#but if you're between the two go for steam and leave a review

[stanwixbuster]

Quinn & Flynn is out now.

at the low low price of $5.99, with a 10% discount for one week! wow!

A mature queer visual novel, telling the heated and convoluted story of the love triangle between Quinn, an obsessive police detective, Elias, Quinn's direct superior, and Flynn, a poet with a very talented tongue, caught in a criminal case that spirals rapidly out of hand.

Summary:

Semi-linear narrative

5 chapters, each ~1 hour long

Three POVs

Features:

Non-Blocking choices, letting you go see more of the conversation before making a choice, or skipping it entirely

A fully queer cast

One major ending, four epilogues

Content Warnings:

Quinn & Flynn is a mature visual novel that features scenes and depiction of police brutality and sexual violence; it's not a game intended for minors

Buy now on Steam

Website

[comshipbracket]

Antis DNI - Block the tag "comship" if this causes discomfort.

Remember, you are voting for the ship you prefer, not the ship you find more problematic

Propaganda for both ships under the cut.

Disclaimer: All ships (other than NozoCoco) on this bracket are FOLLOWER-SUBMITTED ships, the Mods do not always hold necessary knowledge to be aware of any errors or fanonizing what should be canon material that may arise.

Stuilly Propaganda (Abusive Dynamic)

"Billy is bent on murderous revenge, and Stu is the fucked up little person who's along for the ride. Their killing spree climaxed with symbolic mutual penetration as they stab each other as part of their scheme to pin it all on the film's final girl. The way they touch each other is affectionate to the point of intimacy. When their plan is out, Stu can't keep his hands off of Billy."

Stannarrator Propaganda (Codependency, Toxic Power Dynamics - In most endings)

"The Stanley Parable is a game about The Narrator wanting to tell a story through their game but having to rely on the Stanley's choices. The core of the game is that Stanley and The Narrator are bound to each other: Stanley needs The Narrator to make the "parable" he lives in, and The Narrator needs Stanley to make the choices that drive the story.

The Narrator clearly has the most power in this dynamic, since he can alter the world the Stanley lives in: modifying the rooms, creating and deleting objects at will, reloading the game, altering Stanley's perception, knowing almost everything and being almost everywhere. But, despite all that power, he isn't able to control the one thing that keeps his story existing: Stanley's choices.

Okay, spoilers to both the original 2013 game and the Ultra Deluxe remake from here on out since it's impossible to talk about them without spoiling a lot of the endings.

In one of the new endings on the Ultra Deluxe remake, the Skip Button ending, The Narrator creates a button that lets Stanley skip his dialogue `inspired` by a bad Steam review, but when Stanley clicks this button The Narrator is left all alone in that room, and which each click the skip becomes longer, from minutes, to hours, to weeks, to months… And in the fifth skip (where Stanley stays frozen for like, one, two weeks), The Narrator breaks up, talking about how he needs Stanley to listen to him and how scared he is of slipping back into the silence he passes through every time we use the skip button. In his own words, `I can't lose myself in the stretch of emptiness between you and me.` Of course, since it's the only way to advance in this ending, we skip again, and again, until The Narrator ends up eventually disappearing after the 12th or 13th skip, leaving Stanley alone in a desert, and that's where the ending stops, though it continues on the Epilogue, but I'll leave some things to add as propaganda during the polls.

Despite this, The Narrator still has more control of the situation than Stanley, like on the Explosion ending, where he traps Stanley in a room while the building's destroys itself as consequence for choosing to activate the Mind Control Machine instead of shutting it down to free everyone. He keeps acting like Stanley is nothing but a vehicle for him to pass a message through his story. `Watching you try to make sense of everything and take back the control wrested away from you…it's quite rich. I almost hate to see it go!` `You're only still playing instead of watching a cutscene because I want to watch you for every moment that you're powerless, to see you made humble. […] You wanted to control this world; that's fine. But I'm going to destroy it first, so you can't.`

But there's one point where they're equal, they both want to free themselves. On the Museum ending, we meet a being that is higher than The Narrator, the Female Narrator (yeah, that's her name), and she gives the best description of the relationship between these two: `Oh, look at these two. How they wish to destroy one another. How they wish to control one another. How they both wish to be free. Can you see? Can you see how much they need one another? No, perhaps not. Sometimes these things cannot be seen.`"

[loveletterworm]

An addendum to my post about how I think it is unlikely deltarune will actively require replaying large portions of the game which I just thought about (I'm making it separately because the post was already long) is that I brought up how in Undertale going from a pacifist neutral ending to the true pacifist ending doesn't actually require replaying the entire game and going back to do the true pacifist requirements will only set you back just before the final boss, I just realized that in both chapters thus far Deltarune ALSO is made with this sort of logic, you can only access the secret bosses once you reach the final area of each chapter, which I have no metadiegeticwhatever thing to point out here, this is just a Actually Considerate Game Design Decision, so that people who missed the secret boss but kept a save before the chapter boss will easily be able to go back and do those without having to replay an extremely large portion of the game. The only way you'd be locked out of the secret boss for a chapter to the point where you'd have to start over to fight it is if you overwrote your save in the castle town at the end of chapter 2.

