#been chipping away at this thing over the past 6~ months

[sleepyyghostt]

laid out all my gtws plush pieces next to each other for the first time and oh my god...........

+hand for scale. tho i guess other items are scaling it in the first img anyway

[lefteagleblizzard]

𝔏𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲

Mike Schmidt x male reader

Summary: A well-meaning gesture drives a painful wedge between Mike Schmidt and the person he loves. As regret sets in, Mike realizes he can't bear the distance and seeks to mend their fractured bond.

Tags: Part 5 of this miniseries of Mike Schmidt x male reader. No use of Y/N. Age-gap (5 years) between you and Mike. Male reader. He/him pronouns used towards the reader. Heavy angst at the start. You and Mike argue. Sad moments. Make-up smut. Top Mike. Bottom reader. Reader being called “good boy”. Anal sex.

Can also be found on wattpad and ao3

Words count: 5500 words

Part 1-part 2-part 3-part 4-Part 6-Part 7-Part 8

The night was quiet, almost too quiet.

You and Mike were seated at the small, worn dining table in the kitchen, the remnants of dinner between you. The meal had been simple, but it was the kind of home-cooked food that brought a sense of normalcy to the chaos of everyday.

Mike looked exhausted. His eyes were shadowed, and there was a tightness in his jaw that hadn't been there before. He rubbed his temples as if trying to ward off an ever-present headache.

You hated seeing him like this.

Over the past few weeks, you'd watched as the stress slowly chipped away at him, and it had been tearing you apart inside. You wanted to help, to do something that might ease his burden, even if only a little.

That's why you'd made the decision. You'd hoped it would be a surprise, something to bring a smile to his face, to show him that he wasn't alone in this.

"I, uh..” You hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the napkin in your hand. The words felt heavy in your throat, but you pushed them out anyway, hoping they would bring some relief. "I took care of the bills this month."

Mike's hand, which had been resting on the table, stilled. He looked up at you, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What do you mean?"

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. "I paid them. The electricity, the water... rent. I had some extra from my scholarship, and I thought-"

"What?" Mike's voice was low, but there was an edge to it that made your heart skip a beat.

"You paid my bills?"

“I was just trying to help," you said quickly, the words tumbling out in a rush. "You've been so stressed, and I thought this might take some of the pressure off. I just wanted to do something for you, to help you relax a bit"

For a moment, there was silence. You could see the wheels turning in Mike's head, could almost hear the gears grinding as he processed what you'd said.

But instead of the gratitude or relief you'd hoped for, his expression darkened, a flash of something you couldn't quite identify flickering across his face.

Anger? Embarrassment?

"Why would you do that?" His voice was sharper now, cutting through the quiet like a knife.

Your heart sank, the unease in your chest growing stronger. "I just... I hate seeing you so stressed out all the time. I thought if I could help with the finances, it might give you one less thing to worry about."

Mike stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor with a harsh sound that made you flinch. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his muscles were coiled tight like a spring about to snap.

"Do you think I can't take care of my own bills?" His voice was louder now, the anger unmistakable. "Do you think I need you to swoop in and fix everything for me?"

"No, of course not," you stammered, standing up as well, your own hands shaking slightly as you tried to explain.

"I just wanted to help, Mike. That's all."

"Well, maybe I don't want your help." The words were like a slap in the face, each one stinging more than the last. "Maybe I don't need you to play the hero and save the day."

"I wasn't trying to play the hero,I just wanted to support you” you said, your voice trembling as you fought to keep your emotions in check.

Mike let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh and grating. "Support? Is that what you call this? Going behind my back and doing things without even telling me? That's not support, that's... I don't even know what that is."

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back, refusing to let them fall. "I'm sorry, Mike. I didn't mean to make you feel like you couldn't handle things. I just thought... I thought it might help."

"Well, you thought wrong" His voice was cold now, devoid of the warmth and affection you'd grown used to. "I don't need you to take over my life. I'm perfectly capable of handling things on my own."

The words cut deep, each one driving the knife a little further into your heart. You'd crossed a line, and now everything was falling apart.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you took a step back.

But Mike didn't respond. He just turned his gaze away from you and took a seat back on his chair, his back rigid as he stared at the wall, his silence more painful than any words he could have said.

The tears you'd been holding back finally began to fall, silent but heavy, as you realized just how badly you'd messed up.

"I think I should go," you said after a long moment, your voice tight with emotion. "Give you some space."

Still, Mike didn't say anything. The silence between you was thick with tension, with all the things that had been left unsaid. You wanted to reach out, to touch him, to tell him how much you cared, how much you wanted to make things right. But the look on his face, the coldness in his eyes, stopped you.

With a heavy heart, you turned and walked to the door, your footsteps echoing in the quiet house. You grabbed your jacket and keys, your hands shaking as you tried to steady yourself. When you reached the door, you hesitated, glancing back at Mike one last time. But he was still facing away from you, his posture tense, his silence deafening.

The cool night air hit you like a physical blow, the shock of it jolting you back to reality. You stood on the porch for a moment, your breath coming in shaky gasps as you tried to make sense of what had just happened.

You'd overstepped. You'd tried to help, but instead, you'd taken away Mike's control, his autonomy, and in doing so, you'd hurt him in a way you hadn't anticipated. The weight of that realization settled heavily on your chest, making it hard to breathe.

The walk back to your college dorm was long, each step feeling like a mile as you replayed the argument over and over in your mind.

You could see every detail with painful clarity: the look on Mike's face, the anger in his voice, the way he'd turned away from you as if he couldn't bear to look at you. And with each replay, the guilt grew stronger, until it felt like a physical presence, heavy and oppressive, pressing down on you from all sides.

By the time you reached your dorm, your heart was pounding, and your thoughts were a chaotic mess of regret and sorrow. You barely noticed your roommate wasn't there as you stumbled into the room, the silence of the empty space pressing in on you from all sides.

You collapsed onto your bed, the tears you'd been holding back finally breaking free. They came in heavy, wracking sobs that shook your entire body, the sound of your anguish echoing off the walls. You buried your face in your pillow, trying to stifle the noise, but it was no use. The pain was too much, too overwhelming, and all you could do was let it out, hoping that somehow, it would ease the ache in your chest.

Sleep didn't come easy that night. When it finally did, it was fitful and restless, plagued by dreams of Mike's hurt expression, of the coldness in his voice as he told you he didn't need your help. You woke up several times, each time with the same hollow feeling in your chest, the same crushing sense of regret.

The weekend had arrived, and with it, a hollow emptiness that seemed to seep into every corner of your world. The dormitory was slowly emptying out, the usual buzz of students excited for their weekend plans replaced by an eerie quiet as one by

one, they left for home, parties, or short trips.

Your roommate was packing up, his belongings scattered haphazardly around the room as he prepared to leave for the weekend too. The rustling of clothes, the clatter of things being tossed into a bag. Each sound felt like a reminder that you, had nowhere to go, no plans to look forward to.

He glanced over at you, sitting on your bed, staring at your phone as if willing it to ring, to vibrate, to do something other than lie still and silent.

The argument with Mike had left you adrift, and the days since had passed in a blur of muted emotions and half-hearted attempts to distract yourself from the gnawing ache in your chest.

But now, with the weekend here and no word from Mike, that ache had only grown more intense, settling into your bones like a cold that wouldn't go away.

"Hey," your roommate said, breaking the silence as he zipped up his bag. His tone was casual, but there was an underlying curiosity that made you tense. "You've been really quiet lately. Is everything okay? Missing your boyfriend or something?"

You stiffened at the question, your eyes flicking up to meet his. He wasn't someone you'd ever been particularly close with, your relationship with him more out of necessity than any real friendship.

You'd never trusted him with your deeper feelings, and now was no different. The last thing you wanted was to overshare with someone who wouldn't understand, who couldn't possibly grasp the depth of what you were feeling.

"Yeah," you replied shortly, your voice lacking any real conviction. "We... had an argument. Things have been a bit off lately, and I don't think I'll be seeing him this weekend."

Your roommate raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips that only served to irritate you further. "An argument, huh? Must've been something serious if you're moping around like this."

You didn't respond, your gaze shifting back to your phone. The last thing you wanted was to get into the details of your fight with Mike, especially with someone like him. But your roommate didn't take the hint.

"I mean, it's not like I want to be a downer or anything," he continued, a note of condescension in his voice, "but it's kind of obvious things wouldn't work out between you two. You're younger, and let's be real, Mike's got a lot of baggage. A kid sister to take care of, not much money... That's a lot to deal with, especially for someone like you."

His words stung, each one digging into the raw wound in your heart. You knew there were obstacles between you and Mike but you'd never seen those as reasons to give up on him. You cared about him deeply, loved him even.

"You don't know him, or what we have. Just because it's complicated doesn't mean it won't work." you said, your voice colder than you intended, the anger simmering just beneath the surface.

Your roommate shrugged, clearly unfazed by your tone. "Whatever, man. I'm just saying, maybe it's time to face reality. Relationships like that don't usually last. You're both in different places in life, and it's only going to get harder from here"

He zipped up his bag with a finality that made your stomach turn, the sound grating against your nerves. "Anyway, good luck with all that. Hope you figure things out."

He gave you a nod, that same smug look on his face, before slinging his bag over his shoulder and heading out the door. The sound of the door closing behind him echoed in the now-empty room, and you were left alone with your thoughts.

You sat there for a long moment, staring at the door, your mind replaying the argument with Mike over and over again.

The guilt was overwhelming, a constant presence that gnawed at you no matter how hard you tried to push it away.

Eventually, you couldn't stand being in the room any longer. The walls felt like they were closing in on you, the silence suffocating.

You needed to do something, anything to distract yourself from the pain that had settled in your chest. So, you grabbed your coat and decided to head to the library.

Maybe a good book could take your mind off things, even if only for a little while.

The campus was nearly deserted, most students having already left for the weekend.

When you arrived at the library, the warmth inside was a welcome relief, the soft hum of fluorescent lights and the faint smell of old books providing a small comfort. The library was as empty as the rest of the campus, save for the sweet old lady who worked behind the counter.

Mrs. Halloway had always been kind to you, her gentle smile and warm demeanor making the library feel like a safe haven.

"Afternoon, dear," she greeted you with a smile as you approached the counter. "What brings you in today? Looking for something in particular?"

"Hi, Mrs. Halloway," you replied, forcing a small smile as you approached. "I'm just looking for something to read this weekend. Maybe something from the horror section?"

"Horror, hmm?" Mrs. Halloway led you over to the section. "I think I have just the thing for you."

She scanned the shelves with practiced ease before pulling out a book with a worn cover, the title barely legible. "This one's an oldie but a goodie. I think you'll enjoy it."

You thanked her and took the book, glancing at the cover. Your heart sank as you read the title.

“The Shining” by Stephen King.

You'd heard of the story before. A man slowly losing his grip on reality as the pressure of providing for his family overwhelmed him.

You couldn't help but mentally scoff at the accuracy and timing.

Of all the books she could have chosen, it had to be this one.

Still, you took the book because you didn’t the heart to refuse something from her.

As you turned to leave, the phone on the counter rang, the sudden noise making you jump. Mrs. Halloway sighed, clearly annoyed by the interruption, and made a small noise of frustration. "Oh, bother," she muttered, her hands occupied with the stack of books she was sorting. "Would you mind answering that for me, dear? My hands are a bit full at the moment."

"Sure, no problem," you replied, stepping behind the counter and picking up the receiver. "Hello. How can I help you?"

There was a pause on the other end, a moment of silence that made your heart skip a beat.

Then, a small voice, hesitant but familiar, spoke.

"Um, hi... is this... is this you?"

Your breath caught in your throat as you recognized the voice. "Abby?" you asked, your voice soft, barely able to believe it.

"Yeah, it's me," she replied, sounding both relieved and nervous. "I... I found this number in your notebook, the one you left at our house. I wanted to call you because... because I miss you. Why aren't you here? I wanted to see you this weekend."

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut, the longing in her voice tugging at your heartstrings.

You swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over. "... I'm sorry, Abby. I can't be there this weekend. I'm...I'm busy”

There was a pause on the other end, and you could almost hear her disappointment. "Oh... okay. But... but why? Why can't you come? Mike's been really quiet this days, and I thought maybe you could make him smile again. You always do."

You squeezed your eyes shut, the tears finally spilling over as you struggled to keep your voice steady. "I... I can't, Abby. I'm really sorry. But... but I promise I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Okay," she replied, her voice small and sad. "I miss you..."

"I miss you too, Abby," you whispered, the words barely audibie as you fought to keep your composure. "But I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Okay..." Abby's voice trailed off, and then there was a click as she hung up. You stood there for a moment, the phone still pressed to your ear, the silence on the other end ringing in your ears.

Mrs. Halloway looked up from her work, concern etched on her face. "Everything okay, dear?"

You forced a shaky smile, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. "Yeah, it was just... just a prank call, I think." you mumbled, the words feeling hollow as you turned to leave, the book clutched tightly in your hand.

When you finally reached your room, you tossed the book onto the bed, the sight of it only reminding you of how empty and lonely the weekend would be without Mike.

You sat on the edge of the bed, your thoughts spiraling as the reality of the situation sank in.

You'd never felt so lost, so unsure of what to do next. All you knew was that you missed Mike more than anything, and the thought that you might have ruined everything between you made the ache in your chest almost unbearable.

The afternoon faded into evening, and the dim light of the setting sun cast long shadows across your dorm room.

You sat on your bed, your back against the wall, the book lying forgotten next to you.

As you stared blankly out the window, lost in your thoughts, a soft thud broke the silence. At first, you thought you'd imagined it, but then it came again, another quiet tap against the glass, like something small and solid striking the pane. You wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, sniffing softly as you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and stood up.

Curiosity piqued, you approached the window, your heart beating a little faster as you drew back the curtain. What you saw made your breath catch in your throat.

There, standing in the twilight below, was Mike. His dark hair was a little disheveled, his expression a mixture of worry and hope. In his hand, he held a single rose, its delicate petals a deep, velvety red.

You recognized it immediately as one of the roses from the bushes you and he had grown together in his garden, a project that had started as a way to brighten up his yard for Abby.

For a moment, you just stared, unable to process the fact that he was actually here. The days of silence had made you fear the worst, that you might never hear from him again, that the argument had driven a wedge between you that couldn't be undone.

When his eyes met yours, they softened with regret. He must have seen the redness and puffiness in your eyes, the signs of the tears you'd been shedding, because his expression changed, becoming even more tender, more apologetic.

"I'm sorry," he called up loud enough for you to hear. "Can we talk?"

Without thinking, you nodded and quickly moved away from the window, heading for the door to let him in.

You barely noticed the emptiness of the hallways as you made your way down to the entrance, your thoughts entirely consumed by the fact that Mike was here. When you reached the door and opened it, there he was, standing just outside, the rose still clutched in his hand.

He looked relieved to see you up close, his tense shoulders relaxing a little as his eyes scanned your face, taking in every detail as if he hadn't seen you in years.

"Hi," he said, his voice soft and uncertain, as if he wasn't quite sure what to say next.

"Hi," you replied, your own voice just as quiet, the tension between you thick and palpable.

There was a moment of silence as you both stood there, unsure of how to proceed. It was as if the days apart had created a chasm that neither of you knew how to cross, but the fact that he was here, that he had come to you, was a start.

"... I didn't know if you'd want to see me," Mike finally admitted, his eyes dropping to the floor for a moment before he looked back up at you.

You swallowed hard, your emotions a tangled mess inside you. "Same," you confessed. "I thought... i thought I'd ruined everything."

He shook his head, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in a small, sad smile. "No. You didn't ruin anything. We just... we both messed up, I think. Can we go somewhere and talk?"

You nodded and without thinking, you reached out and took his hand, the rose forgotten as your fingers intertwined with his. The familiar feeling of his large, calloused hand in yours was a balm to your aching heart, and you realized just how much you had missed missed him.

