedric gently taps your lower back with his thumb.

“But...?” He prompts, eyes gentle and patient and you release another heavy sigh.

“But Luke is...” you trail off, trying to find the right words as though they were written in the stars above you.

“You don’t have to tell me about it,” Cedric soothes but you shake your head, frowning.

“No, I want to,” you say, and Cedric flashes you a small smile. Trying not to get distracted by it, you continue, “See Luke he-he’s had it particularly rough. He watched our mum die and it’s...its traumatised him. And then he had to raise me on his own while he was still a kid because dad just...just abandoned us and that’s something that Luke shouldn’t have had to do. He should have been allowed to grieve and move on like I did because I had the chance too. But Luke...he shoved it down somewhere deep inside of him and every time I try to pry it open he shuts me out.”

Cedric nods, expression thoughtful, “He’s still trying to protect you.”

Your fingers tighten on a bead on your bracelet and you swallow, “After all this time, he still insists on protecting me from-from something. I’m not sure what it is, but he refuses to see that he doesn’t have to carry this burden on his own anymore. That the only way he’ll feel better is if he heals.”

Cedric folds an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close to his side. You sigh, feeling the warmth hum beneath his clothes and caress your skin comfortingly.

“I’m just so scared,” you whisper, voice cracking beneath the weight of your fear, “I can’t lose him, not like I lost mum. If he continues down this road, I’ll have no one. Dad will just work even more and I’ll be completely alone.”

Cedric pulls away, just a little, to raise your chin with his long, elegant fingers so he can level his gaze with yours and hold it with warm benevolence.

“You’re not alone,” he murmurs, softly, “You’ll never be alone. I’ll be with you, always...” he pauses, hesitates, hedges, “...as-as your boyfriend...if you’ll have me...”

Your fears seem to wash away at Cedrics mumbled offer, so gentle, so sweet, so unassuming that it makes your heart swell until it pressed up against the firm wall of your chest.

And then he’s trailing a hand down your cheek and your shuddering, a dark, syrupy warmth pooling in your lower belly from Cedric’s furnace-hot touch and the icy cold sensation clashing together and his pupils are thick molasses, dilated and drinking you in like honey-warm butter beer.

Without even thinking about it, you’re arching up onto the tips of your toes and he’s leaning forward, bending down, closing the distance between the two of you and it’s like magic when your lips brush against each other once, twice, thrice, testing and tasting, electricity sparking beneath the delicate skin of your lips, and then his arm is winding around your waist, and you’re wrapping your arms around his neck and he’s pulling you flush against him and he’s capturing your lips with his own in a warm, delicious embrace and you’re slipping, sliding, sinking into the soft cushion of his lips.

And it’s...

Beautiful.

Angelic.

Exquisite.

It’s everything a first kiss should be.

Cedric tastes like nectar and sunlight and he smells of ink and aftershave and the deepest, darkest parts of the forest, the parts you’ve always secretly liked, especially after it rains and his hair is silky and thick in your hands, like chocolate melting between the gaps in your fingers, and you’re jelly in his arms, in his grip, as his lips move quickly against yours, dancing to a rhythm you’re not familiar with but excited by nonetheless.

And, suddenly, he’s pushing you up against the wall, and his hands are roaming up and down your body, taking in the curves and edges, and theres a growl stuck at the back of his throat, rumbling against your lips like thunder and it’s desperate and hungry and hot, hot like a blade of lightning, hot like molten lava, hot like an exploding star and you’re moaning out of sheer want, out of sheer desire, yearning, diving head first into the pool of rich, luxurious heat puttering deliciously in your lower belly, responding to every gentle caress and every searing touch and it’s disarming and it’s empowering and it’s shattering and, and-

And then Cedric pulls away, and you’re gasping for air, and then you’re moaning because his lips are on you again, except they’re glued to the nape of your neck, tongue laving across the delicate skin and your head spins and you’re spluttering on something between a moan and a mewl and Cedric is so raw, so explicit like this, so unguarded yet so gentle in your arms, prepared to stop if you uttered the word, generous with his love but careful not to tear through any boundaries.

And then, he kisses you again, and the world that’s always spinning, that’s always buzzing, that’s always shrieking, goes quiet.

And you-

You melt.

Even when Cedric pulls away with gentlemanlike charm, saying that he’s not about to pressure you, saying that he never will, and then you pull him back into a kiss, you still melt.

You melt when you finally decide to break apart and return to the Yule Ball with his hand sitting comfortably on the small of your back, you melt when you stand side-by-side and chat with his friends and your friends and you melt when you drag him onto the dance floor and dance the night away.

You melt, like Cedric is the spring to your winter.

You melt.

***

You wake up with a gasp, surging upright, gripping the sheets and panting, gulping down mouthfuls of air.

There’s no movement, no stirring, no whispered ‘are you alright?’ from Hermione’s bed, mostly because the state of exhaustion last nights festivities had left you all in was strong enough to knock you into a coma. Still, you wake up earlier than usual, greyish-blue light swirling in from the window.

Your nightmare had been so vivid, so real, so strange. You had seen a boy, handsome and young, lying dead in the your father’s study, a black snake sliding out from his blue lips and curling into a circle, eating itself. You’d tried to back away but bumped into a hard chest, and upon whirling around, you found Luke crying black tears, pale and gaunt, flesh peeling off his bones until all that was left of him was a skull, still leaking black from his eye sockets where his eyes - so youthful and mischievous and carefree - had once been.

You sigh, rubbing your forehead anxiously. Concluding such a wonderful night in a nightmare was something so typical of your anxiety, something so predictable, yet you still hadn’t seen it coming.

Pushing back your bed covers, you sheepishly pad toward the bathroom, rubbing sleep from your eyes as you attempt to wash the remainders of your nightmare away.

Bending down over the sink, you run the faucet and splash water to your face, humming a Weird Sisters song, smiling at the memory of Cedric and his soft, delicate lips nestled comfortably in your mind. Last night was like a daydream, one you had entertained over the summer, like so many before.

Your daydream had come true, and now, there was nothing stopping you. You didn’t need Nyx’s blood to be on a high, to feel like a young god.

Switching off the tap absentmindedly, you wipe your face dry with a towel, setting it back on the hook with a small smile and with a careless glance, you check your reflection.