Again there's not really anything to point out here if you don't care about humane game design. I just found it a little bit interesting to see that it was consistent between both chapters and to some extent Undertale (Undertale has the difference of you DO get locked out of true pacifist if you killed anything at any point, so it is more likely to make you start over, but honestly starting Undertale over is just an intended part of the gameplay experience that its designed around more than I'd say Deltarune currently is)

I also saw someone in the comments of the video that made the minor observation that I had that weirdly longwinded reaction to (I don't think this was in the video itself but maybe I forgot, there was some speculation about hypothetical save-slot-based puzzles in the video at least) say something like "What if there's a trick where you'll be locked out of or otherwise unable to complete the chapter 3 secret boss until you complete the chapter 4 secret boss and go back to get the chapter 4 items", and I feel with what I described previously in mind we can all be reasonably confident that this is Not The Sort Of Thing The Game Will Do In The Future, not only because it would probably be really unclear and difficult to signpost that you're supposed to do that, but because this would mean that the player's progress would effectively have to be set back TWO ENTIRE CHAPTERS (2 chapters which we currently know to be cumulatively longer than the 2 chapters preceding them put together!) and again, sure that could be a cool meta trick, but this game has to be played by human beings who will have spent real money on it, and again if they feel like their time was unduly wasted they might leave a bad review on steam. What the hell was that entire last paragraph just one long sentence. I have got to figure out how to break these up more

[postgamecontent]

Nintendo Switch Weekly Round-Up for the Week Ending October 5th, 2024

Hello gentle readers, and welcome to the Nintendo Switch Weekly Round-Up for the week ending October 5th, 2024. A little quieter this week than the last couple, at least in terms of things worth paying attention to. Plenty of garbage, but I don't feel like giving any of that oxygen. Still, any week with a new Q-Games release is one worth writing about. Let's check out this week in the world of Switch!

Select New Releases

Sword Art Online Fractured Dream ($59.99)

This is an action game that is mainly designed for online play, where up to twenty players are supported. It features a whole bunch of Sword Art Online characters, and the buzz from people who played the game via Steam Early Access is solid. Provided this Switch port has been handled well and the community is there for it, this could be a fun diversion. Those are some big provisos, though.

All You Need is Help ($19.99)

Okay, so first up and very importantly: this game is four players only. You can play local multiplayer, or you can play online multiplayer. But if you don't have four, you don't play. No single-player. None. Anyway, each player controls a different fluffy puzzle piece, and you have to work together to solve each stage. It's from Q-Games, so you can count on a certain degree of quality here. If you have the people to play it with, I'm sure you'll have a good time.

SpongeBob SquarePants: The Patrick Star Game ($39.99)

Another effort from Outright Games, specifically the team behind the rather good Justice League: Cosmic Chaos. This appears to be a Patrick Star-flavored take on Human: Fall Flat, and if that's the case then I suspect SpongeBob fans are going to have a really good time with it. You've got an open world to play around in, and plenty of activities to do in it. What's the main goal? I have no idea. We'll have to see how this one plays out.

I*CHU: Chibi Edition ($29.99)

If you want to play this particular free-to-play mobile game at a premium price with the money squeeze removed, here you go. It's a rhythm game with some story bits in between the action, focused around an academy for idols in training. Unfortunately, with the gatcha-dependent progression and rather spotty localization, this isn't an overly pleasant experience. You get all of the grind, you just can't buy your way through it. I imagine this might appeal to fans of the mobile game anyway.

Picross Records of The Shield Hero ($10.99)

Another Picross game, this time themed around the manga/anime Rise of the Shield Hero. An episode mode has been implemented here to tell some of the story as you solve puzzles. You get a bit over two hundred puzzles in total, all related to Shield Hero in some form or another. More Picross for those who need it, or those who are piling up Picross games for a rainy day.

Skautfold: Into the Fray ($14.99)

Here's a third game in the Skautfold series ported to the Nintendo Switch. This one is a top-down action game with plenty of gore and lot of ways to dispatch your foes. While it's not exactly the same kind of game as the previous ones (or the ones that will follow it should the whole series get ported), I'm sure if you enjoyed those you won't have a bad time of it here.

Zero the Kamikaze Squirrel ($5.99)

So, first up: despite that screenshot, Zero's sprite hasn't been edited in the actual game. He is still sporting the rising sun headband, and the symbol is all over the place. I'll leave it to you as to how you feel about that. As for the game, this is the Aero the Acro-Bat spin-off featuring Aero's rival Zero, and it's a very challenging game thanks to its reliance on the player mastering Zero's rather unusual move set. It's in that nicer emulation wrapper that Aero 2 released in, so that's good. For those wondering, this is also the Super NES version of the game. I'll review it soon.

Kill Knight ($14.99)

If you're hunting for your next great isometric twin-stick shooter fix, Kill Knight is a good choice. It's a tough game and it has a lot of interlocking systems that you'll have to learn before you'll make any progress, but if you stick with it I think you'll find that this is a rather rewarding game.

Circus of TimTim ($9.99)

Another horror game that relies on people being creeped out by mascots, this time with an added circus twist for that clown phobia spice. Explore a ruined carnival and watch out for things who won't be kind to unwelcome visitors. Use a metal detector to find items, but be careful as its beeping will attract attention. Not my kind of thing. Maybe yours.

Planetiles ($12.99)

Another one of those games where you place tiles strategically in a landscape to try to produce the best results, this time planet-themed. I've been into this kind of thing since around a year ago, and this is another solid one. I wouldn't recommend it over Dorfromantik or anything, but if you're looking for another game that offers a similar experience then you might want to check this out.