You led him back to your dorm room, the two of you walking side by side in silence. The hallways were empty, the usual bustle of student life replaced by the quiet that came with the weekend.

When you reached your room, you held the door open for him, your heart pounding as he stepped inside. He took in the small space, his eyes moving from the neatly made bed on your roommate's side to the cluttered mess on your own. Textbooks, clothes, and the unopened horror novel.

He glanced at the book, a small smile playing on his lips as he read the title.

"The Shining?" he said, his voice softening as he sat down on the edge of the bed next to the book "Lots of isolation, a guy slowly losing his mind, relationship falling apart. I guess I'm the guy going crazy in this situation, huh?"

"Mike..." you began, but he held up a hand, cutting you off gently.

"No, let me say this," he said, his voice shaking slightly "I... I need to apologize. For everything. For how I reacted, for what I said... I was out of line. I was angry, but not at you. I was angry at myself. I took it out on you, and that wasn't fair. I felt humiliated. Like I couldn't take care of myself or Abby. And the last thing I wanted was for you to feel like you had to step in and save us."

His words hit you hard, the weight of his insecurities finally laid bare between you. "I never thought you couldn't take care of yourself," you said, your voice trembling.

Mike squeezed your hand, his gaze intense as he looked into your eyes. "I know. But sometimes, I need to be the one to take care of things, even if it's hard. It's how I feel like I'm doing right by Abby, like I'm proving that I can be a good brother to her. But I also need to learn that it's okay to let people in."

You could feel the tears spilling over now, the floodgates opening as all the emotions you'd been holding back came rushing to the surface. "I never wanted to make you feel like you were not good enough," you whispered, your voice breaking.

"I know," Mike murmured, his own voice thick with emotion. He reached up, gently wiping away your tears with his thumb.

"And I want you to be. These days apart made me realize how much I need you, how much value you have in my life. I can't do this without you."

His words were like a balm to your wounded heart, soothing the raw pain that had been festering since the argument. You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes as you savored the closeness you had missed so much.

"I missed you," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I was so scared that I'd lost you."

Mike pulled you into his arms, holding you close, his embrace warm and comforting. You clung to him, the fear and uncertainty that had plagued you for days slowly melting away.

For a long time, neither of you spoke, content to just hold each other, to let the closeness heal the wounds that had been inflicted by your argument. The room was quiet, the only sound the soft rustle of fabric as you shifted closer, your head resting against his chest as you listened to the steady beat of his heart.

When the tears finally subsided, you pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him. His eyes were soft, filled with a mixture of relief and affection that made your heart ache in the best way possible.

Mike's hand, still resting on your cheek, slowly slid down to your neck, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. There was something in his eyes, a look that went beyond the relief of reconciliation, a mixture of need, desperation, and a deep, aching love that he didn't quite know how to put into words. He had always struggled with expressing himself, with finding the right way to communicate how he felt, but right now he seemed determined to show you just how much you meant to him.

He wasn't satisfied with just words. He needed to show you, to prove to you in a way that went beyond apologies and promises.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked, his voice husky and filled with longing.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, and that was all the invitation he needed.

He leaned in, kissing you with urgency. His lips moved against yours with a desperation that made your pulse quicken, his hands coming up to cup your face, holding you as if you might slip away if he let go.

You let out a small gasp as his kiss deepened, your hands instinctively reaching out to grasp his shoulders, grounding yourself as he pressed closer.

When he finally broke the kiss, you were both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other as you tried to catch your breath. "Mike," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly as you took in the intensity of his gaze. "Are you... are you sure you want to do this? Here?"

He let out a soft chuckle, the sound low and filled with affection as he leaned in to nuzzle your neck. "Yes," he murmured against your skin, his breath warm and soothing. "I want to make you feel good right now. I need to show you how much I missed you."

You felt a rush of heat flood through you at his words, your nerves suddenly on edge. The thought of what he was suggesting made your pulse quicken with both excitement and trepidation.

You could feel it in the way his hands moved over your body, in the way his lips pressed against your neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses that made you tremble.

He captured your lips in a deep, hungry kiss that left you breathless. His hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. The kiss was desperate, almost possessive, as if he was trying to convey everything he couldn't say aloud.

As his lips moved down to your neck, peppering your skin with soft, lingering kisses, he paused for a moment, glancing at the bed beneath you. "Is this your bed?" he asked, his tone playful as he nipped at your collarbone.

You hesitated for just a fraction of a second, your mind flashing back to the hurtful words your roommate had thrown at you before he left. The sting of those words was still fresh, a reminder of how others perceived your relationship with Mike.

"No," you replied with feigned innocence, pointing to the other bed. "That one's mine." you said, doing your best to sound casual.

Mike nodded, not suspecting a thing, and before you could react, he leaned down and scooped you up in his arms effortlessly. A surprised laugh escaped your lips as he stood, holding you close to his chest. The suddenness of the gesture made your heart race, a mix of excitement and nervous anticipation bubbling up inside you.

"Mike!” you exclaimed, more out of surprise than protest, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he carried you across the room.

He grinned up at you. "I've got you," he murmured, his hands found their way to your ass, cupping it firmly as he carried you.

Without further ado, he reached the bed you'd pointed to and gently lowered you onto it, your back sinking into the mattress with a soft thud. He was already leaning over you, his hands braced on either side of your head as he hovered above you, his face just inches from yours.

"You have no idea how much I missed you," Mike whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he leaned down, pressing his lips to yours once more. This kiss was deeper, more desperate, as if he was trying to pour all the longing and need he had felt during your time apart into this single moment.

His hands moving to unbutton your shirt, each button slipping free under his deft fingers until your chest was exposed to him. He took a moment to admire you, his eyes dark with desire as he leaned down, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to your collarbone, down to your chest.

You could feel the tension in his muscles, the way he was holding himself back, as if he didn't want to rush this moment, even though every fiber of his being was telling him to.

His hands moved lower, unbuckling your belt and sliding your pants down, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin of your thighs. You shivered at the contact, your breath hitching as he pulled your pants off completely, leaving you exposed and vulnerable beneath him.

He moved down your body, his lips trailing a path of fire as he explored every inch of you. The feeling of his mouth on your skin, the way he kissed and nipped at you, made you moan softly, your hands gripping the sheets beneath you.

As he moved lower, his hands came to rest on your hips, holding you in place as he continued his exploration. You felt the heat between your legs build, the anticipation almost unbearable as he teased.

When his lips finally reached their destination, you couldn't hold back the moan that escaped your lips. The sensation of his mouth on you was almost too much. Your hands flew to his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft strands as you arched up against him.

Mike's pace was slow, deliberate, as if he wanted to prolong your pleasure for as long as possible. He took his time, drawing out every sensation, every moan, until you were trembling beneath him, your body taut with need.

When he finally pulled back, his lips glistening with evidence of his work, you were a mess of whimpers and gasps, your body aching for release. But Mike wasn't done with you yet. He moved back up your body, his lips capturing yours in a deep, hungry kiss that made you dizzy with want.

"Are you okay?" he murmured against your lips, his voice gentle despite the desperation you could feel in his touch.

You nodded, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as you tried to form words. "I... I need you," you managed to say, your voice trembling with the intensity of your need. "Please, Mike."

"Do you have any lube?" he asked, his voice husky and breathless, but still tinged with concern. His question caught you off guard, and for a moment, your brain struggled to process the words. You were already panting, your body flushed with arousal, but somewhere in the haze of your mind, you registered the importance of his question.

"Yeah...." you managed to say, your voice trembling with anticipation and a hint of shyness. You pointed towards the drawer by your bed, your heart pounding as you watched Mike's eyes follow the direction of your gesture.

He glanced back at you, a small, teasing smile playing on his lips as he realized what you were indicating. "In there?" he asked, and you nodded.

Mike leaned over, his hand reaching out to open the drawer. He rummaged for a moment before pulling out the small bottle of lube.

"This?" he asked, his voice laced with playful curiosity as he looked at you, his grin widening at your obvious embarrassment.

You nodded, unable to meet his gaze, your face burning as you tried to maintain some semblance of composure. "Y-yeah," you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper

Mike chuckled softly, setting the bottle aside for a moment as he leaned in to press a soft kiss to your lips. "You're adorable when you're shy" he murmured, his voice warm and affectionate.

He reached for the bottle, pouring a generous amount onto his fingers before setting it aside. His eyes met yours as he coated his fingers, the intensity of his gaze making your breath catch in your throat.

Your body was trembling with anticipation as you felt his hand slide between your legs, his fingers gently parting your thighs. The first touch of his slick fingers against you made you gasp, your hips instinctively arching off the bed as he began to prepare you.

His movements were slow and careful, his fingers working you open with a patience that made your heart swell with affection. He took his time, making sure you were comfortable, that you were ready, before he added a second finger, then a third, each one stretching you further, preparing you for what was to come.

You could feel every nerve in your body alight with pleasure, every touch sending sparks of electricity through you.

When he finally pulled his fingers out, you couldn't help the whimper that escaped your lips, your body aching for more.

He reached down to unbutton his own pants, quickly shedding the rest of his clothes until he was just as bare as you were.

He settled between your legs, his body pressing against yours. You could feel the hard length of him pressing against your thigh, the weight of him grounding you, making everything feel more real.

"You're so perfect," Mike whispered, his voice rough with emotion as he kissed you again, his lips trailing down your neck, across your chest. "So perfect for me."

The words made your heart swell, and you reached up, cupping his face in your hands as you looked into his eyes, seeing the love and need reflected there.

He entered you slowly, the stretch and burn of him filling you completely, making you gasp as your fingers dug into his shoulders. Each thrust was deep and deliberate, as if he was trying to remind you of everything you had shared, of everything you had lost and found again.

The room was filled with the sounds of your mingled breaths, the slick slide of skin against skin, the soft moans and gasps that escaped your lips as he drove into you, his movements growing more urgent, more desperate.

"You'll always be mine, my good boy. No one else... just you." Mike growled, his voice rough and possessive as he thrust harder, his hands gripping your hips as he pulled you closer, deeper.

The words sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt your body respond to his voice, to the way he claimed you with each movement, each touch. You clung to him, your hands clutching at his back as he drove you both higher, the intensity of the moment overwhelming in the best possible way.

You finally reached that peak together, your body trembling beneath him as you came, the pleasure washing over you in waves so intense that you could barely breathe.

Mike groaned, his head falling to your shoulder as he followed you over the edge, his body shuddering as he emptied himself inside you. His body shaking with the force of it.

For a long time, neither of you spoke, Mike's hold on you never wavered, his body pressed against yours as he held you close.

He turned his head slightly, his eyes finding yours in the dim light of the room. There was a softness in his gaze, a look of contentment and relief that made your heart swell with affection. He reached out, his calloused, large hand cradling your face gently, his thumb brushing tenderly across your cheek.

For a moment, he just stared at you, taking in every detail of your face-your slightly swollen lips, the flush in your cheeks. But then, as if the words slipped out before he could stop them, he whispered, "Move in with me."

You looked up at him, your heart swelling at the vulnerability in his voice, the raw need that laced every word. You could see how much the time apart had affected him, how deeply he had missed you, just as you had missed him.

It was everything you had wanted, everything you had dreamed of. But you couldn't ignore the practicalities, the reality of your situation.

“I could finish my degree remotely."

He blinked, surprised by the suggestion. "Remotely?"

You nodded again, a hopeful look in his eyes. "Yeah. A lot of schools are offering that now, you know? I could do my classes from your home. We wouldn't have to be apart anymore."

The idea began to take shape in your mind, and the more you thought about it, the more it made sense. You wouldn't have to face those lonely nights in your dorm, wondering when you'd get to see him again.

"But what about Abby?" you asked, still wanting to be sure that this would work for everyone. "What about you? I don't want to be a burden..."

Mike's smile softened, and he cupped your face in his hands, his touch warm and steady. "You're not a burden. Abby loves you, and I..." He paused, his eyes holding yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. "I need you with me. We'll make it work, I promise."

A smile slowly spread across your face, and you nodded, feeling a sense of excitement and relief wash over you. "Okay," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly with emotion. "Let's do it."

"I can't wait to wake up every morning with you all curled up on me like a koala," he said with a soft chuckle, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your back. "You always do that, you know? Cling to me like I'm your personal pillow."

You laughed quietly, the sound filled with affection. "You are pretty comfortable," you teased, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. "I can't help it if you're the perfect shape for cuddling."

You lifted your head slightly, a smile playing on your lips as you looked up at him. "And I can't wait to hear you snore loudly every night," you quipped, your tone just as playful.

Mike pretended to be offended, his eyes widening in mock indignation. "I do not snore that badly!" he protested, though there was a glint of amusement in his eyes.

You raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress your grin. "Oh really? Then why does Abby always ask to close the door to her room?" you shot back, knowing full well the answer.

Mike blinked, caught off guard for a moment, before a sheepish smile tugged at his lips. "Okay, maybe I snore a little," he admitted, his tone begrudgingly good-natured.

"A little?" you echoed, your grin widening as you playfully poked his side. "Mike, you sound like a chainsaw sometimes."

He laughed, a deep, rich sound that made your heart feel light and happy. "I guess that just means you'll have to get used to it," he said, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your forehead. "Because you're stuck with me now"

You snuggled closer to him, feeling a contentment that you knew would last far beyond this moment. "I wouldn't have it any other way," you murmured, your voice soft but filled with certainty.

Mike smiled, pulling you even closer, as if he never wanted to let you go. "Me neither," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

Note: If you liked this story please leave a comment, I love reading them <3.

[yandere-paramour]

How would the yanderes react when learning that their darling has been kidnapped before? For instance when darling was a child she was kidnapped by a mysterious stalker for a while until she was finally found by the police. How would they react to darling having a ptsd attack when they kidnap them?

Vivien would be distraught and beating himself up. This is clear negligence on his part. But he heard you were planning to move away and he didn't have time to introduce himself and start a relationship that would make you want to stay so there really wasn't a choice! He knew about your past, almost from the first time he knew your name, but he had to do this. He's really, really sorry (for reals). If he had done more research, or consulted a therapist about panic attacks and trauma, maybe he could have kept you from panicking like this, but for now he'll just sit in front of you and cry, taking anything you yell and throw at him. He would bring you some water and some juice in an unopened bottle and maybe a package of chips he knows you like, asking if you both can just talk, him a good 6 feet away from you. He'll talk to you and explain things, making it clear that he means you no harm and he just wants to love you. He will bring anything to you, give you any toy, book, or streaming service, and bend over backward if only you stay with him. Honestly, it's not a bad deal. If you behave, he'll even take you out in a month or two!

Atalanta is extremely taken aback. She does NOT do well with extreme displays of emotion. If you woke up in the bedroom with her holding you and you flipped out and punched her and started kicking and screaming and generally losing your mind, she would just be frozen for a second. She freezes when she's stressed, just motionless with a stupid scared expression on her face. Eventually, she would snap out of it and start defending herself. She'll try and block all the things you throw at her and start moving toward you. She's tall and strong, so she's intimidating, but she doesn't know it. So obviously, you freak out more, and she is forced to sedate you. At this point she can finally think again and she frantically calls Noelle (her poor jaded assistant) to find info on your backstory and what has made you so feral. She finds the news story of your kidnapping and then she finally realizes that she has royally fucked up. Your relationship will start very, very badly, but she's not one to quit, so eventually, things will settle down. She will be very apologetic about her bad methods though. She should've had some foresight here.

[codename-adler]

Adèle Moreau (18) USC Gymnast

I’m gonna be honest, babes, it seems she has been living inside my head for years but never on paper? I haven’t got any written notes?? Wild. Absolutely sick behaviour. Got playlists tho! I should search my mess of a desk among the dunes and dunes of paper, maybe she’s in there. I gave birth to her while working at a donut shop during covid, so I was using receipt paper to write down when I was bored playing security guard at the door for insane customers… Dark ages… She was my light. Take care of her, ‘kay?