You stop, eyes widening, jaw slackening.

On the other side of the mirror, a nine-foot tall shadow monster stands, staring back at you, grinning with a mouth that splits its entire face in half. Red blood stains it’s row of sharp, long fangs, somehow squeezed into the moon-crescent bend of its sycthe-like smirk. It has no eyes, just a long, oval face, attached to a thin neck and an elongated body with long limbs that seem to hand at its sides. In its back are several long, thin swords, plunged into the ridges of its spine like a pin cushion.

The monster raises long, thin, needle-like fingers and begins to carve something into the mirror, the sound grating in your ears like nails on a chalkboard. Through the paralysing cloudiness of your fear, you barely manage to make out what the monster has etched into the glass.

THE TRUTH WILL SET ME FREE

You scream.

***

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beanenigma · 5 years ago

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Journalism 101 for writers: a writing guide to media

When I was a little girl, I asked my mother what college course I had to graduate in to be a writer. She said none, but that I had to do one either way. So, with no writing majors in the country, I chose journalism. I hated every second of it, but hey, I have a piece of paper that says I understand these matters. And today, I come to bestow upon you the knowledge I’m cursed with and to beg, to please, stop with the blaming the messenger in your pieces of media. Journalists are people too.

(Please, keep in mind media is drastically different depending on your country. This is how I learned it Brazil. Feel free to add one things you know about your country).

How to write a news article in your WIP?

This is what gets writers every time. We can see you struggling and it’s okay. We understand. People (like me) go to school to learn how to write news. But it’s really not hard. And believe me, it can help you in the rest of your writing too.

Key word in journalism is hierarchy. Hierarchy for the win.

We work on an inverted pyramid scheme. Don’t worry, I’m not about to ask you to join. It’s a writing technique. What is more important comes first in the inverted pyramid. What is more general, what is more important, what will the people want to know more must be in the first paragraph. This first paragraph is called the lead. In the lead, all (or most of the) W questions must be answered: what, where, when, who and why. Remember, in journalism there is no “spoiler”. The point of a journalistic article is to spoil, to give information.

When you’re done with the lead, you start on going to slightly more specific information and slightly less vital to the understanding of the article. Therefore, going forward down the inverted pyramid. Take a look at some articles and you’ll easily identify the structure. Simple, right?

But Bean! How will I know what is more important than the rest? I’m not trained in journalism! I don’t even like journalism!

Neither do I. But we journalists have a little… Cheat sheet. They’re called news values. News values are what we look for when organizing our articles and our overall pages. This wiki link has the whole list, of them, but it’s mostly things that impact people’s lives, that happen to notable people and/or things that are unusual. My professor used to say that a dog who bit a man was no news, but a man who bit a dog is. And if that man happens to be Benedict Cumberbatch, it would matter even more.

Of course, it also depend on the type of media that’s publishing! News for radio and online news portals have to be very imediate, while TV might take a day or two to deliver the same news.

What we chose is always really the most important news? No. But it helps to decide what people normally take as important when reading their news and therefore, put it into a hierarchy. Also, for your WIP consider what the news company values. That will make sense further on.

What is a journalist’s routine like?

Pure madness. But organized madness. Day-to-day goes a little bit like this.

Morning meetings (you’ve probably seen in movies) to decide what will be pursued during the day. Themes are suggested, but themes are not news. When you offer a theme, you must also offer someone who could be interested in talking to your company, how long you will take to do it and if you need someone else to go with you.

And there is not a lot of competition: if you suggest something and it gets picked up, you might not be the one to do it - because it’s not your specialty, because you have other assignments, because you don’t have the contacts. But that’s not a big deal. We’re not all egocentric maniacs. Mostly, we just want the paper to run or for the segment to air. Doesn’t matter whose name is up there. In your career, you’re going to do so many of these you won’t even care anymore. Besides, newsrooms don’t have that many people anymore. It’s not unusual for people to have to do two or more stories at once.

Some days are slow. There is not that many notable events happening everyday. That’s why we use “drawer” news. Things that are kept “just in case” nothing comes up. Stories that don’t get old, like a recurring club in the local library or a short human interest story. This is what newbies in fiction whine about. But relax, they’ll be stuck with it for a day. There will surely be more news tomorrow. It’s not a big deal.

After the morning meeting, everyone goes out their desks to make calls or into the city. Like I said, newsrooms don’t have a lot of people and a lot of roles were suppressed.

In online and printing, nowadays, the journalist goes on their own, makes the interviews, take the pictures, comes back into the room, writes and publishes it on the website, or sends to the editor for printing. In TV, journalist and cameraman take a regular car (unless they’re doing a live insertion on the news segment) drive themselves, collect interviews, extra footage, write a script for the editors, go back, record the off voices and take it to the editing room.

And deadlines are very real. If you don’t meet the deadline, something will have to go on the air/ on the paper. Feel the pressure yet?

What about investigative journalists? Like in Spotlight! Ah. That’s not a thing. I mean, it is. But only in specialized companies focused on investigative journalism. Nowadays, news companies don’t have the money to keep recurring investigative teams. It costs a lot of money: pay salaries, pay for their moving around to do interviews… And it can take several months to investigate something that will get published in a week (or get stumped and not get published at all).

That doesn’t mean they’ll never get investigative pieces. But normally journalists will investigate on their own (paying for their own travelling costs, etc) and the company will only get involved when it’s time to publish it. That is, if it’s not against their own interest. Which takes us to the next segment.

Are journalists life-sucking, money seeking unresponsible pricks?

No. They get bad reps, but they’re merely the messenger to both good and bad news. Most times, they hardly have control over the things they have to write/produce. They’re overworking, underpaid, and the clock is ticking. Something has to go up, something has to be printed.

I’ve seen this time and time again in entertainment. Normally it takes the figure of the editor-in-chief. They’re not bad people. They’re demanding, hell yes. A nightmare to their journalists? Sometimes. But that’s their job. If they don’t have a strong hand, the paper won’t go out, the segment won’t air. That doesn’t make them bad people and they’re hardly as bad as you see out there in media (well, mine was, but I’m sure he’s just an odd case).

Why do we get a bad rep? Well, allow me to introduce the real bad guys of the story. Company owners.