Macho Shot ($5.00)

This new SAT-BOX release is essentially another spin on the ol' Suika Game concept, but with macho dudes instead of fruit. Merge your machos into bigger machos, but be careful not to overflow the field. Nothing new under the Sun, but the choice of theme was so odd I had to include it here.

Dawngrown ($5.99)

Is this top-down 2D PowerWash? Not really, but it is a game about cleaning up a messed-up world. It's cute, it takes about an hour and change to run through, and while the whole thing feels like it could have used a little more everything, it's an amusing enough ride while it lasts.

Arcade Archives Moon Shuttle ($7.99)

Nichibutsu scored its first big hit in 1980 with Moon Cresta, and for a good while after that it was all about the Moon. Here's 1981's Moon Shuttle, a very simple side-view shooter. I can't call it side-scrolling, because it doesn't. You alternate between two types of stages. The first sees you trying to shoot a path through a field of debris as your shuttle approaches. The second has you fending of waves of enemy attackers while dodging their attacks. Nothing special, but for its era it does its job. Not available in the North American eShops, for some reason.

EGGCONSOLE Silver Ghost PC-8801mkIISR ($6.49)

Yes, I'm still imagining the world where D4 Enterprise puts the extra resources into localizing all of these amazing Japanese computer classics it's tossing out onto the global eShop. Silver Ghost is a beloved strategy RPG for many Japanese gaming enthusiasts, and has been cited by one of the Shining series creators as a source of inspiration for those games. It would be really nice if fans outside of Japan could more easily enjoy this, but you're again dealing with a lot of Japanese text if you choose to tackle it.

Damikira ($7.99)

Sure, this is a pretty standard-looking run and gun platforming game, but it has a grappling hook! A grappling hook! The rules say that grappling hooks and/or web-shooters add an extra point to a game's score. That's a rule. That probably brings this up to a good three-and-a-half out of five.

Rolling Football Player ($3.20)

This is a goofy little thing. You have to roll your football player through five stages, trying to land him in a cup. It's a very short game, but it's more of a weird physics toy than anything else. For the price, that's probably fine.

That's all for this week, friends. We'll be back next Saturday with another Round-Up as we continue into October and the many games that will come with it. As ever, I will plug both my Patreon (where you can find lots of cool exclusive articles) and my Ko-Fi (tips help me run this blog). There, plugged. I hope you have a super Saturday, and as always, thanks for reading!

[saltandfire-blog]

Lucerys Velaryon x Aemond Targaryen

Salt and Fire

When you fall in love, you will carve out your heart and throw it into the deepest ocean. You will be all in - blood and salt.

Summary: Lucerys Velaryon belongs to both sea and sky. His whole life he has tried to prove his blood runs thick with not just fire but salt, despite the scandalous accusations that have haunted him and his brothers. Aemond Targaryen is nothing but fire, and before their families tore them asunder, his nephew was one of the few people he did not scorch. History books would have you believe the green and black children of House Targaryen grew up enemies, but before eyes and loyalties were slashed, there was once devotion between the two second sons. As boys grow into men, it is easier to repay an injury, because forgiveness is a burden and revenge a pleasure.

Notes: Thank you so much for reading and hope you enjoyed this beast of a chapter! I'm sorry this took longer to put out than usual, I've been trying to catch up on a lot of stuff before the holidays hit. I feel like my Aemond chapters really are the longest, but I think it's just because I enjoy his character so much. I don't like to rewrite scenes from the series, especially since I'm sure we've all read it a million times already, but when I rewatched it to see if I should include the training yard scene, I HAD too. There was actually so much Aemond/Jace tension, I couldn't not include it in the chapter where the division between them all is really starting to protrude. I'd like to apologize but I really did mean it when I tagged this was a slow burn and I hope I haven't lost too many people from all this character building. It's all important guys I promise, hang in there!

Last chapter, I was actually really surprised by the mixed reviews I received! Not that any were bad or mean, but I was definitely not expecting how unfavorably some people reacted to Luke's participation with the Pink Dread. I've always heard that if you can get your viewers emotional and invested, you've done something right. So thank you guys and all your awesome comments and feedback! Your predictions are especially fun to read.

Just a fun fact, I'd just like to mention that as Luke get's older, I see him portrayed as a young Jack Dylan Grazer from this point on when he played Eddie in IT around this time in the story. And also, Alyssa Arryn is not actually mine and belongs to G.R.R., but I did fluff up to the story a bit differently than in GoT to pertain more towards the story.

I am so thankful for any and all views I get and feel so grateful just to see people are reading. If you're feeling generous enough, please leave your thoughts!

Happy Thanksgiving!

Chapter Ten

let me down slowly.

Aemond pulled his sword back and aimed a high right, then again for another high left, his opponent, a straw man, wobbled on its stand as he practiced the sequences he and Ser Criston had gone over that morning. High right, high left, duck, turn, low left, high right. Ser Criston had warned him he was to break fast with his mother that morning and had to return to his duties as the day started, but after their last conversation Aemond had been adamant he go on ahead and leave him to practice for a while longer. He was still tempering himself, his face hot and adrenaline steaming that he could not bring himself to retreat inside just yet to start the day and it seemed Ser Criston understood this. He went over the training session he had that morning over and over in head. His sword lessons were always a reprieve from everything going on around him, but today when he'd thrown himself into their practice, he had used his sword more as an outlet and swung with all his might, putting all his pent up anger behind every swing. He had grown tired quickly but had snapped at any of Ser Criston’s warning that he would not last their whole lesson if he continued on that way.