*Because she dates back to 2021, this has nothing to do with TSC – refer to this oc masterpost for context OR ask meeeee*

Excerpt from Wade Vesper's (OC) file: While Wade's personal case remains unsolved, he's 27 when he falls head first into the case of his life: tasked with protecting Adèle Moreau, surviving daughter of the Moreau crime family that had fallen to ruin in France years ago, Wade cannot let go of her once it is time to hand her over to Witness Protection. Adoption it is. Never in a million years would Wade have imagined being the legal guardian of a girl with ties to the mafia, one that could be killed any moment, one that chips at his fortress of a heart and ice-cold of an exterior. One that mends his heart in ways he never thought possible. One that takes only months to heal parts of him he never even considered were broken, when years of relentless work had done barely anything. Light of his life, and whatever. But for years, she survives, and so does he, and they're even happy together. Until. It's always 'until'. Neil Josten, aka Nathaniel Wesninski, opens his big fat mouth and reveals awful things, opens up gates that should have stayed locked. Adèle learns about Jean Moreau, learns about USC, hides the little she knows about her past and her file, and somehow lands both her and Wade in SoCal, under the pretense of joining the excellent gymnastics program at USC.

Jean is supposed to be in his early twenties in this and Adèle is his little sister of 4-5 years younger

Since TSC I have been thinking of incorporating Elodie into this fic’s lore, as the sibling between Jean and Adèle who still dies, but it’s just an entertaining thought to play with, nothing more

In this AU, the Moreau mother is better than what Jean got in canon; although she acts too little too late, she tries, like Mary, and her children survive, like Neil, but at what cost… at what cost

Maman Moreau is meeker than her Wesninski/Hatford counterpart, much less ingenious, not because she loves her husband or agrees with him, but because anything brighter has been beat out of her since girlhood

All she has left is the training ingrained into her body, burned into it, scarred into in

Jean has always been reserved for something else, away, something more, and she loves him, she does, but he is stronger than her, already, which leaves her nothing to give him

Adèle, however… Adèle is all hers

Maman Moreau tries to begin her training at the very most perfect second; not too young, not too old; not too grown, not too soft; not to aware, not too stupid

If she plays her cards right, if she plays her daughter just right, Adèle will climb up to the top of the world’s podium, like her older brother is supposed to, and maybe then, maybe then…

It’s gymnastics from 6 to 6, 6 days a week. Not on the Lord’s day. Then we must pray. Mother Mary knows we have too much to pray for.

In 2 years, Adèle quadruples her potential and skills, rivaling the Romanian girls

She’s on an unstoppable high, she’s doing it, exceeding expectations, sweetening the sense of victory Maman Moreau cannot help but float on

It is not enough

Or, well, too much

Adèle is perfect, this strong and agile little doll anyone would be lucky to get their hands on

Her price skyrockets and Moreau Senior collects

Her price pays for the errors of Moreau Senior and the Red Room is coming to collect

Maman Moreau falls catatonic at the news, because she knows, she knows, has heard the whispers like trails of blood, and she is locked in the confines of a room in the attic, because Adèle cannot know, Jean can’t know

It is not the first time, after all, that Maman Moreau is sick

The Moreau siblings suspect absolutely nothing as their family and servants gather to see Adèle off from the porch of the Villa Marseillaise

And none of the Moreaus expect a raid from an armed enemy squad, shooting all over, slicing throats left and right

Adèle Moreau dies that afternoon

She’s shot in the back twice and bleeds out in the sandy gravel, her Maman bowed over her little corpse, banshee wailing in the winds of the willows

The raiders set the land on fire and Lady Moreau stands guard over her daughter as it all goes ablaze

From the doorway where he is being carried to safety, Jean Moreau, little Jean, a knife still sticking out from his back, failed attempt at killing him, or was it, catches a glimpse of his burning mother, but never sees his baby sister again

Adèle wakes up in an unfamiliar car, an unfamiliar young man driving, speaking lowly into a cell phone in an unfamiliar language, unfamiliar accent

She is laid on her tummy in the backseat, an even younger man unwrapping mummy bandages, when a bump in the dirt road triggers a searing pain along her spine down to her toes

She almost has time to scream before a strongly scented cloth covers her mouth and she goes back into the dark wonderland

Adèle Moreau vanishes from Marseille and resurfaces as Astrid Müller in Geneva, under the guardianship of a very old couple, childless, both coincidentally retired gymnastics coaches of worldwide renown who teach her everything they know

As Astrid’s bullet wounds heal nicely, a goddamn miracle, the severe burns covering half of Maman Moreau’s body don’t, nor does her heart, or Jean’s

As Astrid trains harder than ever, works from sunrise to sundown on the Swiss farmland, her brother is shipped to America and her mother is interned somewhere in Finland

Astrid does not understand, and she almost forgets, if it weren’t for the twin circles marring her back, but not even ten years go by before someone finds her again

They kill the old couple without mercy but they don’t find her, and the news of the murdered Olympic coaches goes international but they don’t mention her

Adèle and Astrid collide, battle it out somewhere in the acres of blooming corn

It’s one of the American agents of INTERPOL that finds her, and doesn’t let her go

Wade Vesper holds her till Montpelier, Vermont, till the case is opened and closed, opened and closed again, opened and abandoned, till her papers show Marian Vesper, till she hides her accent completely under an American one, till she graduate high school at the top of her gymnastics team, till it’s time to fly away to college

Wade doesn’t teach her everything he knows; if he teaches her a hundredth of what he knows

As hard as some things are to forget, some other are even harder to ask, and answer

Until Nathaniel Wesninski opens his goddamn mouth and almost gets himself killed once or twice, like it’s fun

UCLA was the plan, UCLA was always the plan, fellow gymnasts already awaiting her arrival on the champion team, but Marian applies to USC, because they have a new athlete on their Exy lineup, and she could swear she knew him

What is Wade to do? Uncover the landmine he’s been hiding with his body since he met her? Let her go into the Californian minefield that could make her disappear for good? Fly them to the British countryside and leave a burning house behind?

He lets her go

For better or for worse

Marian fits seamlessly into the dorm life of the student-athlete building, fits in seamlessly with her roommates, two of whom are on the Exy team

The more she learns of this nightmare of a backliner they just welcomed, the more she finds them both beautiful, the more she avoids said backliner, Jean

He doesn’t have a sister; he doesn’t speak French anymore; he isn’t out of the woods yet

Wade Vesper, Neil Josten and Jean Moreau are helpless to what is about to come down; what is done, is done

A Trojan she is, at last

Adèle Moreau doesn’t know what box of horrors she opened

She only wanted–her brother

[hey-august]

I both love and hate talking about myself, so I'm gonna step out of my comfort zone a bit and share a lil update about why I've been less active lately 🩷

tl;dr - Am feeling sad. I'm still writing because it makes me happy, but it'll stay slow until things start turning around.

So last year was a heck of a time for me - pretty much the entire year had something going on that was stressful. (Slight tmi: This was the first time that normal health cycles went all wonky from the stress, which only added to the feelings.)

I was on a new team (after 5 years with my prev team), there were restructures and layoffs, I no longer work with two of my favorite managers who were such pillars of support and work friends, my partner and I had to have a few tough conversations, and my dog had to have multiple surgeries for broken legs over the course of 6 months.

On top of that, I didn't prioritize time for myself, or time away from work, well. I didn't take more than a few days off at a time until earlier this month.

I realized that I was starting to feel burnt out and things were not getting better. My self esteem was dropping and not bouncing back.

I took off a full week earlier this month, which helped. I also started therapy.

This past weekend I got together with family, which we haven't done in-person in more than 10 years. It was nice and full of bonding, but we also unpacked a lot of unhappy memories from childhood. I think that chipped away at some of the healing that I hoped to get from the time off.

ALL THIS TO SAY, I'm feeling a little funky, emotionally. A lil sad, ya know? A little broken. I want to do things that make me happy, but it's hard. And the happiness seems to only last as long as I'm doing the thing.

But it is getting better. Even if it gets worse, that's part of the process sometimes. I don't like it, but it's gotta happen. So don't mind me if I'm quiet, if I say "I'm good!" or if post other things more often than stories.

I'm still here, still writing, and I'm always so happy to see yall pop up in my notifications and show up on my dash. 🩷🩷🩷

[baladric]

i've had a lot of weird big developments in my, like. general Personhood in the last 6 months, but one of the deepest and quietest ones is i've stopped identifying as "a musician" or "a singer." if i'm introducing details abt my personhood now, the first thing i lay claim to is "writer" and the second (if it comes up) is "artist"—and i maybe wouldnt even notice this, except i got my current job thru a friend at my old choir job, so i was introduced to this space as A Musician. and now when i'm actually sitting to chat w a person, i mention the writing, and the art, and often receive "gosh, on top of being a musician?! you do it all!!" and i have this really striking moment of cognitive dissonance. bc god, that's not my word anymore, and god, that would shock the person that i was so deeply. bc i had hung so much of myself on that Word, right? i formed all of myself around a profession that had been hurting me deeply since the age of 8. why was i doing that? why was i clinging to it so fearfully for so long?

and sitting here just now, i realized that i was clinging to that concept of myself because i believed, really and truly, that singing was the only thing that made me valuable.

and now what? 24 years after i slapped "SINGER" on my soul and called it proof of an essential worth that should never have been in question in the first place?

now, i have a job that i was immediately and uncomplicatedly good at, where people immediately and uncomplicatedly valued me simply for being warm and curious. now, i have a collection of weird, wonderful friends who want me around even when i'm miserable, which i know bc they will say "man you are so miserable rn, come over here and be wet and pathetic on my couch and i can feed you." now!! now, it's become stunningly easy to know myself as valuable in my entirety, bc i now do so many things for so many people that have nothing to do with music—and even when i do it clumsily or unhappily, i'm still met with gratitude for trying in earnest.

and like obviously that's all huge and wonderful and astonishing, but the most joyous side effect of all rn is that this sense of inherent worth has finally, finally freed me from the paralyzing doubt i've been mired in about my own original fiction. suddenly, i'm in love with my own ideas, and with the process of refining them. i'm in love with my ever-evolving characters and the stories they're here to tell. i'm in love with my willingness to ride out the bad drafts and the dozens of rerolls for scenes that didn't go in the right direction (my scraps doc for Book is 88 pages; Book is 50). like!! for real? for real!!!! i am making things that i am so emotional about, so proud of, so challenged by, and i honestly didn't think i was capable of that at this point. i thought i'd missed the cut-off somewhere along the way. but i didn't, bc i'm here now, chipping away with whole-hearted determination.

just. im sitting here and marveling at having become, quite suddenly, a person who no longer looks at his life and says, "this experiment is unsustainable." bc i did think that. i said to myself almost daily for about 15 years, in this exact phrasing, "i am an unsustainable person." i very sincerely thought i was going to just cease to exist somewhere along the way, in a very undramatic and inevitable way. how miserable is that? how cold is that? how did i bear that for so long?

idk!!! idk, i am just so fucking proud of myself for being who i am now, and im proud of the past versions of me who gritted their teeth through three decades of grief and doubt and violence to get here, and i'm proud of the hard-won willingness to keep changing when it would have been easier in many ways to set myself in stone—and i'm proud of my fucking WRITING, jesus fucking god am i proud of it, i really really cannot wait to share this story 🥹

ok the end, if you read this i am kissing you on the mouth, and if you didn't, i am still kissing you on the mouth, only it's probably a lot more confusing for you bc you don't know why i'm doing that, anyway remember to get yr covid booster + flu shot, ily

[scottxlogan]

Scottxlogan has received a tag!

@mischief-and-tea-by-the-sea Tagged me to do this thing and I've been completely offline for a few days so it's a slow return to get up to speed here. It'll be the minimum here as I'll try to stick to the first lines, but in some cases there might be 2 lol.

rules: list the first line(s) of your last 10 (or however many you have) posted fics and see if there’s a pattern!

1. Healing Heart 

The first time Bucky rescued Tony from a bad situation, Tony hadn’t been expecting it.

2. Wish Upon A Star 

The worst had happened.

3. Yearning (Chapter 8)

Tony’s head was spinning, his mind was racing with the adrenaline-fueled frenzy that followed Bucky’s outrageous request. 

4. Up in The Air

The bet. The stupid god damn, f**king bet with Tony. 

5. Conflict Resolution 

The soft, damp spill of warmth spread across Scott’s inner thigh, causing him to shift against the blankets.

6. Wrong Turn 

“I won’t apologize for marking you up, everyone should know you’re taken,” Steve’s words were etched into Tony’s mind the first time they’d made love, leaving Tony with a series of hickies the morning after in strategic places meant for Tony to take notice.

7. Jealousy 

Steve never considered himself to be a jealous person. But then again Steve was never facing the idea of his best friend and his not-so-secret Avengers teammate crush slash ex-lover finding their way to not only reconciling and moving past the anger between them but spending all their time together at every corner.

8. Thirst

“We should be turning him in,” that inner voice in Tony’s head was goading him to comply, to set out to finish the mission like he’d discussed with Steve before he’d wound up discovering that the man that they’d been hunting down had been the one that rocked his world weeks earlier.

9. Falling in love as the world falls down 

The sounds of an explosion outside the building were too close for comfort as far as Logan was concerned. 

10. Aftermath

There was something so remarkably fragile in those quiet unspoken moments after the mission where everything finally came to a screeching halt, where the world no longer pushed its way inside Scott’s brain chipping away at the surface until he was lost inside himself stewing over his missteps. 

In terms of patterns I notice Tony's at the heart of a lot of the character thoughts here lol, but I can say it's been an interesting few months here :)

Thanks for the tag and anyone who wants to play along should hop on in as I invite anyone interested to give it a go :)

[hello-daisy6]

Daisy's Hangster RecList

So I've had Tumblr since 2012 and I have never, ever made a post and I haven't reblogged anything in 10 years. However, I have read a shit ton of Hangster fics in the past 6 months and actually made a point to save and rate the ones I liked, so I thought I'd finally contribute something.

Generally I like fics that are bittersweet, sexy, a little angsty, and in-character. And I usually shy away from AUs. There's a lot of pure smut in here too. If any of that is your taste too, you should have a good time.

we're fools to make war Author: whimsicule Rating: E Summary: In a Walmart at three am, between beef jerky and tortilla chips, with the lights flickering above them like it’s the fucking twilight zone, Bradley wants him more than he’s ever wanted anyone. or: it's a hundred degrees in texas. Daisy's Note: I have read a lot of Hangster fics but this one is my favorite. I love Bradley and Jake's post-mission characterizations. The sex is so hot. The OCs add to the story instead of being annoying or distracting. It's a perfect fic. One of my all time favorites of any fandom.

an afterimage of you on the back of my eyelids Author: iceboxotterpops Rating: E Summary: Rooster’s nightmares leave him deprived and seeking comfort, which he finds in the most unsuspecting place—Hangman. However, the further their Friends With Benefits situation develops, the more Rooster begins to fear his feelings for Hangman while the nightmares grow stronger and worse. Daisy's Note: Again, beautiful characterization and hot sex. I love anything where Rooster is healing. Technically not done but I think it ends in a good place.

tell the truth, I look better under you Author: lesbiseresin Rating: G Summary: Before Bradley knows it, there’s a hand landing on his shoulder and squeezing as Hangman slips past him towards the door.

“Hope you don’t snore. Otherwise I might have to shove your face into a pillow,” he tells him, completely cheerful. It makes Bradley want to reach for his collar again, face no longer numb but burning hot in a way he hopes doesn’t show through in color.

Instead, he tightens his jaw and does what he’s been doing for the past few days every time Hangman tries to push one of his buttons. He ignores him.