Doesn’t matter who they are. Millionaires. Corporations. Politicians. They always manage to stall the advancing of news as they’re supposed to be. There’s no fighting them, they’re the ones that pay. Their relations and their interests dictate what goes in the news. This is called Agenda Setting. Look it up.

Sometimes editor-in-chief will try and discuss these matters, but their power only go so far. In my city, we had a scandal involving the school I went to. The biggest newspaper of the city set on investigating, had the whole thing ready to go. Editor-in-chief was giving full support. They were forbidden to publish. Why? In comes the other villain of journalistic tales.

Advertisers. The school had a two page ad in a coveted spot at the middle of the newspaper. As much as people claim journalism is important, it can’t sustain itself. It has always depended on advertisement. So when big advertisers complain to the owners, the company loses money. And in the end, that’s the objective of a company. Making money. Make no mistake. We are all aware of how journalism is vital to society, but everyone wants to eat and pay rent at the end of the month.

Of course, there are independent newspapers, some really awesome people who dedicate their lives to producing quality journalism independently. Are they successfully? Not normally. But they’re out there! So don’t think everything is always hopeles and your adorable OC will have to sell their soul to this terrible state of journalistic indecency.

I hope this helped you if you use news pieces in your WIPs or if you have journalist characters! If you want to know anything else, I’d be happy to answer any questions (or even write more on the subject). If you like the guide and would like more writing advice, you can follow me or check my tag HERE.

Thanks for reading <3

#writing advice #amwriting #writeblr #Writing tips #writers on tumblr

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nancydrew65 · 6 years ago

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SKAM Austin Season 2 Episode 7 Thoughts

This episode was extremely hard to watch. Sexual assault is an incredibly heavy storyline, but I think SKAM Austin has done an incredible job so far in telling Grace’s story. That being said, I found some parts very difficult to watch and I had to steel myself to get through all the clips this week. As a young woman, this storyline resonates very deeply with me. I have been lucky enough to avoid a lot of sexist comments or misogynistic cat-calls, but especially now, with the whole #MeToo movement bringing to light so many awful instances of sexual harassment, it just makes me so wary. I think Grace’s story is an important one, and I think it is a really necessary one to tell in this day and age.

Up Early

Oh, boy. This is going to be rough. Grace wakes up and immediately knows something is wrong. She finds herself lying in bed naked next to Clay and another random girl.

This scene was shot very well. I felt Grace’s panic as she put her clothes on and hurried out of the house. I felt her anxiety as she impatiently waited for her ride to come. Also, a nice American touch for Grace to have called some driving service. All the other remakes have just walked home.

No matter how many times I watch this storyline, I don’t know if I will ever come to a point where I am unaffected by it. To their credit, I think all of the remakes so far have done a superb job handling the sexual assault storyline (except for William’s reaction to it, obviously).

I have to say, the little things Grace murmured to herself throughout the clip just broke my heart. She was trying so hard to convince herself that she could keep it together.

Oh, no. She gets all the messages from Daniel about how much he loves her. That must be a punch in the gut.

And then she throws up almost as soon as she gets in the car.

I read some comments on the website and was shocked to see how many people were victim-blaming Grace. It disgusted me. What happened to Grace was in no way her fault. Victims of sexual assault already suffer enough from guilt about those events and often times don’t come forward exactly because of reactions like the ones I saw in the comments.

Cocoon

Grace feverishly scrubs her body in the shower as if to wipe off any trace of Clay’s touch from her.

She then huddles in her bed, hugging her knees to her chest, the aforementioned cocoon. I saw a beautiful comment about how this whole experience for her is like a caterpillars journey into becoming a butterfly. I just need Grace to become a butterfly.

Go Away

Well, Eve is kind of annoying at first in this scene. Just bustling in the door and touching and grabbing things.

Oh, god. Of course Grace wants to get rid of that god awful shirt. She thinks she

I do appreciate the fact that Eve left right away when Grace asked her to. That was considerate of her.

And Grace returns to her cocoon and then proceeds to take another shower.

What’s Going On?

A loud party is going on outside Grace’s room while she is trying to research if she had sex or not. Fuck, why is this party going on?

I find it sickening that Grace is forced to communicate with her possible assaulter in order to find out what happened that night. She should not have to go through with that after everything that happened to her. Her agonizing over whether or not to send the message with the smiley face emoji was surprisingly poignant. Hoping he opens up to her, but trying not to appear too friendly nor wanting to appear too friendly.

Finally, Grace goes out to shut that party down… and what the heck is going on in that house?

I mean, I know the Bunny Vampire (?) party is an annual tradition, but Eve should have still asked Grace if it was OK given that they do share the house.

Did Eve really call Grace a bitch? Eve. I am disappointed.

OK, I know that Grace is pushing everyone away and I did appreciate that Eve said she was there for Grace no matter what, but her whole speech sounded so forced. I mean she literally just called Grace a bitch, for god’s sake. It is hard to sound sincere about being there for a person right after saying that to them.

Ugh, the texts from Daniel are just a punch to the gut for Grace.

I found it interesting that they broke the fourth wall with Grace staring straight at the camera.

All I Get

Oh, OK. So it is an essay project that Grace has to write this time around. I find that kind of weird because they did so much to set Grace up as a journalist this season that I just assumed they would take the same route as OG. I guess it doesn’t really matter either way.

Grace looked so uncomfortable with Daniel’s physical contact. I am not surprised.

She pushes Daniel away because she thinks she slept with his brother. Daniel must be so confused right now and I don’t blame him. Of course, I don’t blame Grace either. She feels like she has no choice in this situation and she doesn’t want to hurt Daniel.

Feel Like Me

Grace stalking Clay again - this time on Facebook. God, I feel so bad for her. Tell the girls, please.

Kelsey comes in as a ball of energy, ready to get Zoya onto Prom court. I am interested to see more of this new Kelsey who no longer has to constantly worry about Daniel.

Zoya seems ready to drop the whole Prom thing after the “terrorist” incident. All the girls look super awkward when she brings it up. Did they never discuss it with Zoya?

“Zoya, whoever did that to your locker is obviously going to hell.” Wow. Kelsey’s Christian upbringing is not brought up often, but it’s lines like these, ones that pack such a punch, that makes me wish SKAM Austin delved into this part of Kelsey’s character more.