“When can I train with steel?” he had asked instead, bringing up the same insistent argument he had been having with Cole for almost a year now.

Ser Criston put down his own practice sword, sighing before dipping his head and answered him quietly.

“When you're ready, my Prince.”

Aemond was indignant and already brooding; the same answer his father’s Kingsguard continued to give was the excuse he was looking for to snap at him.

“I'm ready now.”

“A week ago I might have agreed.”

“And now?”

“You have…much anger, my Prince, and you must learn to be cautious with it,” Cole told him. “Anger can bring forth a certain strength, it's true. But resentment loses focus. And that is when mistakes are made, Prince Aemond. If it is emotion that drives you, you must control it, or in true combat you will find it guiding your sword towards certain death.”

He did not know how else to release the storm that had been teeming inside him, and Ser Criston's scorn pressed down on his bruises even harder.

Yet it was difficult to truly throw anger towards Ser Criston when he was right.

Aemond was filled with it.

If he were a pot or a cauldron, he'd be bubbling and frothing, steaming into the air to burn anyone who tried to lift his top. At first his anger had been focally at Cole. The day after his mother and Rhaenyra had fought outside his room he was expected at the training yard. Ser Criston was not a man to change his plans and was dutiful and dependent, yet Aemond had been reluctant when his mother urged him he must uphold his commitments and did not allow him to skip lessons. Of course his mother had been quick to defend her most trusted sworn sword, remembering how she confessed to Aemond after Rhaenyra had yanked Luke from his rooms that they had heard shouting and had only meant to listen in concern.

It had been brief, but his ire had flickered towards his mother as well.

“She’s right mother,” he almost cried. “This grudge you have…”

I’m tired of being bled on…

His mother had looked at him, like what he said pained her, and she had gotten on her knees before him and took his hands in hers and swore to him she was not tampering with his letters.

“But I have allowed this friendship to carry on for too long between you two,” she told him, like what she said aggrieved her as much as it did him.

“You are so smart, my son, my cleverest. You wanted to read before you could not even walk and can do your numbers far better than any other boy at your age I've known. You are more precocious than any of my children, and you are kind, and for that I think is why you find less joy than your siblings. So I’ve let you keep this happiness that boy seems to bring you. But it must end, Aemond.”

“Why, mother? Why are you so sure-“

“Because you must realize there will be a time Rhaenyra will need to secure her throne. One day, when she is cornered and the realm seeks to crown your brother, she will need to rid herself of any challenges.”

His nails were digging into his palms and his cheek was stinging as he bit down until he could taste metallic behind his teeth while he endured to listen to the same lecture his mother had given them many times.

“Those challenges are you. You and your brothers, any sons your sister has, all will be put to the sword if Rhaenyra is allowed to rule the Seven Kingdoms. Especially if she intends to place her bastards as her heirs and bend the entire realm to such a change in tradition. You all are living, breathing reminders to all who their true ruler should be.“

“I – I don’t believe she would…she wouldn’t-”

“We cannot place all our lives on optimism, my son,” she urged, squeezing his hands. “Despite all my efforts to council your father, I fear he will not see reason before he passes Aemond. We must be ready. And you are only setting yourself up for pain, my dearest.”

She had wiped his tears even when he still protested and Ser Criston watched on without a word. He did not need to when Aemond could see it in his dark eyes. He had made it all but plain before. Ser Criston thought him weak for holding onto his friendship with Lucerys.

Before the pig, Aemond had always fought against everyone. Even when she pulled Aegon by his shirt, hissed at them so insistently that they needed to be careful around their eldest sister's children, or murmured warnings in their ears, he had stopped insisting aloud but silently believed them to be untrue. You are her greatest threat, she had always insisted. And she warned Aemond most of all. She had cautioned him many times before against this heartbreak he was sure to face if he continued his kinship with Lucerys. He had never believed her, insisting her claims could not possibly be true.

Yet here he stood, gaping and bleeding.

Because of Lucerys fucking Velaryon.

Or Waters, if he was truly done playing pretend for Luke’s sake.

Continue at A03

[thetoaddaddy]

Based on this prompt.

-----

Kira walked into the bar after a long day of work. She was just intending on ordering some take out and leaving but that's when she saw a woman hitting on her writing companion and friend, Jiraiya. At first, her stomach twisted. Did he have a girlfriend she didn't know about? The way the woman was acting... it was very brazen... but upon further review, she didn't look like his girlfriend.

I don't like this.

There was a knot tying itself up in her chest, her delicate hand now gripping her takeout bag in a vice. It wasn't clear to her why it bothered her so much when she had no right to feel that way but it decidedly did.

Should I go?

She looked away for a moment, biting her lower lip as she fought between her emotions and her logic.

"Oh Jiraiya you're so funny!" The woman giggled loudly and touched his arm. "Let's go back to my place yeah~?"

Kira's feet moved on their own. As if possessed, she found herself walking over, standing particularly close to Jiraiya. "Sorry. He can't, he's going to spend the night with me. We have a lot of writing to catch up on." Her eyes were narrowed, a reserved angry expression, as if she were holding back. Then she looked pleasantly to Jiraiya with a sigh and a shrug. "Publisher said that the deadlines been pushed forward."

And now she was lying?! Since when did Kira lie??

Well count his lucky stars. Nowadays Jiraiya hits up bars just for a drink. Especially bars in Konoha since everyone knows who he is. So he doesn’t bother too much with being charming. After a day of the mind numbing process of sitting with his publisher and editor going over the latest version of his manuscript just to be met with half of it being hit with the red marker he could use a drink.