(alternatively: and they were bunkmates…) Daisy's Note: A very naturalistic story of these two dodos falling in love. All of lesbiseresin's stuff is top notch.

all our yesterdays Author: Notchka88 Rating: E Summary: Jake gets another chance at the mission, and then another, and another. At a certain point they stop feeling like chances and more like foregone conclusions. Daisy's Note: Superbly executed time loop fic with spot-on characterizations and their past friends-with-benefits situation as the backdrop.

Men Like Us Author: DancingDisaster Rating: M Summary: Seresin men love with reckless abandon. It’s put every man before him in the ground.

Jake refuses to be buried.

He flies like he has nothing left to lose (he doesn’t), a one man army (he is), leaving everyone else in the dust (so they don’t leave him). Admiral Kazansky claps him on the shoulder, says he expects great things from him, and Jake’s smile is feral as the rest of his flight school cohort looks on in disbelief.

Hangman, they all say, like Jake’s entire personality was a long con, and he ranks first in class.

Rooster doesn’t look at all.

(They've got history spanning the better part of a decade and they are absolutely, positively not over it.)

Daisy's Note: There's a reason this one's a classic. Couldn't put it down.

hand in unlovable hand Author: 228am Rating: E Summary: Rooster scoffs, “you’re a lot of things, Seresin, but you’re not stupid.” He crosses both arms over his chest. After a moment, he speaks again, “we’re soul—”

Jake interrupts icily, “don’t fucking say it.”

or, Jake and Bradley are soul bonded and Jake is handling it super normally.

Daisy's Note: I normally find soulmate AU's kinda hokey but I'm a SUCKER for a telepathic connection trope. Also I just went to a Mountain Goats show so I like the title.

time and time again Author: andthentheybow Rating: M Summary: Rooster wakes up on the third April 22nd in a row covered in phantom explosion burns and with the concrete knowledge that this mission is going to go terribly, horribly wrong. Daisy's Note: Another fantastic time loop fic with very clever, funny writing.

Bi_e_ual Author: tempestbreak Rating: E Summary: Teeth clenched, Rooster leans his forearm across Hangman’s chest, looming, eyes searching eyes. “What’s your game?”

If Hangman is intimidated, he gives no indication. In fact, he seems to grasp what Rooster is asking immediately; that stupid smirk curls the sides of his lips as he raises his chin in challenge. “This isn’t a game, Rooster. It’s just life.” The smirk widens. “Well, life and death.”

---

Or: Rooster is sure he’s straight. So why does Hangman always look so good

Daisy's Note: Poor Bradley is so confused. Emotionally constipated Bradley trying to sort through his feelings always gets me. Especially when contrasted with a cocky Jake.

love is a burning thing Author: Notchka88 Rating: E Summary: Bradley finds himself standing in front of Jake, much closer than just friends would. It’s not even the beer lowering his inhibitions. He often finds himself drawn in by Jake, unable to resist the pull between them. It would be terrifying except that since the mission and since they became a them, they’ve matched each other’s speed.

Jake’s eyes briefly dart to his mouth and his hand discreetly squeezes Bradley’s wrist before he turns around and saunters out of the bar.

Bradley takes a moment to admire the view and follows after him.

(Reunited after months apart, Jake and Bradley can't quite contain everything they feel for each other.)

Daisy's Note: Their writing is just. so. HOT.

hold me like a grudge Author: lesbiseresin Rating: M Summary: Whatever truce he and Hangman might’ve temporarily made on the beach still wasn’t enough for Bradley to want to hang out with the guy in his free time.

Except, here he is with the Bronco pulled into one of the spaces that line the stretch of sidewalk beside Hangman’s house. He can see Hangman’s truck sitting in the driveway and the light for the living room turned on inside.

Hangman is here, and so is Bradley. For what exactly, he isn’t sure. He knows he’s searching for something. An answer, maybe. Figuring that out would require thinking, which isn’t what this is supposed to be about, but the uncertainty must show on his face. Hangman opens the door without him even having to knock, eyebrows raised and the obvious question quick to come.

“What are you doing here, Bradshaw?”

(alternatively: in which bradley takes the phrase ‘don’t think, just do’ a little too literally)

Daisy's Note: There's not enough good bottom!Bradley (is writing it like that still something people do? Or was that just a LiveJournal thing? Do yall even know what I'm talking about?)

Holding Pattern Author: elwenyere Rating: E Summary: The thing about having a dead father everybody liked is that everybody’s got a bigger piece of him than Bradley does. Daisy's Note: All of elwenyere's stuff is just so gorgeously written. So literary.

all night, i'll riot with you Author: lesbiseresin Rating: E Summary: Bradley would really like to say that Hangman is the one who started it.

It being their return to petty squabbling, starting straight from the moment they first came face-to-face with each other for the first time in years. But to tell the truth, he’s not sure of how true that claim would be.

Punching Out Author: elwenyere Rating: M Summary: Jake’s always been sharp and soft, but not in the right configuration.

Kick the Tires and Light the Fires Author: elwenyere Rating: E Summary: Bradley comes to Jake when he wants it to hurt.

When the Time Comes Author: elwenyere Rating: T Summary: Bradley remembers it the way his fingers remember a chord: by ear, like he’s an echo of someone else’s sound.

i think you should know you're my favorite worst nightmare Author: davidbyrne Rating: E Summary: Whatever is between them is nothing tender or warm. It’s first and foremost a game, and one Jake intends on winning. Every time he looks at Bradley and feels his blood rise, Jake hates it. Just like he knows Bradley hates the way one look from Jake has him looking for the exit.

The two of them have never been able to communicate in any way that matters, but this, they’re on the same page about. The delicate game of attraction and sex. Except neither of them plays it like it’s delicate. They play at it like it’s war.

Bradley’s been on the offensive all night. It’s time for Jake to take back some control.

Daisy's Note: Five alarm fire hot. And despite the description, a little sweet with the spice. : )

A Good Distraction Author: Emilyandthecat Rating: E Summary: Javy is on a mission and Jake’s anxiety gets away from him post-mission. Daisy's Note: I'm fucking obsessed with this and I read it all the time even though the circumstances are kind of silly--Bradley puts his fingers in Jake's mouth and it makes his anxiety go away.

virgin beefcake bradley gets fingered by confident hunk Author: elizabethgee Rating: E Summary: Bradley has never been with a man. Jake has. Bradley gets much more than he bargained for (but he's not complaining). Daisy's Note: I'm obsessed with this one too. The ripped-from-a-porno title is just the cherry on top. Again, bottom Bradley is important.

[chopper-base]

Dead Among the Living

Summary: Fives knew he had a target on his back. The Chancellor himself wanted the ARC dead. With the help of his brothers, he faked his death and went into hiding. Though the news of a resurrected Domino may have him coming into the light-

Warnings: mentions of death, past trauma, Canon typical violence/Canon violence, cursing

This was originally for day 2 of @tbb-appreciation-week but I procrastinate and apparently can't get my shit together-

Prompts: Echo, No order 66 AU, Touching foreheads, "This wasn't supposed to happen"

Chapter 1

19BBY

Officially, I'm dead. Any document you find on my death will tell you I "lost it" and Commander Fox took me out to save lives.

Unofficially, we planned for this. When I found out about the Chancellor, I confronted Fox. I didn't think he'd believe me, but he did. We both knew the only way I was getting out of this fiasco alive was if everyone else in the galaxy believed me to be dead. So that's what we did. As of this moment, a total of 6 people know I'm still alive. Unfortunately, that number probably isn't going to change-

"Fives! Stop talking to yourself and get up here!"

Fives sighed, turned off the holo recorder and stuffed it in one of his belt pouches.

"Fives!"

"I'm coming! I'm not deaf!" Fives stood up from the consol he had been seated at, moving up towards the cockpit. The moment he stepped in, a ration was pelted at him, hitting him square in the face. "Gah-! Cross!"

The sniper sent him an amused smirk, his arms crossed innocuously over his chest. He didn't say a word as Fives bent down to pick up the ration bar, unwrapping it and taking a bite. Fives kept their eyes stubbornly locked the whole time, glaring blunt daggers that they both knew meant nothing more than annoyance.

Across the cockpit, Hunter cleared his throat loudly, calling everyone's attention. "Fives, Crosshair, enough. We've got another mission and it's gonna be complicated."

Fives took another bite of the ration bar as Crosshair shrugged. "When is it not?"

Hunter cut him a look of slight annoyance. "It's complicated because we are going to be working beside the 501st." The Sergeant turned his gaze back to the ARC. "Specifically under General Skywalker and Captain Rex."

Fives ran his hand down his face. "Yeah, that makes things complicated…" he looked back up at Hunter, "Rex will recognize me in an instant. As will half the 501st."

Hunter nodded in agreement. "Which is why I'm a bit confused as to why Commander Cody specifically asked for us on this mission."

The ARC gawked at Hunter, bewildered. "Cody?! Why the hell would he put us with the 501st when he knows I'm with you lot?!" Fives pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. "He's specifically been keeping us away from anyone that would recognize me for months!"

Hunter crossed his arms, his shoulders falling in a light shrug. "You might have to stay in your bucket the whole mission. The Commander said he'd explain more when we land on Anaxes."

Fives looked past Hunter to watch the swirling lights of hyperspace. "Cody's gotta have a reason, right?" He met Hunter's gaze. "A really good reason. He knows how important it is to keep me hidden. He wouldn't jeopardize the entire war just for some mission."

Tech spun the pilot's chair around to look Fives in the eye. "You are correct. You remaining 'dead' is imperative to us finding a way to shut down the behavioral modification chips in the rest of the GAR."

Fives motioned to Tech but kept his gaze on Hunter. "Which is why I shouldn't be going anywhere near the 501st. What could possibly be important enough to risk this?!"

Hunter grabbed a datapad off the copilot's seat, handing it to the ARC. "All we know is it's a data retrieval mission in the middle of Separatist controlled space."

Skimming the information on the datapad, Fives glanced back up at Hunter. "We've run this kind of mission several times solo. Why do we suddenly need jedi backup?"

Hunter shrugged, unable to find an answer for the ARC. Fives handed the datapad back before turning to leave, finding himself unceremoniously crashing into the seat of the tail gun moments later. Fives let his head rest against the back of the chair, his eyes falling closed as he sucked in a lungful of the recycled air in the small ship. The soothing hum of the engine had the ARC slipping in and out of consciousness, letting the time fly by as the swirling blue of hyperspace lulled him further into a dreamless sleep.

---

Something grabbed Fives' shoulder. Jarring awake with a start, Fives whipped his head around in search of a threat, only to be met with a pair of mismatched eyes and a familiarly warm smile. The tension melted from Fives' shoulders like ice.

"Sarge told me to wake ya and letchu know we are about to land," he explained before promptly turning and walking back towards the front of the ship. Fives let his head fall back against the headrest, taking a shaky breath before getting down from the gunner's nest to follow Wrecker. Through the cockpit view port, Fives watched as Tech piloted the Marauder down towards the planet, landing strip gradually coming into view. He could tell by their speed that Tech was about to do one of his 'fancy' landings as Fives had taken to calling it.

Hunter patted Fives' shoulder to get his attention. "Crosshair's agreed to leave his bucket on for the duration of the mission to keep some of the heat off you, but it's probably best you don't talk too much."

Fives glanced over at the sniper where he was leaning against the wall. Crosshair nodded to him, a small smile crooking his lips. He smiled back as Crosshair spat out the toothpick between his teeth, pulling his bucket over his head. He turned back to Hunter, giving him a nod before walking back to his bunk to grab his own helmet. He felt the ship lurch and turn quickly, causing him to crash into his bunk with a string of curses. Fives would be shocked if there wasn’t at least one decapitated trooper when they touched down. The landing gear touched down with a rumble Fives could feel in his chest, and only when he felt the ship’s weight settle did he know it was safe to stand up without risk of getting knocked back on his shebs. Fives promptly snatched up his blasters and shoved them into their holsters before rushing to the cockpit. The rest of the batch had donned their helmets, doing a final double-check of their gear to make sure everything was as it should be. Hunter strode up to throw open the ramp and the rest of the batch filed out after him.

"The cavalry has arrived!" Wrecker boomed.

Fives had to fight to keep his breathing steady when he noticed the three other troopers standing with Cody. The last time he’d seen Rex was when he’d watched the light leave his eyes and felt his body run cold in his arms. Now, he was standing before his Captain, alive and well and unable to say a word to ease the grief he knew he had caused. Beside Rex stood Jesse and Kix, both wearing looks of confusion as they surveyed the batch. Jesse now probably wore ARC armor, but he still had the republic cog painted brightly on the front of his helmet. Fives recalled the day he had returned with that same cog tattooed on his head. Fives had given him shit for it for weeks and Kix had been no different. Kix had grown his hair out to a regulation cut which surprised Fives. He always had those designs shaved into his head and Fives had helped him re-shave it on several occasions. His tattoo peeked out from under his hairline , hiding the rest of the phrase behind his tight curls.

As they approached the group, Hunter removed his helmet, holding it firmly against his side and extending his other arm out to Cody. Meeting him halfway, Cody grasped Hunter’s hand in a firm, professional shake.Tech followed suit, easing his helmet off and surveying the three 501st troopers before them.

"Sergeant. Good to see you again," Cody said, letting his hand fall back to his side.

Hunter offered a smile, nodding. "You too, sir."

Cody turned to the other three troopers, motioning to the Sergeant. "This is Hunter."

Rex nodded, looking Hunter over. Jesse and Kix were still visibly confused. Fives tamped down on the snicker that threatened to spill past his lips. He knew the batch didn't look like any clones they had seen before. Wrecker was an absolute mountain of a man and even though both Tech and Crosshair looked more like the average clone than Wrecker, still stood four inches taller than average.

"Sorry we’re late, Commander," Hunter apologized "We had just finished putting down an insurrection on Yalbec Prime when your comm came in. Had a few unforeseen… complications."

Wrecker’s booming laughter echoed across the landing platform, causing other troopers walking past to stare at the group. "Ever fought a male Yalbec?" he challenged, looking between the three regs.

Jesse shrugged uncomfortably. "Um… No. Can’t say that I have."

Wrecker cackled , swiftly pulling out his large vibroknife. "You’re lucky! Only way to kill ‘em is with one of these!"

Hunter chuckled, shaking his head. "That’s right. Wrecker here cut off the queen’s stinger while she was still alive."

Wrecker slid the knife back in its sheath, the confident, borderline cocky smile never leaving his face.

Hunter looked back at Wrecker with a challenging glint in his eyes . "That's why all those Yalbec males tried to eat us."

"Ah, technically,” Tech cut in swiftly, “they were trying to mate with us. And, for your information, the stinger of a Yalbec Queen is a delicacy on some planets."

Cody smiled and motioned to Tech. "They call him Tech." he explained shortly.

Hunter nodded, turning to the regs. "Yeah, he can fill your head with useless info for hours." He motioned to the sniper behind him. "Crosshair, on the other hand, is not much of a conversationalist, but when you have to hit a precise target from ten klicks, Crosshair’s your man." He turned his gaze back to Cody, his helmet shifting in his hands. "So, Commander, what kind of suicide mission do you have for us this time?"

Cody motioned to the parked gunship on the other side of the platform. "Let’s get going. We’ll brief you on the way."

The group followed Cody across the landing strip, loading into the LAAT. The batch stayed on one side as the 501st piled into the other. The ship took off quickly, the doors sliding closed once they were already in the air.

Jesse was watching the batch closely, his eyes falling on Crosshair who's helmet hid any expression from view. "What are you looking at?" he accused, glaring at the sniper.

Sniper shrugged with an amused huff that was barely heard over the engines. "We don't usually work with regs." Fives could hear the smirk that had wormed its way onto the sniper's face.

Jesse only glared harder. "Regs?!" he hissed , taking a menacing step towards the sniper.

Hunter quickly stepped between Crosshair and Jesse. "He’s talking about regular clones,” he clarified, calm and placating “But don’t take it personal."