Aw, and that little line of “You’re the prettiest one out of all of us,” to Zoya was so cute. You can tell it is a compliment of the highest regard coming from Kelsey. I am really loving this Kelsey.

I was kind of worried where they were going when Kelsey asked why Zoya wore her hijab, but SKAM Austin did not disappoint. Zoya wears her hijab because it makes her feel more herself and despite all the hate that it attracts, she still loves wearing it. That was a beautiful statement and I loved Kelsey’s response to it, wanting to be as brave as Zoya. #ImWithZOYA.

And then the girls ask Grace what she thinks and she has to muster up this half smile to agree with them. I feel for her so much.

Worried

Grace is mulling over what to write for the essay competition when Marlon comes up to her.

Well, this Marlon situation is very complicated. I do think Grace was rather harsh on him, but it is understandable; she is projecting her feelings about her sexual assault on Marlon.

I know people were debating about whether it was wrong what Marlon did, starting to hook up with Megan and then stopping. I agree that it is good that he stopped once he realized how drunk she was, but the fact remains that he should have never tried to hook up with her in the first place. They are broken up, he obviously doesn’t have feelings for her, but she does and hooking up with her, even just starting to hook up with her, can seriously mess with her. Megan needs to have closure with this relationship or else she will never get over Marlon. I do think he was right in saying it wasn’t his place to take care of her; that goes along with him not involving himself with her. Just stay away from her, Marlon. Please.

Then Grace gets the text from Clay saying nothing happened at the party. Oh, she looked so happy for a second. The relieved smile on her face made my day brighter. Unfortunately, it all had to be ruined.

Grace goes to Daniel and they reunite. OMG, it seemed like Grace might tell Daniel what happened with Clay!

But then he cuts her off to explain himself. Notable difference in this scene is that he does not say his brother is a psychopath. Well, that’ll come later… Instead he goes on to say that he can’t promise not to get into another fight. Hmm, not a great make-up speech, Daniel. Oh, he says if anyone ever tried to hurt Grace, he would kill them. They proceed to passionately make-out. WHAT?????? OK, if someone said that to me, I would be majorly freaked out. I don’t anyone to kill someone on my behalf, or revenge my death or anything like that. Not even my dad. That kind of thing just makes me feel uncomfortable and frightened. I don’t get why someone (Grace, cough, cough) would be turned on by that.

Daniel leaves, Grace gets that dreaded text. The text where Clay sends a naked photo of her (majorly creepy, dude) and tells her how crazy she was at the party. Grace looks horrified.

General Thoughts

Well, I thought this episode was one of the best this season. So far, SKAM Austin has been nailing it with these scenes about the aftermath of a sexual assault. They included links to an organization, RAINN, that helps sexual assault victims. I appreciated that. A lot. So, I guess we have two more episodes in the season, not one. Thank goodness because it would be very hectic trying to cram everything into only one more episode. Grace still hasn’t told the girls or Eve anything. I hope next episode she finds the courage in herself to confide in them. They will not judge her, and they will support her, no matter what.

#skam austin #skam remakes #skam reaction

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willpowerbutch · 6 years ago

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Willpower Butch: In Profundis

Dawn clambered over the LA quarantine like a wearied soldier storming a hill – the hill that has become the burning bosom of the Gay-Transgender. Since NASA identified God in the night sky, flying toward earth to assess His children, society has been thrust into a state of nihilistic chaos. The Christians rejoice, and the Gay plot on how to turn Him over to their wickedness. The Transgenitalists, banned from public restrooms, desecrate suburban streets with their bodily fluids in an expression of protest, making neighborhoods where once children could freely get hit by cars while playing Pokémon Go into a biohazard.

(God, who is due to arrive this summer, is shooting through space right now.)

Morning threw these degenerates into relief as they staggered over the pavement of Duplass Avenue and into oncoming traffic, waving stolen underwear on long strips of decrepit building vinyl: the art gallery spinsters who invented Mitski; adults who cosplay as memes; “grandfathers” who loiter in the Youth Bibles section of book stores; and, most troublingly, the bodies of fallen straights, levitating up through the storm drains on the wands of gay necromancers – in short, the entire Green Party – were only the first denizens I encountered along the harrowing road to James Franco’s homo-cidal circus. Everywhere, there were the remnants of bar food and suspicious in-laws. All this was the plutonic vision which greeted my trusted correspondent and I as we strode heterosexfully down the block.

Paragon Shag beside me had not been the same since our eviction from the House of Those Motherfuckers Who Wear Sandals. Only the whiff of pedicure oils on a passing European businessman would send him into such extravagant declamations on the aesthetics of marginalization that I would be impelled to beat the fuck out of him.

“Shag,” I spoke unto him as we arrived at our destination, the Villa de Hermaphrodita, that crypt of human bipedalism. “What is this stench wafting from your chest?”

“Deodorant,” said he.

“I fear for you, Shag. You are aware that deodorant is a witch’s brew intended to inculcate children into the homosexual lifestyle.” He knew as I did that those who use it too much become ravenous beasts, mere British culture journalists, addicted to the scent of Orientalism and male crying.

“Precisely so. We cannot allow ourselves to be overtaken by those limping nancies. With this, we shall confuse their predatory instincts.” And just then, a furious piss communist passed us by, navigating by the odor of listless pretension to James Franco. “You see?” said Shag, turning to me suddenly. He took my arm in the manner of the Romans, up to my elbow. “We are brothers, Mr. Butch, and not in a YouTube Red sort of way, nor in the sense that two different-looking male roommates claim to be, nor in the manner of college boys who make out at strangers’ house parties and tell everyone that it’s part of their fraternity hazing ritual, nor like bohemian male friends who have a large age gap in a hot way, nor indeed like the Quakers, who we all realize developed oatmeal as a gateway to eating spunk.”

He spoke prettily, and I could do nothing but convert my doubt into glorious masculinity. We had come to investigate Franco, after all, whom we suspected of creating twinks to try to turn himself gayer.

We entered the villa -- and there he was, directly before us, barefaced and shockingly confident for a man who looks like a toilet squeegee, licking chocolate off the thighs of a servant boy. James Franco: provocateur of the Gay and war poet of their slick uprising against biological persons.

“Wow,” he greeted us running a hand through his hair. “This is, like, crazy. I haven’t been tag-teamed by two bears since I was on the set of Milk. Did you come to see how I kidnap women and transform them into twinks to make myself gayer?”