It didn’t help that Kira’s book barely got the smack down. As childish as it was he was a little jealous. Maybe he was losing his touch. A small bit of dread had him worried he’ll be dropped. It’s really just his fault.

Sigh. He needed to blow off some steam and settled on a drink. It helped that’s for sure. It killed off his animosity. Kira is brilliant. No point harbouring bitter feelings towards her for writing a better first draft. He just needed to shake the day off and be away from the publishing house for a while before he torches it from frustration.

He didn’t expect to get hit on. That certainly lifted his spirits sky high. She is pretty. Long dark hair and hearty in a good way. The type that has a lot to hold onto. He knows he isn’t that funny. And he was giddy when she invited him over. His mouth opened to agree when a new voice answered for him.

Kira? He pouts when she delivers the bad news. How unfortunate it’s been a damp year. The wood isn’t dry enough to just torch the damn place with just a fire ball or two.

“God what a slave driver. He rides my ass all day and now he wants more? He could buy me dinner first if he’s gonna rail me like this all night.” Jiraiya rants as he pulls his wallet out and pays his tab. He turns to what have been a great one night stand. “Sorry gorgeous. Maybe next time.”

He turns to Kira. “I don’t know why he’s bothering you. You’ve been cranking them out pretty fast.” He said as he walked with her to the exit. He didn’t want to go back. But if he has to burn the midnight oil to write porn at the very least it won’t be as bad with her there too.

[invisibleraven]

I wish you would write a fic where Carrie and Julie are rival broadway stars (or just general singers) and they're brought together by Reggie (I hope that's not too vague)

Carrie looked up when she heard the name of the next auditonee, and glared at Julie when their eyes met. The two of them had been rivals for ages, always going after the same parts, and right now they were neck and neck for who had won the most. They had done a few shows together, and always put their issues aside during them, but it was well known that they didn't get along due to the cut-throat nature of Broadway. But hell, Carrie was not losing this role to Julie Molina of all people, she had dreamed of performing Sondheim since she first heard his name, this was her role to play!

Carrie silently crept to the door of the auditorium, listening through the crack, but she had missed what role Julie was going out for, only hearing her monologue and then a snippet of a song before she spied an employee closing in, so she scampered back to her seat. Julie came out not long after, looking satisfied, and nodded at Carrie as she went. Carrie steamed for a moment, as Julie was always professional, and it irritated Carrie's catty nature. But she tossed those thoughts aside, as it was her turn, and she was determined to blow those producers away!

In the end, it turned out they had auditioned for different roles, so Carrie was ecstatic to learn she got the role of Cinderella to Julie's Baker's Wife. There was some relative unknown playing the Baker, a Reggie Peters and when the girls caught sight of him, Julie clutched at Carrie's hand, Carrie clutching right back. Oh, he was cute, and then when they heard him sing, well it sealed the deal, one of them was going to win him.

So it began, the girls inviting Reggie for meals and drinks and extra rehearsals, and he happily agreed. More often than not, the three of them ended up together, due to their similar call times, and Carrie had to admit that she enjoyed it. She and Julie had been friends once, with a possibility for more until they were always competing for jobs. These quasi dates brings that all back, and well, Reggie seems to fit right in with them, making the possibilities seem more than they ever had been when it was just the two of them. Yet none of them make a move, and Carrie is adamant in her mind that all she wants is to win Reggie for her own, and that's all Julie could want as well.

The show goes off without a hitch, several reviews mentioning Reggie's chemistry with the both of them, and a few even mentioning the chemistry between Carrie and Julie. The director thinks it's great publicity, and declares he is definitely keeping them in mind when he stages the next iteration of Wicked.

Come closing night, the three of them are getting dressed for the last time, biding farewell to the crew as they leave the after party. They are standing on the curb, debating getting a car when Reggie finally pipes up "So now that the show is done are the two of you ever gonna make a move? I mean, I appreciate the wooing, but if you wanted me as a third all you had to do was ask."

Both girls sputter at that, red faced, and Carrie finally exclaims that they weren't even together. Reggie scoffs "Well you could have fooled me, because if you're not, you totally should be." Carrie and Julie exchange glances at that, and Julie slowly extends a hand to her. Had they really been fooling themselves all this time? Carrie takes Julie's hand, and smiles, but then they both pull Reggie into their arms.

"C'mon sugar, you too," Carrie says, and he smiles as the car pulls up. When the cabbie asks for an address, Carrie gives hers, and they spend the rest of the ride exchanging sweet kisses between the three of them, the strains of the shows final number still buzzing around their brains as they drive off.

[artificialqueens]

You're the One Thing (I Can't Get Enough Of) {Branjie}- athena2

A/N: Brooke has messed up in her and Vanessa’s relationship, but she’s going to do whatever it takes to fix it. This is for @writworm 42, who requested a fic where Brooke has messed up and makes it up to Vanessa with candlelight and looking pretty and a slow dance, and Writ is awesome and I love them so I had to. I hope it’s somewhat like what you imagined, and I hope you enjoy! Please leave some feedback if you’d like! Title from “I’ve Had the Time of My Life” from Dirty Dancing.

—

Night has fallen, a dark blue sheet over the world, when Brooke finally exits the conference room massaging her temples, ears still ringing from a board member’s yelling.