Cody set his hand on Jesse's pauldron, the ARC looking back at the commander. "We’re all on the same team, so cut the attitude and listen up,” he instructed, stern and no-nonsense “Here’s the mission: Our target is this Cyber Center." Cody pulled out a holo projector, a map of the Cyber Center illuminating the ship in cool blue light. "It’s the brains of the entire Separatist campaign here on Anaxes."

"I could demolish that with one hand. Yeah!" Wrecker bragged, grinning wildly as he, pumped his fists in the air.

Though it was clear that Cody found Wrecker's excitement amusing, he cut him off. "This isn’t a demo job, Wrecker. It’s strictly a retrieval operation."

Fives watched as Wrecker deflated a bit with that news but the big guy was still clearly smiling. It was then Fives noticed Rex was staring at him. Specifically, his eyes seemed to be glued to his shoulder armor which Fives realized had the same Rishi eel painted that his old helmet did. Fives mentally facepalmed at his own stupidity. He had kept the design as a reminder of who he used to be, not thinking about the fact that it was his identifying mark within the 501st. Though it was evident Rex was staring at it, he never said a word.

Fives reached for one of the handles above his head as the LAAT shook, causing almost every clone to lose their footing.

"We're going down!" Wrecker yelled, his laughter barely heard.

Fives grabbed the handle with a death grip as the ship hit what he assumed was the canyon wall. The bone chilling scrape of durasteel against rock filled the small ship as it slid down the canyon wall. Fives was thrown as they finally hit the ground, landing on top Crosshair who was quick to start manhandling him off. A large hand grabbed his arm, pulling him from the wreckage, dropping him on his shebs on the side of the ship next to Jesse. Wrecker continued to help the rest out of the ship while Fives jumped down onto the sand, offering Jesse a hand which he ignored.

"We always get shot down when we travel with regs." He complained.

"Cody!" Kix yelled turning towards the others. "Help!" He turned back, looking down into the ship. "He's trapped! We have to do something!"

Rex stepped forward towards the ship. "I'll get him."

Hunter moved in front of the Captain, pushing him back. "Woahwoahwoah!" He said quickly. "Easy Captain." He looked over Rex's shoulder. "Wrecker! Get him out." He continued to push Rex back away from the ship, the Captain putting up a small fight but let himself be moved.

"Get back!" Wrecker ordered, rolling his shoulders with a grin.

Kix stared at Wrecker in disbelief. "This is ridiculous! He's going to need help to get Cody out of there!"

Beside him, Crosshair chuckled, motioning to Wrecker with his head. "He's gonna get the gunship out of there, not Cody."

Wrecker slid his helmet on, grabbing the side of the gunship. Kix watched in awe as Wrecker lifted the ship, pushing over and away from the Commander underneath. He grabbed Cody, slinging him over his shoulder and walking back towards the group. "Boom." As if on cue, the gunship exploded in a rain of fire and metal causing Kix to flinch next to him.

Kix ran forward as Wrecker placed Cody on the ground, the Commander groaning in pain. "He has internal damage. I can cut the pain, but he needs help fast."

"We all need help."

Fives looked to Crosshair who was seemingly looking over his shoulder. He turned, spotting battalions of battle droids steadily marching towards them. "Oh fun." Fives said with a shrug.

"That blast gave away our position." Crosshair pointed out, turning towards his Sergeant.

Hunter chuckled, pointing to the obliterated gunship. "I thought getting shot down gave away our position."

"Everyone, find cover. We’ll hold this position and let them come to us." Rex ordered, pointing towards the gunship.

Hunter shook his head. "I don’t think so, Captain. That’s not our style. We prefer going to them." Turned back to the batch. "Bad Batch, Plan 82: Shockwave!" He yelled, pulling his helmet over his head. "Let’s get to work."

Tag list! (Let me know if you'd like to be added!)(I forgot I had a tag list😅)

@rain-on-kamino @idoubleswearimawriter @staycalmandhugaclone @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @kalykat

I may be missing people so just let me know pls!!!

[insectsinsects]

Interestingly, we actually were girls together... When I met Jo I was 18 years and 11 months old, and had just emerged from my house for the first time in 3 months— straight to school in New York. We were shockingly vulnerable in a really simple 101 Writing class. We spent much of our time in cafes and academic buildings dissecting and chipping away at our Didion imitations until we pretended to 'find' some sort of voice at the end of the semester (how timely!). She towered above me, and coaxed a part of me I thought was shut away for good in a house in Oklahoma City. I felt really comfortable. She celebrated my birthday with me after knowing me for a week. We'd speed through SoHo, two of my strides to one of hers, and I always thought she looked cool with a cigarette in hand though it wasn't anything I was smoking at the time. Her suitcase remained empty with 20 minutes till departure, and we barely missed a bus down to DC. She got us new tickets and against her stature leaned all the way down onto my shoulder for the 5-hour ride, and we split at Union Station. She went off to visit a friend at some DC school and I was seeing family. We reconnected at the end of the week, where those cheap buses meet up, and went back home to New York.

When we were sent home, we sent letters across the Midwest in riveting exchanges between Oklahoma and Illinois. We scrawled bits of forgotten writing projects onto paper and wrote to each other often. Radio silence for a while, and we were back nine months later. She was living with her best friend at the time. It wasn't me. Their sublease was really gorgeous. The energy was funny. They stopped being friends after the lease ran out. I last saw her on my 21st birthday in Tompkins with a slice of cheesecake. Late as usual.

Two years of radio silence. I texted her for some reason in April 2023 and we chatted briefly. Nothing again. She's always been in New York, though. I knew her face really well. I superimposed it onto strangers in the crowd. I knew she was here, somewhere.

That summer I felt another friendship dying. I went home exhausted and sweaty and annoyed. No seats on the subway but a space near a familiar face. I was glad she recognized me. I was afraid she wouldn't. She was to transfer at one stop. I told her I'd be on the train for another hour getting to the outer reaches of Queens. "Safe travels," and I let the subway car population dwindle before weeping. Nothing again. Maybe I was afraid to reach out myself because I didn't have anything to say (<- symptom of being frozen by anxiety for 2 years).

And then something this past week. I waited 12 minutes to reply. I missed the person I used to be so severely and was deadly curious about her. I was embarrassed about our run-in on the train. I sweat so badly I had pit stains on a plain, over-sized shirt (symbolism) and she was in business casual workwear. It felt awfully on-the-nose about my perception of my own life and disappointment in myself. I didn't text her because I didn't want to think about it. But she texted me. Our old writing professor from that very class where we met mentioned me, thus prompting the text. She told me on the phone that she thinks often about a thing I used to say (an Andrea original?!) about Jaywalking with the new mothers because no car would run over a baby in a stroller (😭). A saying which attaches a smile to every crosswalk. And remember she's been in New York this entire time. Couldn't help but cry about it. She regaled me on everything. Seems we've been lonely the same past 6 months. I wish we had each other then. I wish she could've seen the joyful moments. I actually don't know if you'd like her, and I think Winnie has a thing about Jo 'cause she unfollowed her on IG a while back (we were all in that same writing class and we are all deeply unwell lmfao⚠️) but I do consider her a great influence on the Andrea you ended up meeting two years ago, if that's worth something at all. At the very least it'd be funny? I'll make it happen. She's in Bushwick now actually.

Anyway everything's a missed bus to DC and every good thing in life is being that uncomfortable shoulder to lean down and cry on. Likewise, the security I felt knowing she could always casually pick things back up and move forward is something that could pull me out of the tar pit. We have suffered apart and alone long enough.

[littlechibs]

Chibs Media Thread Entry #7: Kamen Rider Ryuki (2002)

Lemme preface this with the note that this is only my second fully finished Tokusatsu series ever, and my very first Kamen Rider series. Read (or skip) to the end to see some of my favorite tweets from my livewatch thread. Over a month ago, one of my buddies had been posting pretty regularly about their favorite character from Ryuki and I had been considering it. They told me it had mystery elements to it given the overarching story about mysterious disappearances and the main character being a journalist, and I'm absolutely not immune to mysteries whatsoever, so that got me EVEN MORE curious about it. And then, a few weeks later, I decided to watch it.

TBH, at first I wasn't especially vibing with it, but I decided to keep going and give it the 3 episode rule. Even after 3 episodes I was only somewhat having fun, but I considered it enough to keep going because my friends REALLY REALLY liked the show and I wanted to see what all the fuss was about! I started really having fun about episode 5 or 6 (I can't really remember) and that's around the time that I started posting about it. I made my full properly official Ryuki Watch Thread at episode 7, when my Blorbo-in-Law Shuichi Kitaoka appears. By this point I was having quite a bit of fun.

I don't really need to type all of that but I just wanted to. I'm really glad I kept going and kept watching more and more episodes simply because my friends liked it and I wanted to see why, and also once I started the thread it was part to make them happy. Because once I finally started truly getting attached, I was having SO MUCH FUN. I just needed to get into the Kamen Rider formula because I was still pretty new to Toku shows in general, but EVEN MORESO new to Kamen Rider as a series. It was a whole different vibe for me and I just had to give myself time to adjust. And I'm unbelievably happy that I did. Over the course of the past month and a half I had grown more and more attached to the cast of Ryuki, both good guys and bad guys and in between, and would get so invested in their various character arcs and fights. And ALL of that culminates into today, the final episode.

The final episode is just... My buddies kept telling me that the show breaks you at SOME POINT and I joked here and there that I wanted it to break me but good lord that final episode really and truly broke me. The second to last episode already had me staggered and just feeling nothing but this sort of empty despair I didn't know the show was capable of, and just kinda in shock. The last episode was a total culmination of all of those feelings and emotions and attachments to each of the characters, both good and bad, and I don't know how to properly word it but each scene with each character slowly chips away at you until it strikes the final blow at 16 minutes in and just totally breaks you. I'm not someone who cries easy at all and I'm not joking when I say the finale of Ryuki made me cry for a solid 10 minutes straight. That's not even an exaggeration either I tweeted the very moment I started crying and when I finally calmed down and looked at how long it had been, it had been a little over 10 minutes. It just hits you in such a way and you think about all the things that had happened and all of the characters you grew to love and the tears just keep coming and coming. And then of course the ending just makes it all so much more worse. It's a bittersweet one, and its bittersweet in a way that you're happy but you're also once again totally heartbroken, while also relieved.

I'm glad I took a chance on Ryuki. I'm glad I watched it. It was a wonderfully special experience from start to finish and I'll forever have a special place in my heart for it. Granted, all media that makes me cry that hard earns a special place in my heart, but Ryuki is truly exceptionally. I don't think I'd change a single thing about the finale, even with as bittersweet as it is. A story about loss, and letting go, I think I would say is what it is. I'll never forget Shinji or Ren. Or Yui. I'm so glad I got to experience this show.

ANYWAYS. Since you've made it to the end (or skipped reading to get to this) fair warning for Spoilers Under the Cut, but here are my favorite moments from the Ryuki Watch Thread.

[bratshaws]

through the hourglass 58. brb x oc

a/n: sometimes we get shit days......like I did!! Ngl I'm not the happiest with the chapter so um...im sorry??? ive been having cramps the whole day so that could be........why.EITHER WAY COULD BE BETTER

pairing: plus size!oc x rooster

warnings: none

goodness gracious (pls read this one to know more what this fic is about!!)

chapter

1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/13/14/15/16/17/18/19/20/21/22/23/24/25/26/27/28/29/30/31/32/33/34/35/36/37/38/39/40/41/42/43/44/45/46/47/48/49/50/51/52/53/54/55/56/57

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-

He wakes up renewed, almost desiring to stay in bed since he was so relaxed. He hums happily, turning to the side in hopes to see Bea but the bed is empty and cold, which meant she woke up before he did. Unusual but not impossible since they had Nicole.  

He’s smiling however, moving to her pillow to smell the lavender scent that never seemed to leave her body. He wondered if that wasn’t just her normal smell and not a perfume. Bradley woke up really happy, not only he had an amazing night - he could still remember everything that happened with detail - but he knew he’d have an even better day. 

He was so glad that Beatrice was slowly going back to her old sweet self, sometimes he’d see her eyes glaze and look at nothing but she’d snap back into reality quickly. While he was in bed, enjoying the softness and leftover warmth under his body, he couldn’t help but remember that their anniversary was coming up and they hadn’t planned anything. 

Honestly, he wasn’t sure if they’d be able to, he still had to check if he wasn’t deployed by then. While everything has been calm these past months he couldn’t be too optimistic because he could be called at any second and leave for God knows how long. 

Bradley groaned, running his hands up and down his face to wake up and then sat on the edge of the bed, trying to wipe the sleep off his eyes as he heard Beatrice’s gentle singing coming from downstairs. He couldn’t understand the words but he knew she was singing to Nicole. He knew he had to go to work, even if his body demanded that he stayed longer in bed, he had to get up. 

And so he did, with some difficulty,walking to the bathroom. 

He usually never rushed his morning showers, but that day he really wanted to enjoy it. He was having a really good morning and he had to get ready for the day, so he allowed himself to just let the water fall down on him in silence. 

“Roos?” her soft voice calls and he looks over to the door, seeing her blurry figure approaching the shower. She opens the door just enough to peek inside, “Hey, good morning.” 

“Hey, come on, I’m at a disadvantage here.” he chuckles, then wipes his face with a hand to lean closer, pecking her lips sweetly, “It’s a great morning, gorgeous.” 

Beatrice tried to not flick her eyes downwards where rivulets of water dribbled down his body and below his navel or else she’d be very distracted, “I just wanted to check what you’d want for breakfast today.” she smiles, “Maybe some pancakes?” 

“Hm,I’d love some.” 

“Good, because I found a chocolate chip recipe I think you’ll love.” she says, slowly backing away, “I’m going to let you shower, Nikki just had her own breakfast and is enjoying her bouncer with the dogs, I just took the time to check on you.” 

“Gorgeous you know I love when you check on me.” he purrs, grabbing his soap to lather over his chest and adoring how she just fought back from following his hand, “Did you shower yet?” 

“Roos.” 

“I’m just asking.” he laughs, throwing his hands up in defense. “It doesn’t hurt to ask.” 

“Uh-huh.” She clearly doesn’t believe him, but reciprocates his smile, “Not because you were trying to find a way for us to shower together,right?” he doesn’t reply but he does have the boyish grin she loved so much, “Anyway, I’m going back downstairs and leave you be.” she slowly closes the shower door with a little wave thrown his way before she’s out of the bathroom. 

Once she’s gone,Rooster lets out a disbelieved chuckle, “Fuck.” he bites his lower lip as he lets the water rinse the soap away, “She has no idea how she fucks with me in the best way,” and a cheeky voice in his mind said ‘literally’. That’s why he had to come up with something nice for their anniversary, not only because he loved her more than anything but because she deserved to have another special celebration. 

Beatrice was worth everything and he’d never tire of saying that to her. He could look some stuff up online, something they could both do together and he prayed for whatever deity there was that they could at least enjoy their anniversary before he was deployed again. 

And now that he’s seeing Nikki grow so fast every day…he’s not really eager about leaving. He even asked some of the pilots who had kids if they felt the same way and they all replied the same - except Jim who apparently felt at peace while gone because his kids were loud and in turn he got weird looks from everyone - that leaving after the birth of your child and coming back only to see how much they grew without you was painful. 

Not only that but Beatrice would be alone and that also made him nervous. Not that he didn’t trust her but he feared that,well, maybe she’d get the baby blues again. He researched it one night when she was asleep and he couldn’t, he wanted to make sure that she’d have no night terrors or nightmares - something he read that could happen - while in bed. So, to him, the wellbeing of Beatrice and their daughter was of the utmost importance. 

He was good at his job, he wouldn’t achieve what he did if he wasn’t, but he also wanted to balance both things. He knew Beatrice wouldn’t mind, she never did, she was just an angel in this planet who came to bless him with her kindness and love…and he just wanted to repay her in some way. 

He didn’t plan on retiring yet but he wanted to make sure that every time before he left they’d do something. Either go out, watch movies, eat something both of them like, hell even playing video games together, he didn’t care. 