We were speechless before this display of arrogance, but Franco’s attention had already been diverted. The servant boy’s epaulet had come unbuttoned.

“Well,” said Franco, hooking him by the shoulders, “the evidence is piling up, huh?”

“Sir?”

“Tell me,” Franco mewled in a squalid attempt to sound erotic, “while you’re existing in a state of, like, untroubled happiness because of straight privilege, do you ever wonder how it feels to have ornery fetish sex with glamorous-yet-blasé strangers every second of your life like the Gay-Transgender are expected to do?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, now you’ll have nothing but time for that, man – as the newest member of the Heterosexual Circus.” Turning mercurially, as if astonished to discover that Shag and I had not moved, Franco addressed us. Raising his arms, he shouted, “Birth is Death! Reason is Treason! Empiricism is Imperialism!”

We could not bear to witness the poor boy’s torture by being forced to be bad at dancing in front of gay perverts. As Shag and I shuffled back onto the street, idly kicking the shit out of a taxi that had parked on the sidewalk, I was emasculated by a notion unrelated to the sweating power of my manhood: that we had not heard the last of these frightful slogans.

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

It did not take long for us to find a trap door at the other side of the villa, under a cypress tree. It was locked, but not for a man. Reducing it to smithereens with a mere touch of my beard to it, we descended into a lively disco club where, clinging to the shadows, we moved about curiously. There was in one of the dance-floor cages a sight which startled us.

“Gayflame!” called Shag. “Reddie Gayflame!”

“It’s just Sexchaynge now,” she whispered above the music, on the verge of tears because her body was undergoing a dramatic change.

“But, Sexchaynge,” Shag advanced fretfully, leaving enough distance so as not to be endangered by her femininity, “I thought you were a Gay as well.”

“I was, but I gave it up. You see, I believe in doing things as hard as I can, like Hugh Dancy -- but I knew that I would never be the gayest of all. Not while Ben Whishaw still has a career as an international sex fae... So, why not become a transgender instead, I thought to myself, since there’s less competition?”

Shag nodded sagely.

“Anyway, there is somebody else here that you ought to meet. Follow me.”

My correspondent and I were led into the adjacent hallway, where loomed a misshapen yet familiar silhouette. Suddenly recognizing it, I cried out, “It is the Lord of Lust, the fluent horizontal dancer ‘himself,’ Ben Whishaw! You fiend! You devil!”

But when the vampire stepped into the light, it turned out to be only Twinkathee Charlotterampling, who is merely probably an insatiable fairy.

He threw himself into Paragon Shag’s arms, weeping. “I knew you would never go back to Italy, so I came here to find you. Oh, please say that we can stay together, Daddio. Listen, I can even help you out: Gay Franco isn’t only turning women into twinks, he is then cloning the normal homos! Next, there will be enough fit gay guys to have sex with each other, and Franco will be our only option. Then where will I get any action with men who don’t look like a rejected Muppet? It’s a direct assault on bottoms, and not the fun kind, like when Benedict Cumberbatch gets turnt on Corvo and tries to turn my ass into Christmas lights,” spoke Timpani, gulping. “It’s against my huwoman rights.”

The dimensionless sex balloon’s discourse rained down upon me the spume of flaccid object permanence, and I was forced to rebuke him. “You skinny-jeaned Socratic, you purveyor of gay lies. Humans are not women. And the only right you have is to stop dangling your driftwood in front of every sailor you lay eyes upon. Knave!”

We resumed our progress down the hallway, the two of us and our limpid sidekicks, who stopped every so often to slather their tongues over errant broomsticks. At last, we cruised into a large room, which contained in its rear a glass chamber that held a strange, dark machine within.

“It’s the TRANSporner,” said Timpani Gayparade.

Turning to Shag, I asked, “What do you suppose it is, my macho companion? I cannot well understand the cartoon elf’s French.”

“It must be how Franco transfigures women into the Gay. My God,” Shag exclaimed, “it’s full of emo music.” Grabbing Gayparade’s weird jaw, he brought him into his line of sight so he could address him. “You – What else has Franco created?”

“He has an entire lab devoted to cloning the Gay,” Timpani laughed drily. “And it’s completely, like, impenetrable. Any man who goes in there is brainwashed into Franco’s horde. Only a woman could do it.”

“A woman?” we shouted together.

Twinkathee nodded.

“But we have so few in our warehouse. What if Franco merely kills them? We cannot afford to risk one,” Shag bemoaned.

“You see this?” Twinkathee peered up at Shag and shook his head despondently, pendulating his curls like Quentin Crisp’s spinal column. “This is only the first step. Once Franco masters cloning, the gays will be able to have orgies with themselves, and then they’ll spend eternity competing to see who can suck the most of his own dick. We can’t let God know that we ripped off twincest from Leviticus; he’ll think that we’re total fucking nerds. Shag,” Timpani huffed Frenchtastically, “I know this is the last thing you want to hear–”

“Silence, you animated meringue.”

“—but Ben Whishaw is the only homo who still dares to manufacture women. We need him.”

(A diagram of some of the unique anatomical characteristics of women.)

There was little sound then – nothing but the shaking swallow of breath and a distant applause, floating down from the circus where Franco was, variously, receiving his latest recruits. Tears of frustration had sprung up to rim Gayparade’s eyes. There was something accusatory in his gaze at my friend; such a look might have paused me in my celebrations of erectile power, if it had been produced by a man and not by a melancholy bagel fingerer.

Twinkathee lifted his chin, which surprised me because most homosexuals lose executive function of their necks by his age. “You know I’m right. And you know that you have to make him come.”

“He already has,” I interjected, “Whim Bitchaw, Colin Firth, Tom Tykwer, Patrick Stewart, and Judi Dench all at the same time. Oh, you mean come here.” I turned unto Shag, who shirked his eyes. “Why, Shag? What can this eroticized bungee cord mean?”

Slowly and with great shame, Shag reached into the pocket of his suit jacket, right above his heart, and pulled out a condom. “This – this is how we summon Ben Whishaw.”

“With a condom?”

I was surprised, but my skepticism soon changed to heroic terror as Shag tore at the wrapper with his teeth and emptied its contents onto the floor.

“Ben cannot resist the scent of a condom that is left unused. He will come now whether we want him to or not.”