She pulls out her phone on the way to her car, stomach growling with the knowledge that she’s consumed nothing but a cup of coffee all day. 15 minutes and she’ll be home, eating dinner and kissing Vanessa—

There’s 5 voicemails and almost 30 texts, all from Vanessa.

Oh no. The phone shakes in Brooke’s hand, and it’s a good thing she hasn’t eaten because her stomach lurches.

Did something happen? Is she hurt? Is she sick? Her mind is overtaken by images of Vanessa trapped and bleeding in her car, or fighting for her life in the hospital, or scared because of something at work…she forces herself to breathe and opens up the messages, heart pounding.

Brooke

Where are you?

You’re supposed to be out early today remember?

Why are you late?

Brooke are you okay? You’re an hour late and I’m scared

Brooke?

Are you okay?

You’re almost two hours late

I just called your office they said you’re in a meeting. Did you seriously forget to leave early for tonight?

Whatever. Obviously your job is more important

Oh shit. Brooke’s heart creeps into her throat and the guilt slams into her like a tractor. Somehow, in between her rushed cup of coffee for breakfast and the two morning meetings and skipping lunch to perfect her presentation and the presentation itself and this meeting, she completely forgot that she had to get out early.

It’s her and Vanessa’s third anniversary.

And Brooke forgot about it.

—

“Will you just come, Brooke? You might actually enjoy yourself, you know,” Nina argues.

“At 80’s music night at the Rainforest Bar? Do I even need to dignify that with a response?” She shoots Nina the most scathing look she can muster.

“Okay, so maybe it’s not your exact idea of a good time, but please just come? You might meet someone. You haven’t been in a relationship since undergrad. I worry about you, Brooke.” It’s a clear guilt trip, but there’s such sincerity in Nina’s expression that she finds herself agreeing.

“Fine. But if I don’t have a good time, which I won’t, I get to pick the next movie for movie night.”

“Okay. And if you do have a good time, which you will, I get to pick the movie.”

“Deal.”

—

Brooke opens the back door and enters a fog of doom and misery in the kitchen.

“Look who decided to show up.”

Vanessa sits stiffly at the kitchen table, a murderous gleam in her eyes. She’s still in her flowing gold dress that she saves for special occasions. The table is bare, and Brooke realizes with a pang that Vanessa had given up on her and put it all away, removed all traces of the night they were supposed to have, with their fancy dresses and fancy dinner and candles and champagne.

Like she could no longer bear to sit and look at the broken promise Brooke had made of their night.

There is nothing she can say that will make this better, but she has to try. Vanessa deserves that much at least.

“Vanessa, I’m so sorry. I got caught up at work–”

“You’re always caught up at work!”

She can tell from Vanessa’s rage that this has been building for a while–and not without reason. Brooke has been coming home later than usual the past few weeks, falling asleep at her home desk as she reviews graphs and charts. She’s been telling Vanessa that things will be normal again once the quarter ends, but what if–fear grips her heart–what if her and Vanessa aren’t still her and Vanessa by the time it does?

“They scheduled a late meeting and it was mandatory–”

“Of course it was! And you know what? You wouldn’t have even been there for it if you left early like you promised!” Vanessa leaps to her feet, betrayal and anger enabling her to tower over Brooke.

“I know. I’m sorry. It was a shitty thing to do and I–”

“One night I asked you to get out early. One!” She laughs bitterly. “Sometimes I think you like that job more than me.”

“Ness, I–”

“You don’t get to call me Ness right now.” Brooke detects tears chasing after the fury in Vanessa’s voice. “Why don’t you sleep at your desk tonight. You love sleeping there anyway.”

She storms up the stairs and Brooke restrains herself from following. Vanessa’s anger is like a landmine; you might take out everything in a 5-mile radius if you approach her when she’s still seething. As much as Brooke wants to race after her and talk and apologize until she’s repaired this, she knows she’ll only create more damage if she goes when the fire of rage is still burning through her wife, and she’s caused enough destruction already.

She finds their dessert for tonight, chocolate-strawberry tarts from their favorite coffee shop–where they had their first official date and Brooke was so nervous she poured sugar all over the table instead of in her mug–in the garbage, another casualty of Brooke’s forgetfulness.

Brooke steps into her home office, her appetite suddenly gone, a hard lump in her stomach now. She drops into her desk chair, still in her stiff pantsuit, because she doesn’t deserve the release of taking it off. She watches the sky brighten as it passes from dusk to dawn, a bright pink of new possibilities and fulfilled promises, as she formulates a plan.

She’s going to make this right.

—

Nina hums along to “Africa” at the table they’re huddled around, and Brooke is flooded with guilt for making Nina stand here with her miserable self when she knows Nina would rather be on the dance floor.

“Go dance,” Brooke insists. “Have fun. Don’t worry about me.” It takes another few minutes of coaxing and reassuring Nina that she’ll be fine before Nina sprints to the dance floor, immediately drawn in with a group of women.

Brooke sighs and sips at her drink, the oversized paper umbrella almost taking her eye out. She shouldn’t be here; she should be reviewing her presentation for Monday, making sure she’s caught every mistake. Maybe she could hole up in the bathroom and go over the notes on her phone. She sighs again. Why couldn’t she ever just let go and have fun like Nina encouraged her to?

“Hey there,” a rough voice surfaces at her side. “You okay? You lookin’ kinda stressed, Mami.”

Brooke looks up at the most beautiful woman she’s ever seen, brilliant white teeth exposed in a full grin, a jungle cat on the prowl, brown eyes bright under the neon lights, hair brushed back off her soft, smooth face.