The spook in December messed him up a lot and he just wanted to come back to them every time. He still had Beatrice’s ring around his dog tags and the flower pouch she made saved up and hidden in his bag, he liked to believe they brought him a lot of luck and he couldn’t really get rid of them now. 

Bea didn’t mind, she rarely asked for her ring back and considering everything she accepted he took it for himself. But that was the thing, she was always so giving, she gave so much for so many people and she rarely accepted anything back. 

“Well,” he starts talking to himself as soon as he shuts the shower off “She deserves something great.” 

And she does, more than anyone he knew. While wiping the moisture off his body,Bradley couldn’t help but wonder what exactly they could do for their anniversary. It was still in his mind and it didn’t appear it’d leave any time soon.  

As he wraps the towel around his waist and walks to the closet to change, he pauses when he sees her hiking boots tucked safely in the corner. Holding up his shirt as inspiration strikes, he knows exactly what they could do: They could go camping! Of course they wouldn’t be able to take Nikki if that was the case, she was too small, but…if everything went well they could leave her with Bea’s parents. 

It was a nice idea and they never hiked together even if they mentioned doing so. 

But there was much to think until then and he hoped he had enough time to do so. 

As he finished dressing up, with the idea still fresh in his mind, he walked down the steps to the first floor where he could still hear Beatrice talking to Nicole. He tried to be as quiet as possible but the twins - as they called Eleanor and Jack - immediately poked their heads out when they heard him coming. He petted them in a greeting before he walked into the kitchen, seeing his wife explaining to Nicole what a pancake was. 

She even held a plate in such a way that Nicole would see it. He didn’t know what his daughter’s reaction was, but Beatrice’s smile probably meant she was happy seeing it. “Roos!” Bea placed the plate down right where he usually sat, walking up to him to meet his lips in a sweet kiss, “You are smelling really nice,lieutenant.” 

He smirks against her mouth, “Just the best for my beautiful wife.” he whispers back, pecking her lips two more times before she walks away from him, his brown eyes dropping to those wide hips to hers, following them until she sat down on her spot, “You telling Nikki how pancakes should be considered the World’s 8th wonder?” 

She laughs softly, holding her head up with her hand as Rooster walks up to Nikki, kissing the baby’s cheeks and baby talking to her when she starts to giggle, “Something like that.” she says, “She seemed curious.” 

“Well if she’s anything like me we both know she’ll love it.” he says as he sits down, running his hand through his already combed hair. Beatrice loved that even when he cleaned himself up like that he still had to mess it up just enough to make it fluffy. “But it looks really nice, you said there’s chocolate chips in this?” 

“Choco chips and some yogurt.” she smiles, “I saw the recipe online and I thought you’d like it.” 

“Mm,what’s this? Are you spoiling me?” He meets her eyes when he asks that, the subtle dark glaze over them not missed by Beatrice, “Last night…today…you are going to pamper me too much,you might never get rid of me.” 

“Hm,good.” she smiles wider, “I wouldn’t want to get rid of you.” 

“Careful, more talking like this and I’ll just stay here today.” he jokes before taking a bite of his breakfast, “So,I was thinking about our anniversary.” 

“Oh?” 

‘Yeah,I think we can figure something fun to do, don’t you?” 

Beatrice folds her arms on the table, tilting her head at him, “Do you have something planned?” 

“It’s an idea.” he shrugs, sipping his coffee, “But maybe we could go hiking, we can leave Nikki with your parents for one night and enjoy the time together.” Beatrice stares at him for a few seconds, then licks her lips as she thinks about it. 

“Well, I do like the idea.” 

“But?” 

“But my parents are going to Italy during our anniversary. It’s my uncle Roberto’s birthday and he invited them…for a yacht ride.” she laughs softly, “So, maybe we can…figure something out that we can do with Nikki?” 

Bradley shrugs with a nod, “Sure, it’s just an idea anyway.” He looks back to where Nicole was, her little hands on top of her light pink onesie as she looks at the moving mobile with such intensity you’d think she was interrogating each plastic animal above her head. “I mean,Nikki doesn’t have a lot of interests yet but I think we can work something out with her,huh?” 

“I think so too.” she replies, “She’s…a lot like you.” 

Bradley holds the coffee mug inches from his lips, arching his brow with an “Oh?” 

“Yeah, she has the same look when she’s really focused.” he furrows his brows in confusion, “Roos, you have this…look, your brows lower and your lips pout just a little bit because you are focused on something…and then you run your hand on your mustache. She has the same mannerisms already, so you are already being an influence to our infant daughter.” 

He looks back to where Nicole was, seeing her little focused face with his own confused one. She was looking at her mobile intensely and her lips were pursed up a little bit, little pink lips that seemed to pop out of her face with her tiny arms trying to reach the moving bird, “...if you ask me she has a lot of you too.” 

“She does?” 

“Her smile especially.” he smirks as Beatrice’s cheeks turn a light red, “She smiles with her whole face just like you do. And her eyes squint and shine at the same time, just like yours.” 

Beatrice only blushed more, cupping her cheeks with her hands and sinking into her seat a bit more, just enough that the upper half of her body was visible, “Stop.” she giggles, “You are too smooth and I might take your offer about you staying here today.” 

Rooster smirks even more, arching his brow with a flick, “Maybe next time, maybe I can…” he drops his eyes down her chest, “Be a little late.” 

“You are never late.” she retorts, cheeks red as ripe tomatoes, “How long would that even be?” 

“Mmm…forty five minutes maybe?” she gaped at him, then started laughing, shaking her head because she couldn’t believe him, “Not my fault you are hot.” and he was sincere about it, he’d stay home if there was a possibility. But this talk only made him feel better than before. 

Yeah, it was going to be a good day. 

- 

Bradley stands in front of Cyclone with his hands behind his lower back, chest expanding with an inhale,”...three months,sir?” 

“Three months,Bradshaw.” the Vice-Admiral says, his glasses resting by the bridge of his nose as he reads the papers in front of him, his blue eyes slowly rising up to the standing officer who looked a mix of surprised and disappointed. He slowly pulled his glasses off, “Speak your mind,Bradshaw.” 

“There’s nothing in my mind,sir.” 

“There must be,” he gestures the handle of his glasses to the officer’s stiff posture, “You are standing there like a green bean ready to snap, so, tell me what’s the matter.” 

Bradley didn’t know how to start, he stood there in silence for a few seconds before words finally appeared in his brain, “...I…may I ask something personal,sir?” Cyclone arches his brow even more, “...how was it…when you had Evelyn?” 

Cyclone’s expression went from curious to a blank slate, those blue eyes turned icy and Bradley feared he stepped over the line when asking his superior about his daughter. But Cyclone just takes a deep breath, almost meticulously opening the glasses case to place them inside, clicking it shut with one hand, pushing it aside before he interlaces his hands on top of his desk, “How old is your daughter,Bradshaw?” 

“She’s going to turn one month old,sir.”  

Cyclone pauses, his eyes looking to the side in thought, “One month…hm.” he chuckles almost dryly, one of his hands coming up to scratch his jawline, “Evelyn was one year old when I finally held her for the first time.” his eyes shadowed as he reminisced, “She was already so big and she had no idea who I was, we didn’t have facetiming back then and it took a while for us to actually bond.”  

He could see how his words affected the new father, whose shoulders tensed and relaxed as he tried to control his emotions, “This will happen often,Bradshaw.” he begins, “Your daughter will grow asking her mother where you are, how long you’ll be gone and when you are coming back.” Cyclone slowly rises to his feet, walking around his desk to stand in front of Bradley, “This is something she’ll have to get used to.” 

Bradley licked his lips but said nothing, avoiding his superior’s eyes as he looked down at him, “Sacrifices that must be made.” Cyclone says, “Sacrifices that she will understand when she’s older.” 

He almost wanted to retort that Evelyn didn’t seem to understand the sacrifices he made when she was younger considering how she acted around her father and around other Naval officers. “I know.” he holds back the frown, “I know,sir.” 

“What we do is for our children.” Cyclone’s voice is so dangerously quiet Rooster can feel it enter his ears as if it were a punch, “You have the possibility of talking to your daughter while you are away…do not waste that. Dismissed.” and he turns around to sit back down on his chair, leaving Bradley standing there quietly. 

He inhales one last time before saluting and leaving the room, clenching his eyes as he sighs loudly, walking ahead until he sees Phoenix and Payback talking not too far from him, “He let you in it too?” Payback asks and Rooster nods, “You look tense,man.” 

“I…” he sighs again, “...this is the first time I’m leaving Bea and Nikki alone.” 

“It’s not for long.” Nat adds, crossing her arms, “It’ll be over before you-” 

“Nat,” he holds up a hand, “I…don’t think that will help. Yeah,I’m glad it’s a short time instead of a year or two, but it’s still scary. Bea–” he pauses, his jaw moving as the words are held back behind his teeth, refusing to elaborate why he worried about his wife the most, they didn’t need to know that, “...I just worry.” 

“You are a new dad.” Payback smiles sympathetically,patting his friend’s shoulder “It’s normal to worry.” 

“Unless you are still thinking about what happened in December.” Phoenix’s voice is quiet, the words weighing more than normal and the three of them could feel the atmosphere change as they all recalled how close that was, “Which…honestly I don’t think anyone forgot.” 

“That too.” he whispered, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and index finger, pinching the bridge of his nose with his brows going up, “...I’m okay. Just…I’m okay.” he pulled out his phone to unlock it, seeing the pictures of both their wedding day and of Nicole as his backgrounds clearly helped him. 

But his day…well, it wasn’t going as great as he wished.  

And he had to talk to Beatrice later.  

[willshipanything-blog]

Breaking the Rules- Chapter 6

Let's ignore the fact that I said this would be here in a day or two....five days ago 🙃 And just enjoy the content! There's magic and mayhem and all sorts of cute things today! 🪄🎩🃏

As always, minors PLEASE DNI! Full tags on AO3

Read on AO3 here

Full Chapter Index here

Chapter 6- For One Night Only

You brooded over that morning’s walk as you prepared lunch, having a few moments of solitude as Max occupied the bathroom. He needed to wash the mud and grime off both him and the dog after their mishap in the woods (purposeful on Samson’s part, accidental on Max’s). The walk had brought you closer to Max, and you were confident you would no longer feel that uncomfortable twitch of hesitance to spend time with him. He was easy to be around, funny and charismatic. You considered him a friend, and hoped he reciprocated those feelings- you felt that Max, as much as yourself, needed a friend his life. 

However, you still wanted to know more about Max’s past (and by proxy, Al’s too), though you were still unsure if your little recon mission had been successful or not. You had recalled some nostalgic, happy memories for Max, although not everything you had discussed was so pleasant. Those topics of conversation were only to be debated in small doses, you decided to yourself as you loaded the sandwiches with ham, bologna and cheese. Talking about Max and Al’s father? That was a wound you weren’t going to pick at for a little while. 

The snippets of information you’d learned from Al about the Shaws’ history had come to you at a glacial pace. True, this was because you were beyond scared in the beginning that a wrong foot or a misplaced question might touch a nerve, which the Grabber might make you pay for in blood. But even after everything, when Al was just Al, he was still so reticent. Unwilling- or maybe unable- to share too much with you about his past. But Max had opened a dialogue without too much effort (and, you hoped, not too much pain). As sad as he'd seemed on the walk, what you’d uncovered in a few hours had been miraculous. 

Hearing the bathroom door click open, you dipped your head out the kitchen doorway to announce lunch was ready, only to be met by the sight of Max’s bare ass, uncovered by the small towel he had unsuccessfully wrapped around himself. 

“Ma-ax! Jesus- there are ladies in this house you know!” you spluttered, throwing a hand up to cover the side of your face, protecting your eyes from the sight. 

“Oh, there are? You shoulda said you had company over.” He hollered back to you across the room. You scoffed and turned back into the kitchen, the image burned forever into your memory now. You busied yourself feeding Samson, who had wandered into the kitchen after his bath, then waited for Max before eating, contemplating whether you should prod a little more today- but Max seemed carefree and affable as ever, so you convinced yourself a few more questions wouldn’t hurt. 

However, even though the younger Shaw was more unguarded, things would have to move slowly on your part, and you’d be careful to tread lightly. Whereas Al wore that icy, gruff exterior that hid a softness beneath- one you had chipped away at to find the real man below- Max seemed the opposite. As if his soft, unassuming surface belied a darkness, a hardness within, like a cuddly teddy bear filled with razor blades. You had to be careful to extract the less savory parts of his history without him ripping at the seams and falling apart completely. Still, you were hopeful that getting Max to open up even more wouldn’t be the months and months of work it had taken with Al. 

Max wandered into the kitchen (fully dressed now, thankfully) and gave a guilty chuckle, along with a small apology about mixing up the towels meant for him and Samson. He tucked into the food enthusiastically, and things slipped back into that warm comfortability that formed so easily from his presence. 

“So, spill. I want to know everything.” you said, a broad smile crawling its way onto your face. Max looked agape, pausing with his sandwich halfway to his mouth.

“Everything? About? Wait, what are we talking about?” Max stammered, his eyes bobbing frantically, suddenly panicked. Was it not obvious you were asking about Al? If not, what else would Max have to be worried about?

“Woah, calm down! I just want to know more about Al.” Max visibly relaxed, the tension is his shoulders dropping as he huffed out a breath. 

“Oh, those juicy details. Well, that depends what you wanna know, Scout-” he paused, leaving the sentence to hover between you. You leaned forward across the table, all ears. You wanted to know everything. Was Max giving that to you already? He took a slow bite of his sandwich, savoring it purposefully to prolong the anticipation he could sense in you. But you knew the quickest way to a man’s heart.

“Well, I heard pork chops were your favorite, and there just so happens to be some in the refrigerator…”

“Oh, Scout, now you’re speaking my language. Ok, shoot. Ask me anything you want.”

Not wanting to disturb the relative calm, you decided to ask about Al’s childhood- the good parts that Max would know so well, having grown up alongside him. Parts that Al was reluctant to discuss- he was deeply uncomfortable speaking about himself in any way but through self-deprecation, and despite your best efforts to encourage him otherwise, only his actions towards you spoke of the kindnesses he was capable of. And despite the distance that had been between Max and Al, there was no animosity between them. Al must have been a great big brother. The natural assumption that they were close when they were younger proved to be correct when you questioned Max about it over the breakfast table.

“Oh sure, we were always pretty close, even with what- six, nearly seven years’ age difference?” 

That surprised you- you had thought there was about a decade between them- but Al’s stoic, serious expression probably aged him in the photo of them both, just as Max’s small stature and dimpled cheeks worked in the opposite way. 

“We were so different, even then. He wasn’t real tough, but he always looked out for me, ya know? At school, in town, and here,” he waved his hand loosely in the air, his meaning clear. Al looked out for Max in this very house, too. A small but obvious silence descended at the implication of that, but Max continued, wafting away the moment of discomfort with his sunny demeanor. “I was the opposite, a bit of a class clown- if you can believe it.”

“You do surprise me, Max.” you drawled sarcastically. Max’s words had reflected exactly what you saw in the old photograph of them- a solemn, serious older brother and his cheeky, happy younger sibling. That could have still been the case now, years later- with Max’s easygoing, cheerful disposition at odds with Al’s outwardly cold, distant attitude. But you’d changed that course for Al. He could still be standoffish (and you knew the darkness he was easily capable of), but you coaxed out the lighter traits in him too- the Al who was playful, kind. The one who was, at heart, a hopeless romantic. You pressed further, remembering that Al had once hinted that he’d learned magic just for Max.