Soon, Ben Whishaw came.

He came – in a flourish of glitter and sharpie tattoos -- attended by his insidious Cummunists: nudists brandishing firecrackers at uncomfortably-pretty busboys, male lingerie models, lions mounted by braless Valkyries, weeping Bavarian youths, the entire population of Barcelona, Michael Shannon, and a parade of cats, all singing “Cake” by Rihanna at the top of their lungs. BBC4 was empty that day; all the mouthwash Mary-Janes were on earth, rutting against children’s harmonicas, instilling fear in all but the most excellent specimens of manliness.

“Rejoice,” Ben Whishaw sang as his silky knees folded to the ground, chafing immediately. “Rejoice, you who have beheld the bawds of my bedchambers, the Greeks of old beachfront restaurants, the harbingers of fantasy sex tours like Ezra Miller’s career. I have come, and so shall you.” Swanning over to address Shag, he bit his lip. “Darling, I am here for you! What do you need, hot stuff?”

“Women!” he shouted manfully.

“What for? You aren’t still trying to figure out which hole is the mouth, are you?”

“Nay,” he replied, “my brother Butch told me. We need them to infiltrate Gay Franco’s hideout and destroy his cloning technology.”

“And you,” the hunch-hip padded towards me, “this is your brilliant plan? You send women to do your dirty work for you? What are you afraid of, big boy, and what can I do to ease that stress?”

“Naw, son,” called out Michael Shannon from afar, “do you want a garden salad with that skewer, or should I just serve you a knuckle sandwich?”

But Whishaw held up a slim, delicate wrist, jangling his fetish jewelry, silencing him. “I will say it to you strai—” he hacked painfully, “directly. I will give you my women, whom I had intended to use to lure fathers into a gay orgy, thereby undermining their paternal confidence. This, of course, would homosexualize the youth. But I will command them to join your cause instead... for a price.”

“Speak, elongated child!”

“Your beard,” said he.

I was struck silent.

“I need your beard,” he repeated, endless tears gathering in his eyes. “It’s for my play. The director is afraid that I’m not hairy enough to be Marilyn Monroe.”

“Why,” I puffed my chest, but it didn’t look gay or like breasts, “of all the evil perversions your kind have committed against man, this is the one that I shall never entertain to forgive.”

“That is the deal, Comrade Butch: your sublime brush for my women.”

There was no canon fire, there were no memorial barbecues where suburbanites play a game of subconsciously adulterous cat-and-mouse over the grill, for the sacrifice I made that day. Dear reader, it is a day that shall be marked forever with infamy, for that is the sin that hangs over whatever circumstance impels a straight man to give any piece of himself over to a queer Nancy. Do not mourn for Faust, do not pity Dante the Pilgrim for his travails in Hell; in the flash of a scalpel, I fell into a greater damnation than those dramatic homos could ever conceive.

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

When he had his ill-gotten prize, Ben Whishaw parted our company as he has left each of the tens of thousands of men he’s seduced around the world, with a lachrymose little smile, a wiggle of the ass, and a soliloquy on the transient beauty of tricking straight men into thinking you’re a woman until they’ve already removed their pants. Being a consummate phallic god, I was immune to his European witchcraft; Paragon Shag, I’m afraid, was somewhat awestruck by this coy display. But there was no time for either of us to dwell on his fabulous sorcery. The deal was done, and there awaited before us creatures yet almost as feminine as that enchanted nymph.

“So,” I said, stalking around their strange mass, “these are the notorious ‘women.’” A slim shadow fell across my face, and a chill entered my heart. “Shag, what do you make of all this?”

He proceeded to inform me, “It is supposed that women were invented by the early Catholics, at the decree of the Pope.”

“The Catholics?” I interrupted him. “But what do those queers need from women? They themselves gave rise to the two cruxes of gay culture: old men who sort of cross-dress, and bottoms who think they can top.”

“Like Michael Kors,” added Shag, “but with less herpes.”

“So, what, by God, did they want with women?” Yet Shag could only shake his head. “Women!” I shouted unto them, for their ears ring incessantly from all the cock they swallow. “What are you for?”

They seemed to consider my question. “We like Shakespeare!” shouted one. “We create life, and we perpetuate culture,” replied another thoughtfully. Said the third, “We’re trying to eliminate baby-faced depressives from the gene pool.”

“Then you’ve certainly backfired on the Catholics.” I stroked the remnant of my beard and turned to Shag. “Sir, we should waste no time in bringing them to the safety of our suspicious roadside barn. Send Gayparade back through the TRANSporner and let us put a plug in James Franc’n’o in a firm and impressive way.”

Shag nodded apprehensively, taking the marionette by the elbow and helping him toward the entry port. “Fear not,” he advised the waif, “for soon you will have no rap career again. Iggy.”

“Iggy,” Gayparade murmured after him. “Iggy, Iggy.”

They came upon the threshold of the TRANSporner, its dilated cavern of unnatural lust that had given Iggy Azalea talent and genitalia so many years before. The twink gulped, appraising it, unsure of how to proceed.

“Timpani?” Shag inflected. “What is the matter?”

But the twisted, hollow-cheeked spaghetti said nothing, impelling Shag to grip him by the hair, repeating his query in a low growl.

“Oh, Paragon!” cried the gimp at unimpressive length, “I can’t do it, brother! Being a girl is bullshit!”

“Truly,” said Shag. “I’ve read Nietzsche.”

“I won’t go back into the TRANSporner,” he wailed. “I would rather die than look like an adult human.”

Shag leant down, menace in his eyes. “Then we must leave, Timpani, quickly -- before Master Butch is able to transfer sufficient power from his penis into his legs to follow us.”

“You mean...?”

“Yes,” my noble friend, my eternal companion responded, turning to me. “I am prepared to accept my animal nature, the amoral truth of my life: there can be no more good taste, because that is for the straights. I am a total gay forever.” And thus, Shag tore the bomber jacket from his shoulders, and it fell away like his erection, revealing a strapless silver gown and taffeta stole. Rising by fabulous vampirism, he glared down at me; nevertheless, I could discern a cold and implicit sadness in his gaze, the gaze of young man after the golden summer of 1914.