“I–I’m fine,” Brooke manages, no longer sure how to form words.

The woman winks. “You sure are.” She bats her eyelashes and Brooke has to grip the table just to stay upright.

“I’m Vanessa,” the woman says.

—

Brooke calls in sick to work and is out the door before the sun is up the next morning, before Vanessa rolls out of bed to take her shower. Brooke can’t help but smile as she pictures the nest Vanessa’s hair is in the morning, how she always tries to convince Brooke to stay in the shower with her. All she can do is hope she didn’t mess up enough to lose those things.

The grocery store is nearly deserted this early in the morning, which is good because Brooke doesn’t want to know what she looks like, in yesterday’s clothes, hair up in a ponytail, running on a rough hour of sleep and not enough coffee. She shoves through the exhaustion and focuses.

Vanessa likes Caesar salad with extra croutons, she likes potatoes fried until they crunch, and she likes steak completely well done because any pink in it freaked her out. Brooke can barely make toast without setting off the smoke detector, but as she roams down endless seas of cans and boxes, her sleep-deprived brain declares that she can make all of these things for tonight.

She is going to give Vanessa the night she deserves, because Vanessa is the greatest person Brooke has ever known. She is somehow bold and brash yet kind and thoughtful, always armed with the right words for any situation. She can loosen the threads that have Brooke wound tight with stress over work conferences, make her laugh after a long day, nestle perfectly in her arms at night. The pain in Brooke’s chest is only growing as she thinks of the absolute wreck she made of everything.

How could she have forgotten the anniversary of the day she stood under a canopy of orange leaves and slid her ring on Vanessa’s finger and vowed to love her forever? Has her love for Vanessa lessened over the years? No, she knows that isn’t true. Her heart still speeds up every time Vanessa smiles at her, their hands still fly together like lovesick teenagers. She knows, even in moments when Vanessa has steam coming out of her ears after work or is frowning at her for editing presentations in bed, that she loves Vanessa more than ever. She has to show Vanessa how much she loves her in case the message has been lost lately with all her deadlines and meetings and stress.

Her next stop is the coffee shop to get new tarts, only to be told that they make those every other day. Brooke clenches her fists so tight she nearly bends her phone in half. She has to have these tarts. They’re Vanessa’s favorite, and nothing else will do. Vanessa should get to have her favorite dessert all the time, and especially now, but Brooke walks out the door with a polite thank you, because what’s she going to do? Get down on her knees and sob and beg the bored twenty-something behind the counter to make the tarts so she can save her marriage? (The thought does cross her mind).

Brooke gets in her car, pulls up a recipe, and heads back to the store.

—

Vanessa is tiny, barely at Brooke’s shoulders even in her sleek black heels, but with a voice and personality that make her double in size. Brooke easily lets her take the lead on the conversation, and by the time she finds out Vanessa is a schoolteacher a few years younger than her, Brooke forgets to be afraid, forgets about her presentation Monday, forgets everything but Vanessa’s eyes and smile across from her.

Brooke doesn’t even notice that hours have passed listening to Vanessa’s stories of what goes on in the teachers’ lounge at school, the DJ cycling through Madonna and Cyndi Lauper and George Michael, until the bartender announces last call and the soft strains of a familiar song from one of her and Nina’s favorite movies ring out.

‘Now I’ve had the time of my life…’

Vanessa squeals. “I love this song! Dance with me?”

She lets Vanessa pull her on to the dance floor, the brunette telling her over the music about how she and her friends all watched the movie for the first time at a sleepover when they were 12, how everyone drooled over Johnny but she couldn’t take her eyes off Penny, and by the end of the sleepover she knew she had a thing for blondes and did not have a thing for men.

Brooke just listens to that gravelly voice, feels the warmth of Vanessa’s body pulsing next to her, and when the song reaches its climax, she can’t resist leaning down and whispering into Vanessa’s ear.

“I can do this, you know. The lift, I mean.” Brooke clarifies at Vanessa’s confused expression.

“You’re shitting me!”

“I’m not.” Brooke grins. “I took dance lessons for 14 years, I know how to do it.”

“You wanna come back to my place and prove it?”

—

The first thing she sees when she gets home is Vanessa’s coffee mug in the sink, peeking out at her like a ray of sunlight.

The mug Brooke got her as a joke when they started dating, with a chalkboard and an apple on it proclaiming Vanessa to be the World’s Best Teacher. The mug she had plucked a ring out of the night she proposed to Vanessa, a night filled with happy tears and kisses and breathless repeatings of we’re getting married. The mug that Vanessa insisted be the first thing they unpacked when they moved into their new house.

Vanessa leaves the mug in the sink every morning and Brooke washes it every night when she gets home from work, relishing the calm motions and the memories of late breakfasts and kisses sweet with coffee and maple syrup bursting from the mug’s surface.

If Vanessa was willing to drink out of this morning after everything that happened, maybe there’s hope, and Brooke rinses the mug with a smile.

Then she lays out her supplies and gets to work.

Brooke can’t cook. At all. And she doesn’t mean it in the modest way people do when they don’t want to call attention to their talents; she means it in the way that Vanessa reaches for the fire extinguisher anytime Brooke gets within a foot of the stove. But she has double of everything she’ll need and seven hours until Vanessa gets home, and today is as good a day as ever to be optimistic.