“That’s right, I remember he picked it up to cheer me up! Oh, it was awesome- I never could work out how he did those little tricks. He was always so serious, but for me? Jesus, he’d put on this cape and do these amazing things with cards and coins. You know, the whole shebang- Ok Maxie, pick a card, any card.” Max’s chocolate eyes were alight with excitement, his arms flailing wildly playing out the past scene. “Man, he was the best. Mom loved watching the shows too when it was just us in the house-” 

You didn’t respond, but gave a small, reassuring smile. You’d worked out the subtle meaning- that Al’s performances were a private affair, something clearly not approved of by their father. That same sullen silence shrouded you, a cold shadow at the mention of that man. Had it been Al, the mood might have sombered for the rest of the afternoon, but Max had an uncanny knack for blowing right through the bitterness with the strength of his fierce ardor. 

“And I didn’t even tell you the best part! You know every great magician needs a stage name, right? Well, guess what Al picked for himself.”

“What was it?”

“Oh god, he might actually kill me if I tell ya, Scout.”

“No, you can’t taunt me like that! So help me Max, I’ll tell him you flashed your ass at me…”

“Oh you little… ah, goddamn. Ok, ok. He useta introduce himself as ‘The Great Alberto’.”

You sat for a brief moment in stunned silence before a wide grin tugged your lips from ear to ear. This was beyond brilliant. Memories of Al that he would have never willingly shared, not to mention the most hilarious thing you’d heard in a very long time.

“You did NOT hear that from me.” Max said, the weak threat in his voice failing to hide the realization of what he’d let loose. 

“Oh Max,” you jested, “Where else would I have heard it?”

“Fuck.”

Whether you or Max might get into trouble for unveiling that fantastically embarrassing nickname, you figured it’d be worth it to see Al’s reaction. If backed into a corner, you could blame Max completely, but you were going to ensure you got a ticket to the next performance.  ________

After dinner that night (you supposed Max had earned those pork chops after all), you all settled down in the living room. Max lounged on the armchair, whilst you lay on the sofa with your feet propped on Al’s willing lap, his fingers absentmindedly stroking your skin. When Al asked if there was anything anyone wanted to watch (obviously meaning on the television), you and Max exchanged knowing glances across the room, your closed-lip smirks and raised eyebrows daring the other to make the suggestion. Al’s gaze veered between each of you, confusion evident on his face, aware that he was missing out on the joke. Max set up the line for you to knock it down:

“I thought we could see a show tonight,” he quipped.

“Yeah,” you volleyed, looking at Max but cognizant of those cerulean eyes drilling into you. “I heard that the Great Alberto was in town…”

Rough fingertips dug into your shins, a pregnant pause deafening the room. Al huffed a slow exhale before throwing out a warning. 

“You two should know,” he said menacingly, “That neither of you are too old to go over my knee.” Max guffawed at that, though your own laughter was a little more hesitant, if only because for you, Al’s threat was likely to come true. Not that you didn’t really want it to, but you worried to what degree Max might see your blush at such a comment. Undeterred, you still poked at Al, prodding at him with your toes, giving his leg a playful kick and telling him how much Max had missed his big brother’s magic tricks. Max’s nagging helped the persuasion and with a gruff sigh, Al finally conceded. You wanted a performance, and he rarely denied his sweet dove anything she wished, after all. He jostled your legs off of him, and with a request to bring him his blue set of playing cards, you scurried to the bedroom to rifle through his box of tricks. You could have sworn you heard Max actually squeal as you scuttled down the hallway.

In the bedroom, you placed a chair in front of the open closet and reached for the large plastic box containing Al’s magic equipment. You glanced beside the box only briefly, taking a quick peep at the masks that resided there. It was funny, you mused at the sight of the magic box and the masks- how different parts of Al were stored here, little compartmentalized pieces of his soul. He could retrieve the box of tricks and easily show that goofy, talented, magical side of himself. Or he could don those masks and signal the commencement of one of your many-faceted games, his wild, animalistic side coming out to play. Or he could leave those things behind for a while and just be Al. Whichever permutation he chose, you couldn’t envisage the Grabber there anymore. 

Pulling down the hefty box and placing it on the corner of the bed, you riffled through the paraphernalia: silk handkerchiefs, a wand, felt flowers, metal rings, cups and balls, rope, thumbs caps, dice, a velvet bag of different coins and half a dozen sets of playing cards. You plucked out the deck of blue-embossed cards, reaching for one other object before turning on your heel and back towards the much-anticipated magic act. 

Re-entering the living room, Max had relocated to the couch, and the armchair now sat on the opposite side of the coffee table from it. Al had risen and was standing in front of the TV, waiting for his props. He could huff and deflect all he liked, but he obviously relished the chance to perform, and had set his stage for the act. You held the deck of cards out towards Al and as he reached for them, you produced the black top hat from behind your back, holding it out to him by the rim, coaxing him to wear it. After all, what was a magician without his hat? He scoffed and shook his head, but still he took it from your outstretched hand. 

With a deft flick of his wrist, he flipped the hat in his hands. It was much like how he’d maneuvered it when you first met him- except this time, it somersaulted its way atop your head instead. This time, he hadn’t asked for you to pass it to him; you’d retrieved it willingly, held it out so he could perform his role, and then enjoyed the feeling of wearing part of the disguise. Like you were part of the trick, part of the illusion yourself now. Al gave his lopsided Cheshire Cat grin, and gestured theatrically for you to sit beside Max, which you acquiesced. Max scooted up to make room, playfully knocking the hat so it sat askew on your head. Al cleared his throat, and you and Max turned your attention to the magician, all eyes focused on him. Even Samson, who had been snoring in the corner, seemed to raise his head out of curiosity. 

“Ok folks, here for you tonight,” Al spoke in that grandiose, sing-song tone, “and here for one. Night. Only,” he punctuated those words, a gentle reminder that he wasn’t going to be coerced into doing this again, “The Great Alberto!”

You cheered enthusiastically, whilst Max put his fingers into his mouth to make a piercing whistle, Samson’s barking at the noise easily mistaken for his own canine version of applause. Al gave a quick bow before sitting across from you both, shuffling the cards expertly between his dexterous hands, a kaleidoscope of blue and white spiraling hypnotically in front of you.

“Maxie, would ya lend me a hand?” Al asked as he began the trick, his younger brother selecting a card from the filigree-embossed deck that Al fanned out for him. You noticed a name that both of them had mentioned that day: Maxie. The younger Shaw had used it to mimic Al, an impression of him doing similar tricks for his brother when they were younger. Did tonight somehow transport him back to that time, performing his little tricks to cheer up his brother? The way you watched them together now, maybe both of them had journeyed back, to a time when that old black and white picture might have been taken. 

Max watched with glee as the 5 of spades he plucked from the deck was seemingly placed between his closed palms. With some dramatic flourishes and a few waves of his hand, Al ‘replaced’ the hidden card with the Jack of Diamonds he had hovered over the closed hands. Max peeled his hands apart, and the Jack had magicked its way there. 

“Holy fuckin’ shit! No way!!” Max’s eyes widened as he looked incredulously at the swapped card in his open hand, flipping it to see if his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. 

You gave a small whoop and a round of applause as the trick was complete. Although you’d learned the mechanics of this particular sleight of hand (fetching Al the blue set of cards you knew housed two diamond-encrusted Jacks), it was still an impressive feat of close-up magic. You were strangely proud that Al had mastered the trick, but more proud with why he had begun to learn magic in the first place, a fizzing warmth spreading across your chest at the sight of the two brothers smiling at one another. The warmth didn’t dissipate when Max begged to know how it was done, Al refused, and the inevitable sibling bickering broke out between them.  ________

The bedroom felt peaceful compared to the living room that had been so lively and vibrant that evening, which was both a blessing and a curse. The possibility of how the night might go always depended on Al- not that you were fearful at all. Not anymore. But it was a heady feeling of not knowing which way it could go. Option 1- the serenity and gentleness of his sweet touches and kind words, or Option 2- the thrilling danger of him toying with you. You clicked on the lamps, suffusing the room with a soft, low light. As you began putting away Al’s hat and cards, sorting out the box you’d shuffled through before, the door behind you clicked and his warm body pressed against your back. Strong arms encircled your waist, clasping in front of you as his cheek pressed against your own. 

“The Great Alberto? Really?” The words were soft as cotton candy, but the semantics of his question meant an uncertainty for which way this could go. You adored either of the outcomes, so slipped into the repartee without fear of consequence. 

“You know Max let that slip.” 

“And who charmed that out of him I wonder?” his grip tightened around your stomach, not giving you time to come up with an excuse which was, at this stage, a moot point. He’d already made up his mind on how the night was going- clearly Option 2. Secretly, you were thrilled: if Al chose to be wicked and merciless, the comfort would still follow. It was the best of both worlds. Although, it didn’t seem much of a secret: the way the gasp so easily slipped from your lips and your body moved into Al’s instinctively whenever his firm grasp on your restricted tightly. He knew Option 2 was your preferred choice, too. 

“You wouldn’t be prying now, would you dove?” he asked, retreating his head a little so the warm hush of his voice grazed your ear. The question dripped with danger. You supposed you had spent such a long time thinking about what details you could coax from Max, you hadn’t really considered how Al might feel about it all- perhaps because you knew, deep down, that he wouldn’t approve. If he wanted you to know, he’d have told you himself. You’d pondered his question too long, unsure of an answer, and had only half-noticed his arms had unclasped. One remained glued around your torso, finding its way intuitively to the bruise on your hip, recently blossomed into a brilliant watercolor of purples and greens. His other hand had risen to fist your hair in his grip. 

“Well?” he yanked down, your head pulling back, your own eyes looking up into quickly darkening blue ones. 

“N-no. We just talked.” you squeaked.

“Hmm, you have no idea how dangerous that can be, little dove,” he let go of your hair from his firm hold, resting his chin on your left shoulder as his now-free hand reached towards the box still in front of you on the bed. You watched intently, your rapidly increasing heart rate drawing out fast, shallow breaths beside Al, who rummaged through the box languorously, as if leisurely taking stock of its contents. His hand brushed over what he was obviously looking for, grabbing a small silk square by its corner and pulling slowly, a string of four or five squares, knotted together at the corners, forming one consecutive chain. 

“I think that’s enough talking for tonight. Don’t you?” And with that, before you could hope to come up with any witty retort, he balled the silk scarves into your mouth, muffling your gasped inhale and any protests that might have dared cross your lips. Al didn’t need to warn you to keep the gag in, so you clenched your teeth around the silk, silently watching as his hand dipped into the box again.  

The rope was next, pulled from the box with purposeful slowness. It was the same type of cord that Al had used months ago in another magic trick, the very first time he had taken your body, made you feel things you never thought possible. Simply holding it in front of you, the rope recalling that memory, had you rubbing your thighs together in arousal. It was the same for Al too; you could feel his hard manhood pressed into your back as he conjured items from the box. With his arms still cocooning your body, he brought your wrists together and quickly tied the rope tightly around them. He tugged at his handiwork once done. He had no need to test the strength of the knots (he knew you couldn’t escape, and you knew you didn’t want to), but it was a continued reminder of the hold he had on you.

Al worked his magic quickly, and in an instant had slid the box from the bed, slipped your shorts and panties from your body, and shifted you to face him, the back of your legs pressed against the bed. Wordlessly, he stroked the scar on your heart, a gentle caress, before roughly pushing into your chest, your body falling backwards and your throat letting out a stifled squeal before you fell onto the soft mattress. Al undressed slowly, his belt unbuckling, his shirt unbuttoning, until there was no more clothing to remove. With each item he discarded to the side, you could swear his eyes turned a shade darker, little notches that signaled the approach of the dark side of Al that wanted to devour you completely. He crawled onto the bed in front of you, and you squirmed backwards as best you could, knowing he wanted the chase, and needing it just as badly. You were easy pickings, already tied down for him, and huge hands took hold of your ankles, pulling you towards the beast. Your hand gripped the headboard slats and you shrieked behind the gag, half mock-terror, half genuine excitement. 

He entered you in one wet thrust, right to the hilt. “Ah, fuck, Y/N!” he groaned, a little too loudly for the Quiet Game he had wanted to adopt. You sprung up, pressing the fingertips of your bound hands to his lips, silently reminding him of the need to stay at least a little quiet while the house was accommodating more than just the two of you. He laughed behind your fingers, giving a small nod of understanding, before hauling your arms back above your head, where he held them firm. His other hand slithered beneath your silk top, his thumb brushing a rock-hard nipple before kneading your breast roughly. The breathy exhale that left your nose might have been just as loud as Al’s groan, but fuck it felt divine, the way he could make your body tremble with just a few simple touches. 

The act picked up pace rapidly, every sensation an electrifying spark of perfection at Al’s skillful touch; his fingers that moved seamlessly between your breasts, hands that knew every place that responded best to his touch. Him propping each of your legs on his shoulders, finding a deeper angle to enter you. The way his hands gripped your hips roughly, one moving down to thumb your clit in rough circles as his cock drove into your core again and again, picking up speed until you could hardly bear it, slowing to allow you to catch your breath behind the stifling gag, before speeding again to overwhelm you completely, moaning your pleasure in faint, muffled groans as you came for him. And for him, you rocked your hips in time to each beat of his movements, digging your heels into his strong shoulders to signal your pleasure, knowing how your moans affected him, and never once during the act breaking your gaze from his. 

He jutted into you a couple more times, releasing the last of himself inside you, but not yet pulling out. Instead, he brought his face down to yours. In your gradual come down, your breaths had been steadying, but those piercing blue eyes still made your heart thump furiously, as if trying to signal to Al just how much he affected it. His gaze descended from your eyes down to your mouth and he smiled wickedly, teeth bared as he moved towards your lips. You readied for the kiss, but instead, Al’s teeth clamped around part of a silk square, and he pulled away slowly, unspooling the colorful scarf from your mouth in a ribbon of blue then pink then green then orange. As he retreated, his fleshy manhood left you too, and a groan escaped you finally- both a sign of satisfaction but also a lament of the loss of his warmth deep inside you. He spat out the scarf from between his teeth. 

“I think I like this no talking rule.” he growled. 

“So stop talking.” you retorted finally, heaving your still-bound hands around the back of his neck and crashing your lips into his, shutting the pair of you up in the best way possible. More kisses followed, wet mouths and tongues lapping against the other, and finally languid kisses on noses, along jawbones, no part of either of your faces left unmarked by the tenderness. Your mouth trailed the wrinkles at his temples, his brushed against your precious cheekbone scar. Eventually you freed Al from your grasp before he freed you from your bonds, though the two of you stayed entwined as you fell asleep together, a blissful tangle of body parts that slotted together perfectly, bound tightly together with something much stronger than rope. ________

You jolted awake, a sudden sound shaking you from peaceful sleep. A strange sensation crawled over your skin, and you realized the foreign feeling was having nothing touching you- no hand caressing your waist, no fingers trailing your spine or arm wrapped tightly around your body. But a soft rumble behind you revealed Al was still in bed, and you turned slowly towards the noise. It must have been this that woke you- this unfamiliar scene laid out before you. The bright moon allowed a faint picture to form: Al was dreaming. Not just a dream, it appeared. A nightmare. His open mouth displayed almost a grimace as if pained, matched by his eyebrows that twitched in syncopated beats to his eyes which you could discern were oscillating furiously behind closed lids. 

“No - don’t - hurt - no - was me” The disjointed words barely formed on his lips, but the half-meaning you could work out from the dreamspeak vexed you. A nightmare, right now? You wondered- you’d had your fair share of terrors since arriving here, understandably so. But those types of dreams had been expected: dark, staticy images of abstract creatures, eldritch, ungodly terrors that filtered through your mind like a grainy horrorshow played on an old projector reel. But that had been so long ago- so long, that you had still conflated Al and the Grabber, thinking them one and the same. But that was no longer the case, and those awful night terrors no longer plagued you. Not now you had the comfort of Al to ease any worries and fears. 

So why now had Al begun to suffer a similar ailment? You hoped it was simply the stress of worrying about his brother’s arrival, even though things had started off on such great terms. What was he worried might spill out? You had continued the Quiet Game tonight, though you wondered if Al’s questions about prying into his past were actually more malignant than the playful way he had posed them. 