“Shag,” said I, my loins quivering, “get ahold of your senses. There is no future in the Homosexuality. Every country where gay queers establish their warrens, penises shrink. This is because the Nancy makes healthy public arousal impossible by constantly bringing up Madonna.”

But he had already vanished, along with Gayparade, into a vortex of passionate mid-century female friendships.

The silence that prevailed in his wake was deafening; it was interrupted, at last, only by the genital whir of the TRANSporner and the soft, incomprehensible chattering of the women. And after much prayer, my noble witness, I still cannot say which of us in that final instant had been more the queer Dorothy: Shag, his crystal-blue eyes darkened with looming cocks, cutting loose to spend his life spoon-feeding treacle to a preteen girl’s gay skeleton; or myself, at the realization that, more than my box of horse condoms, more than my brass knuckles, more than even my beard, I needed Paragon Shag with me. It brings me shame to confess this, but we live in such times as make masculine pride scarce, and I do not foresee Western civilization’s return to glistening worthiness until the metrosexuals have been pounded back into almond butter and adult coloring books.

I crossed myself, still in a state of disbelief, and turned toward the threshold of hell, where Sexchaynge stood waiting. She had pressed her cheek against her fist, and her gaze lifted to me sympathetically. “What are you going to do now, Master Butch?”

In a supreme display of muscular eminence, I diverted my erection away from the heart of the sun, boring it into the ground, quaking the earth with my righteousness. “I must pursue Shag, and I must put an end to his delirious transsexual rampage at any cost. Even at the cost of his life. Before he encounters God and offends Him with Sapphic literature.”

“Take solace,” Sexchaynge whispered. “I don’t believe it will come to that. Shag has become a gay slut, so you will always know where to find him...” She smiled sadly as I considered her words. “And lucky for you, sweet-meat sandwich, I know just the ‘man’ to get you in.”

To Be Continued

About the Authors

In preparation for the BAFTA ceremony, Admiral Willpower Butch is studying how to act prissy and entitled by sitting in on liberal arts film classes. His former beloved companion, Paragon Shag, hasn’t been seen in public since he scandalized a group of children with a flamboyant Broadway medley at their school vape bar; now, he prefers the privacy of the abandoned crime scene he shares with Timpani Gayparade and his twenty-two hot brothers. Their secretary, international murder victim and street gastroenterologist Dead Summer Days, will never get into heaven, but he will loiter around the gate smelling of weed.

#willpower butch #paragon shag #jesus this turned out long #my dumb sense of humor as always #manly men! magazine

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levi-ish · 7 years ago

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Don’t Ask My Neighbors | 1

Summary: When the night is quiet as a whisper and the windows are all closed, sneaky kisses are shared under the same old tree where kids swore their love would never fade.

Pairing: Tom Holland X Enemy!Reader

Disclaimer: mentions of car accidents, sex and alcohol (there’ll be smut later in this story)

A/N: Hi there! Thank you so much for all of you who read the teaser and liked it, so here’s the first part, and I hope you guys enjoy! Also, I set your sisters, parents and last names already because it was getting too confusing to write, so yup. Sorry for the shitty chapter, I promise the next ones will be more intriguing.

Also, if you want to be tagged, send me an ASK.

Masterlist

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

“Your neighbor is hot” Dave peeked through the curtains as you kept your eyes glued into the notebook, writing down more complex words that would lead you to a better grade.

“My neighbor?” You asked without even looking, knowing already what he was talking about, or even worse — whom.

“Dude, look at that fucking eight-pack” Eva sighed, sneaking under Dave’s arm and peeking through the window while you wondered if you should offer them a napkin or something like that. “But (Y/N) already told me that he’s off limits, so...”

You rolled your eyes and turned around on your chair, analyzing the two other young-adults that were crowding around your window, staring at the boy’s room and letting their hormones take over their minds.

“Why’s that?” Dave bit his lower lip and turned around, running a hand on his dark hair and twitching his mouth to the side.

“Because of their families’ war” said the other girl before you could even think of an answer.

And she wasn’t wrong; not only he was off limits, but his entire family was too.

You never had the chance to ask for a cup of sugar or to even wave back while putting the trash away; or even to pet the Holland’s dog from time to time because of the weird looks you would receive from your own family and from the other. So a normal life in suburbia wasn’t something you grew used to.

It all started before you could even see the light of day, when your family bought the house that other couple wanted, because the neighborhood was quiet and that specific place had a better yard and pool. The Hollands, however, decided to buy the house on the left and your parents, who weren’t that fond of competition, decided not to let them slide that easily.

The firsts steps were the fake smiles and crooked gazes to their backs, and then, soon enough, the families started to rub each conquest against each others faces. When Nikki first got pregnant with her boy, your mother called for a war. She discovered that she was pregnant too a few months later, having you and then, she didn’t want to waste more time, trying again, only to have a baby girl two and a half years later, your sister Morgan.

But then, Nikki discovered that she was having twins — and guess what?! — your parents couldn’t stand the thought of losing.

With all that back and forth, pregnancies and showing off the babies and their toys around, it resulted on a house with four boys and the other with four girls.

For informational purposes; the Hollands were composed of Dominic and Nikki, Tom (21), Sam and Harry (18) and Paddy (13); while the Hodges were Luke and Viola, you (19, but almost 20), Morgan (17), Danny (14) and Stella (10); but the confusion was too big even for you, sometimes.

And the pressure — don’t even get me started. You had to be the greatest in all of your classes because fucking Tom couldn’t be better than you. And it wasn’t that Thomas fucking Holland was a bad kid or anything like that, he was actually nice and you had nothing to complain about, but since your and his mother hated each other, you had to keep the profile and break any kind of contact you two had in the past.

“Why do you have to be a part of this fight again?” Eva sat on your bed again, her body sinking into the cocoon of blankets you set there before they came.

“I’m not a part of it” you said, lifting your head and pulling one of your legs closer to your chest. “This is my mother’s business and I’m not putting up with it. I’m just...”

“—Too scared to contradict her.” Dave finished your sentence, throwing himself at your bed and his legs hitting Eva’s back, making the girl let out a small whimper, slapping his thigh. “But don’t even pretend that you like him a lot.”

That was true; you didn’t. You didn’t even know when you started to get annoyed by him or if you were really annoyed by the boy or if it was your mother’s voice inside your head, manipulating you into hating the boy.

You smiled kindly at them and turned around. “Maybe we should go back to the project since I am the only one doing something here.”

But he was right, you were too scared of your mother. God, every one in your family was, because when she was mad, she would turn the tables and make you feel guilty with a great selection of words that would keep you inside your room until the end of times.

So, no, no one dared to contradict her.

“I’m too old for that” Eva rolled her eyes and threw her head on a pillow, dramatically sighing. “I might be dead tomorrow and you are worrying about the damn project.”

“Well, it’s a third of the final grade.” You stated, licking your lips quickly and adjusting the hoodie’s sleeves on your arms. “I’m not getting a B because of you.”

“Nerd” Dave yelled-whispered and you threw a pen at him, laughing while your eyes reached for the small space that the curtains didn’t cover, watching from afar the figure of the boy who smiled at the sight of you, making your stomach feel funny — not the bad way.

[...]

You yawned deeply as your eyes tried to keep open, the sweet smell of pancakes downstairs keeping you away from falling asleep once more, ignoring all the alarms you always set on your phone. You changed from the pajama pants to some comfortable jeans and an old shirt you were fond of, putting on some sneakers and grabbing your stuff to leave quickly.

Climbing downstairs, you walked into the kitchen and found all of your sisters already sitting there and your father cooking some pancakes while your mother finished some work on her laptop. You were greeted by sleepy ‘good mornings’ and helped yourself with a cup of coffee, sitting beside Morgan and drinking it slowly.

“Ugh, I hate those small keyboard keys” your mother muttered to herself while downing a big gulp of her coffee.

“Don’t mind your mother, girls” your father said, turning around quickly and smiling politely. “She’s had a bad night.”

“It’s not my fault” she glared at her husband and rolled her eyes, completely annoyed. “I couldn’t sleep because one of the Devil’s spawns let their music too loud last night.”

You furrowed your brows while your father put some pancakes on your plate, grabbing syrup to cover them.

“Devil’s spawns?” Questioned Danny, twitching her mouth.

“Her new nickname to Nikki’s sons” your father explained and rolled his own eyes.

You laughed to yourself, already aware of their rivalry and how your father wasn’t so into the battle as your mother was. Actually, when you were younger, your father told you about how he used to be friends with Dominic a long time ago, ending their friendship because of their wives. What a waste.

“Anyways” your mother closed her laptop and looked at you with demanding eyes, making the pancakes going down your throat seem stuck there. “(Y/N), could you take your sisters to school before class?”

Coughing on your coffee, you put the mug on the surface of the table and looked around, watching as your sisters seemed to mind their own business, so you just nodded while cutting another piece of the pancakes, your stomach humming quietly, but noticeable.

“Sure” you smiled and ate your last bite before standing up. “I’ll just brush my teeth and then we’ll be out.”

The girls nodded and your mother adjusted her pantsuit, straitening the edges before smiling to herself and grabbing her stuff. She was a journalist and worked in the cooking section, always talking about food and nutrition, so she mostly worked from home, but sometimes, she had to go to these meetings and keep her name and works clean.

Don’t even get me started on her key lime pie, because oh, you wouldn’t believe the taste of that! And, of course, she and Nikki would compete who made the best pie.

“Will I see you later, darling?” Asked your father, looking straight at you and you smiled shyly.

Your father, on other hand, had a small market around the corner and worked with all of his heart and passion on it. Sometimes, you would join him to help with some stuff, since some of his employees quit and he could use extra help. You liked doing that, so it wasn’t such a burden.

“Of course.”

Quickly, you brushed your teeth and grabbed your phone and car keys to leave already, only waiting for your sisters to come and entering the car when they were all ready.

Opening the garage door, you moved the car back and let out a small sigh, looking at the mirror as you did so. But when you saw it, it was too late; your nails were deep into the steering wheel and your sisters screamed loud, causing Stella to cry in desperation. You felt your heart starting to thump faster and turned around, looking at the girls.

“Stay here” you said.

It was a small collision, but still a collision that could have done damage to your car — the one you loved so much — so you jumped down of it and walked at the back, looking around and seeing the silver Audi with a small scratch, and so did your own car (luckily).

The owner showed his face while climbing down of the Audi, the brown curls falling against his forehead just slightly since the rest of his hair was pushed back. You crossed your arms and gazed at him, waiting for something to be said before you lost your temper.

“Oh, shit” he said, removing his sunglasses and giving your eyes access to his hazelnut ones as he crouched down behind your car. “I’m so sorry!”

He looked up to find you already staring and you bit your lower lip, twitching your nose.

“I hope so” you said, furrowing your brows. “My sisters are there, you could’ve hurt them.”

You already felt that he was being genuine about his apology, but you were too infuriated to control your choice of words (and you already had the ability to destroy a person with them).

“I’m really sorry” he licked his lips and stood, walking in your direction and stopping only a few inches in front of you.

God, does he know anything about personal space?

You looked a bit up to find his freckled nose right in front of you, making you cross eyes for a little more. Redness staying to spread all over your cheeks and you looked down, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of making you blush.

“Yeah.” You said quietly, almost in a mutter.

Looking up again, you found his eyes still invading your personal space. His arm twitched a bit, as if he wanted to touch you, but he hesitated and looked away; and you could swear that you had a déjà-vu that moment, almost smelling the humid grass from the park and hearing the leaves of the big old tree above you, but you shut down that thought, going back to reality, the one where you stood in front of that guy — the same one from the tree — but looking like a stranger.

“Do you—” he started to say, and you wanted to hear, but your mother rushed from the entrance door and to the street, her eyes full of anger and worry.

“What the—” she looked around and her eyes found Tom’s, not making the situation any better. “You!”

She stormed at his direction and you knew that a hurricane was coming, so you held your breath and closed your eyes quickly. Then, another voice appeared and you felt even more frighted.

“Don’t even try to blame it on my son!” Screamed Nikki as she walked down the front yard, standing in front of your mother and crossing her arms. “It’s not his fault that your daughter doesn’t know how to drive. You better be careful, she could’ve hurt someone!”

“Excuse me?!” You furrowed your brows, but were completely ignored.

You looked at Tom again only to find him rolling his eyes and going back to his car, starting it and preparing to leave, but not before he found your reflection on the mirror and gave you a small smirk.

How dare he?

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