It hurt to think that your actions had, in turn, hurt Al, even if only in his dreams. You placed a hand on his chest, soft and light as a feather, stroking tenderly and shushing softly into his ear. You repeated this procedure, over his whimpers and spasms, until they dissolved, muted and stilled by your nurturing gestures. 

Al woke early with the sun, the background chirps of larks and the view of the mountains and sky to greet him, the dawn sky a blithe canvas of apricot and peach. He ruminated over the past couple days, and was fairly satisfied with how things had progressed. Just as he’d predicted, Y/N and Max were getting along. Max could be an inconvenience at times, under his feet a little, but he was harmless- and Al could hardly say the same about himself. 

He looked forward to having the house to just the two of them once more, though he wanted Max near, and truly hoped his little brother would stay for good this time, putting down roots here in Denver. The one problem with this, of course, was that the closer Max was- especially with Y/N- the closer more things might threaten to surface. Some of Al’s past had already come to light. Yes, it had been silly childhood secrets, but he had kept things from her for a reason. He wanted no more of her pity, no sorrowful looks or excuses for the things he’d done. He hoped his playful warnings last night had been understood as extending outside the bedroom too. 

But it was ok, wasn’t it? The fear and unease was only in his head now. Faded and quiet, but constant, like a television playing pixelated white noise. He supposed that quiet hum in the back of his mind was the thing now haunting his sleeping hours. A manifestation of the guilt and regret at the things he’d done to her, and slowly, the creeping guilt of those worse sins that had begun to plague him more and more. He had no way of ridding himself of those feelings, and the nightmares had retreated eventually, chased away by the soothing coos of his dove- it was always her, wasn’t it? 

Her voice was warm in his ear, her fingers running through his hair, over his heart. Whether Al had dreamt it, or whether real life had seeped into his dreamstate, she had banished the nightmares and conjured new dreams of her, and he had slept soundly the rest of the night. 

Al looked away from the window to focus on his very favorite view- his love sleeping soundly beside him. Gentle not to wake her, he brushed the mess of tangled hair from her eyes, and allowed himself these free moments to simply observe before the reality of the alarm clock would wake her. Al felt content, and hoped he could hold onto that precious feeling indefinitely. 

[seph7]

My Favourite J.T. Walsh Roles

Inspired by @tequilasunrise28 and her list!

Why Me? (1990) - Chief Inspector Francis Mahoney.

The first film I ever remember seeing him in. We rented it on video sometime in '91 or '92 and I loved every second of it! I always remembered the final scenes where he's trapped with his Deputy, Leon, on the 10th floor and getting progressively more angry at the situation! The no-nonsense attitude of Mahoney will always be up there in my top three of his roles. We love a character who takes no shit!

2. Tequila Sunrise (1988) - DEA Agent Hal Maguire.

We had this on a recorded VHS tape when I was a kid, along with The Cotton Club, and I wasn't allowed to watch either because they were 18s! When I eventually did watch it I was infuriated by Kurt Russell's character, Nick Frescia, helping his drug-dealer friend, Mel Gibson's Mac, escape a prison sentence by circumventing Hal's apprehension of him. I won't say how for anyone who hasn't seen the film, but Hal was totally done dirty! Myself and @tequilasunrise28 were so outraged, we collaborated on a fanfic for him!

3. The Negotiator (1998) - Inspector Terence Niebaum.

I saw this in July 1998, which was five months after he sadly died. I was 16 and utterly loved every second of the film. Full of great actors alongside our beloved J.T., you can definitely imagine that his career would have continued to ascend into bigger roles. I remember being devastated when his memoriam appeared at the end of the film, as it was only after seeing this film that I realised all of the other films and TV I'd seen over the years had actually included him. It was a great role for him where he wasn't entirely playing a scumbag and had just succumbed to the lure of a bit of cash to lose some records.

4. The Beniker Gang (1984) - Principal Arnold M. Stoddard.

One of his earliest roles in film and the meatiest he'd had at this point. He also isn't playing a bad guy which was so utterly refreshing! I only watched this in recent months and I was utterly hooked when I did! He plays such a wholesome character and is so softly spoken when dealing with the children, it's hard not to melt a little! I can't help but wish he'd played more of these sorts of characters...

5. Crazy People (1990) - Charles F. Drucker.

Less bad guy, more cold-hearted capitalist scumbag! My favourite scene will forever be the "I wanna know how the fuck the word fuck gets in the New York fucking times!". I saw this clip on TikTok and instantly had to find a copy of the film! I have no regrets and it is one of my favourites! I was also curious as to what his character’s past would have been like as he mentions starting his advertising career in Milwaukee, and I always wondered if he started out as this money-hungry company owner...

6. A Few Good Men (1992) - Lt. Col. Matthew Andrew Markinson.

A role he actually got to choose. Definitely not a bad guy role, and another role where I feel he was kinda done dirty as he felt the need to take the final action he did. Of all the Marine characters, his was the only one with the morals to actually do the right thing, despite what he knew it would cost him.

7. Outbreak (1995) - Whitehouse Chief of Staff.

A role that only lasted around four minutes and one scene, but it made such an impact that people to this day still talk about the passionate speech he gives in defense of the people they're discussing potentially bombing out of existence. This scene has also been immortalised on YouTube people love it so much!

8. Needful Things (1993) - Danforth Keeton III.

I just love this first scene he's in. A character with an inflated sense of self-importance and a chip on his shoulder about being called 'Buster'. He's not an inherently bad character, but he has a very large gambling addiction and succumbs to the temptations of the Devil in the hopes that he can win back some town money he gambled away. As he always did, he gave this character his all, truly excelling at highlighting the weakness of the character, despite the big, bold attitude he has in the beginning.

9. Breakdown (1997) - Warren 'Red' Barr.

Another big screen role that was beginning to open doors for him, he plays the sadistic kidnapper with uncanny ease. I feel sad that I didn't get to see this in the cinema, I saw it on video a few years later along with Pleasanville. Probably the role he's most remembered for outside of Good Morning, Vietnam and A Few Good Men.

10. Red Rock West (1993) - Wayne Brown/Kevin McCord.

Less a scumbag role and more of a 'I'm out for a quiet life with my embezzled money' role. Myself and @tequilasunrise28 have always wondered if his character was taken advantage of by Lara Flynn Boyle's character and he suspected she intended to off him so wanted to do the same first. Hardly a moralistic stance, but he does display some genuine concern for the people he works with when the young deputy is killed. I'll always wish we had a bigger backstory to his character...

[caltropspress]

RAPS + CRAFTS #17: PremRock

1. Introduce yourself. Past projects? Current projects?

My name is PremRock, I’m a solo artist but ½ of ShrapKnel, ¼ Wrecking Crew. I’m currently working mostly with Backwoodz Studioz, but also with Ockham’s Blazer in conjunction with Fake Four and will always put out projects on my own when I deem that fit. I’ve been releasing music since 2010 I suppose officially.

2. Where do you write? Do you have a routine time you write? Do you discipline yourself, or just let the words come when they will? Do you typically write on a daily basis?

I would say the best way to describe my process is chipping away. I am always thinking of phrases and “bars” so to speak and often don’t have control over when they come. For that, it’s on the notes app and later I’ll comb it for things I feel are usable or something to expand on. I work a full-time night job so days off typically start late but I like to use them for the bulk of writing practices but the muse often strikes at late hours. Deadlines make things different and are absolutely necessary and most are self-imposed. I wish there was more of a routine or structure but the schedule is a balance between carving out time through discipline and when inspiration strikes.

3. What’s your medium—pen and paper, laptop, on your phone? Or do you compose a verse in your head and keep it there until it’s time to record?

iPhone notes, Gdocs, pen and Moleskine in that order. My iPhone notes are full of couplets at all times. Typically I will try to compile them all into one place at some point, but they are pretty piecemeal at first a lot of the time.

4. Do you write in bars, or is it more disorganized than that?

I just write and hopefully it fits a four count. I’ll work it out either way.

5. How long into writing a verse or a song do you know it’s not working out the way you had in mind? Do you trash the material forever, or do you keep the discarded material to be reworked later?

I think pretty soon at times and sometimes it’ll take months. I don’t think I ever trash anything forever. Good writing should find a home.

6. Have you engaged with any other type of writing, whether presently or in the past? Fiction? Poetry? Playwriting? If so, how has that mode influenced your songwriting?

Playwriting is a def. Or screenwriting rather. I have a couple outlines of screenplays I pick up and put back down depending on my mood. I think it’d make for an exciting second act (pun!?). Fiction I think plays a role in that. I’ve mostly sought out fictional work when I’ve read, save for autobiographies or historical things that interest me. Poetry and rap are pretty intertwined to me so perhaps down the line I’ll compile a list of things that don’t fit the song structure I’m into making. Who knows? A lot is certainly on the table.

7. How much editing do you do after initially writing a verse/song? Do you labor over verses, working on them over a long period of time, or do you start and finish a piece in a quick burst?

I always revise and edit. At least once but usually twice and sometimes more. This all depends on what the work calls for. A guest verse will typically see less revisions simply because the assignment is often laid out in plain terms so I grasp it quickly. Solo work will be revised more as I whittle down a lot - I write too much there it needs refinement. ShrapKnel or Wrecking Crew stuff comes easiest. Spirit of both competition and collaboration makes the work really enjoyable and easy. I labor over solo stuff more than I would like. Maybe I’ll change that! 

8. Do you write to a beat, or do you adjust and tweak lyrics to fit a beat?

Def write to a beat unless it’s a weird circumstance but couplets are always being written and sometimes when I’m at work so they’ll be grafted and fit to a beat later. No writing is definitively assigned to a particular beat unless it’s very clear at first or that’s the distinct job I have to do. I will move verses around if I see that fit.

9. What dictates the direction of your lyrics? Are you led by an idea or topic you have in mind beforehand? Is it stream-of-consciousness? Is what you come up with determined by the constraint of the rhymes?

A theme will carry and pallbearers vary.

I love a strong idea and interconnectivity. Death, love, life are heavy so if I address those I like to build trusses to support my claim. A lot of it is stream-of-consciousness for certain. It’s interconnected in my mind for a reason and sometimes that reason isn’t clear at first. It takes time to see why I thought of that. All of it makes sense to me in its own way. Even if it starts out very knotty I like to untangle it. When you’ve been rhyming for a long time, rhymes appear as guardrails and sometimes accidentally. It’s up to you to keep, polish, or discard, I suppose. Some people can write a 100 songs a year and they all sound like they’re keepers. I don’t really work that way, but I suppose if people heard a lot of what I cut they’d ask why I cut it. My answer would be rooted somewhere between “vibes” and “quality control.”

10. Do you like to experiment with different forms and rhyme schemes, or do you keep your bars free and flexible?

I don’t believe in 16 bars. Unless that’s what you pay for or ask for. I don’t believe in a lot of structure in general. When the rhyme is finished the rhyme is finished, but I understand metrics and not everyone should go beyond 16 bars simply because there’s not more to say in an interesting way. But I think we are past the point or need for defined structure. Just write until the writing is finished to you. Jazz and prog rock began taking things far out and you should take things as far as you feel.

11. What’s a verse you’re particularly proud of, one where you met the vision for what you desire to do with your lyrics?

I am definitely proud of “Gravity Falls” on the most recent ShrapKnel album (that people have heard, that is). Felt like I captured a very particular mood and stylistically took some chances. Sometimes that connects and sometimes it doesn’t, but here it did. Certainly validated by the fan and peer response!

12. Can you pick a favorite bar of yours and describe the genesis of it?

Nobody planning to leave…Context to come in '24.

13. Do you feel strongly one way or another about punch-ins? Will you whittle a bar down in order to account for breath control, or are you comfortable punching-in so you don’t have to sacrifice any words?

Whatever best serves the record. Twenty years from now you will be awarded no points for one-takes, only the quality of the records you left behind.

14. What non-hiphop material do you turn to for inspiration? What non-music has influenced your work recently?

Phil Elverum, David Berman, Big Thief, Japanese Breakfast, lots of SAULT...Jason Isbell, Alton Ellis.

Ocean Vuong...Kurt Vonnegut, Clarice Lispector…recently.

15. Writers are often saddled with self-doubt. Do you struggle to like your own shit, or does it all sound dope to you?

It's because we are sensitive to everything. The good, bad, beautiful, and hideous. We are also the most observant. That’s a dangerous cocktail in general. Couple that with societal pressure to conform to something we are not and a self-imposed barometer hard to match and you have a struggle on your hands. I labor over my work, but ultimately I have a healthy respect for myself and my output. So when I doubt myself, I don't languish for long. I hope others who struggle get there too. Most writers have great triumphs and poignant lulls. The triumphs are a reminder of your brilliance. I try to hold onto those.

16. Who’s a rapper you listen to with such a distinguishable style that you need to resist the urge to imitate them?

Would say Saafir but that’s past tense…I think. I used to imitate unwittingly in freestyles. Perhaps early Del was one, and the way Tash from Tha Liks rode beats, plus Daz. Always fancied myself an East Coast rhymer with West Coast sensibilities. Like stepchild of Wu and Hiero…Boot Camp…Death Row.

Current? I think I am a pretty good appreciator of art at this stage of my life. I can observe and admire without picking up tendencies. I feel bad for people who say they can’t listen to much music while creating because it will influence theirs. I think that’s part of the point. You’re not supposed to jack their style. Rather, it’s like one of those sticky-hand things kids used to play with, but except for dust, dirt, and grime, you pick up bits of inspiration and process it through your filter. Nobody has or can change your filter.

17. Do you have an agenda as an artist? Are there overarching concerns you want to communicate to the listener?

My agenda as an artist is to be remembered as a writer who took the craft very seriously and left behind a wealth of work to sort through. It’s to be remembered as a kind spirited artist who sought to empower others if I was lucky enough to get the chance. It’s to have practiced tolerance, inclusion, and used the privilege I’ve had in a way that hopefully spread this exact sentiment. To be useful in the tool of collaboration and have seen a great deal of the world and left behind an imprint that you remembered. To have been as great a performer as I possibly could be. Maybe, folks leave the show and know they have to get to the woodshed. As grandiose or idealized as that sounds, that is what I want. I want people to feel proud to have known me. And above all I want people to have said, “He sure was a motherfucker with the pen.”

RAPS + CRAFTS is a series of questions posed to rappers about their craft and process. It is designed to give respect and credit to their engagement with the art of songwriting. The format is inspired, in part, by Rob McLennan’s 12 or 20 interview series.

Photo credit: Edwina Hay

[kindahoping4forever]

is there any new things coming soon? x i’m in DESPERATE need of some new kh4f fics 😚😚😚

Aww it's nice to know my creative presence is missed! (How has it been 2 months since my last fic already? And 4 since my last Ash? 😯)

To be completely honest, I've been writing this entire time and unfortunately some health struggles (I used to talk about it a lot more on the blog but I have a handful of chronic physical ailments - and unfortunately some fairly unforgiving anxiety - that can be quite the time/energy vortex) have flared and made writing challenging to say the least. I had a Valentine's Day story I had to shelf, I started my long-teased 5SOS5 release week fic with the intention to coincide with the 6 month album anniversary and even as recently as last week, I got about 3/4 thru a Luke fic (yes it was about the thigh high boots 🤡) that I wasn't able to finish in the desired time frame. (And this is all on top of two very special long form WIPs I've been trying to chip away at for months!)

Soooo... yes, things are coming but I unfortunately can't say exactly when. Writing is genuinely everything to me and I can't tell you how disappointing it's been over the past year that circumstances have consistently complicated it. But I've been working on finding solutions and trying my best to get my mind and body back in order to return fully to this thing that I love doing so much. I truly appreciate the continued interest and support you guys show me and my fics, it's something that's been especially encouraging and motivating during these hard times. I know I'll get where I need to be, we just need to be patient 💙