Brooke slices and stirs and mixes and it distracts her from the fact that it’s radio silence on her phone all day. No cat videos or pictures of Vanessa at her desk with the funniest Snapchat filter she could find or an accusatory so guess what this hoe at work did today with the promise of a wild story that she would hear at dinner. It’s what she expected and it’s what she deserves. Hell, it’s probably more than she deserves; she wouldn’t blame Vanessa for sending her angry texts and screaming voicemails.

After a long shower, a thick layer of aloe vera over the small burn on her arm, three Minnie Mouse Band-Aids on the cuts on her fingers, one batch of tarts so deformed they could be a viral Pinterest fail, a once-white T-shirt that she doubts even bleach can save, and a salad dressing incident that required cleaning the ceiling, Brooke curls her hair, applies her makeup, and slips on her elegant black dress, the one with the plunging neckline that Vanessa likes because then she can put her hands all over Brooke’s chest.

She lights candles to set the romantic mood (and also mask the odor from the first round of potatoes she burned), arranges deep red and soft white roses in a vase, and props up the portable speaker as Vanessa drives home from the after-school program she helps with, probably blasting Rihanna and singing along with the windows open.

Brooke starts the music as she hears the lock click, preparing herself for the moment of truth.

—-

Vanessa is barely in the door before she has the song cued up on her phone, pulling Brooke into the living room with a wide smile.

Vanessa slips her arms around Brooke’s waist, rocking her into a slow dance as the first verses of the song play out.

The song builds to the lift, and Vanessa bites her lip and glances up at Brooke nervously.

“You’re not gonna drop me, are you?” she questions.

“I won’t drop you, I promise. I got you.” Brooke has never made promises easy, Nina the only person to typically earn them, but it flies out so naturally she doesn’t question it, and she knows she will never break it. She’s got a good feeling in her gut about Vanessa, and Brooke wants to carve those words into stone.

Vanessa nods, taking a few steps back before running at her, heels clicking on the floor, and Brooke settles her hands on Vanessa’s hips, going with the motion and lifting her high in the air.

“Holy shit, Brooke!” Vanessa shrieks above Brooke’s head. “I’m five-nothing, I never been this high! Well, except for that time my friend Silky made her ‘special’ cookies.”

Vanessa is quaking with laughter above her, legs flailing, and Brooke laughs and lowers Vanessa to the ground, hands still sturdy on her hips, and Brooke is thinking she might just leave them there forever. What does she really need her hands for anyway?

“I bet you use that trick on all the girls,” Vanessa accuses, still breathless, a smile between her flushed cheeks.

“Never,” Brooke says truthfully. “Never met anyone I liked enough to do it with.”

And then their lips meet, and that good feeling spreads to Brooke’s entire body. She may actually burst into flame, and she lifts Vanessa once more and carries her into–no, that’s the bathroom, Brooke unable to see anything but Vanessa–the bedroom, placing her down carefully and removing Vanessa’s dress.

They nestle into a breathless tangle, and there’s that feeling in Brooke’s stomach again. This time it’s telling her that this won’t be their last night together, that she’ll get to hold Vanessa close every night and wake up with sunlight glinting off Vanessa’s back every morning, kissing and laughing and getting pancake crumbs from breakfasts in bed all over the sheets.

She lets the feeling carry her off into sleep.

Vanessa makes waffles the next morning, and Brooke leaves with another kiss and a new contact in her phone, Vanessa’s name followed by a heart and dancing woman emojis.

Brooke gets two texts that afternoon.

The first is from Vanessa asking if she wants to go for coffee tomorrow. The second is from Nina stating that they’ll be watching Mulan for their next movie night.

—-

Etta James’s voice fills the kitchen as Vanessa steps inside, Brooke strategically arranging a playlist with all Vanessa’s favorite love songs, most from their wedding, when they spun around together and neither one could do anything but smile because they were married.

“Brooke?” Vanessa asks, her work bag slipping through her fingers and crashing to the floor. “You-you look so beautiful, and the music and the flowers…and you cooked?” She looks at the table in wonder and bites her lip the way she does when Brooke knows she’s trying not to smile.

“Happy anniversary,” Brooke says. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry about yesterday. I know that really hurt you, and I wanted to give you the anniversary you deserve, because you mean the world to me.”

“Brooke…” she’s not hiding her smile anymore, and her eyes are starting to tear up.

Brooke takes a deep breath, holding herself back from running to Vanessa just in case. “I love you, Vanessa. These have been the best three years of my life, and I still love you just as much as I did the first day. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’m going to work harder to show you that. I won’t be late at the office anymore, and I won’t be doing work stuff when I could be with you. Because you’re the most important thing in my life.”

Vanessa is in her arms the next second, breathing soft I love you’s into Brooke’s chest.

“I forgive you,” Vanessa whispers. “I love you so much, Brooke. I was so lonely last night, and I wanted to text you so many times today, and you did all this for me…this is the best anniversary ever.”

She plants a kiss on the top of Vanessa’s head, and then Vanessa runs upstairs and comes back in her gold dress, Brooke bursting into a grin and hit with that same flutter in her stomach like she did that first night, like she did the night they said their vows.

‘Unforgettable, that’s what you are…’ Nat King Cole lulls over them as they start on dinner, Vanessa updating her on the case of the teachers’ lounge snack-stealer with today’s new evidence.

“I think the food is edible,” Brooke offers as a disclaimer.

“It’s fine, baby,” Vanessa assures her, crunching on potatoes. “Hey, was that stain on the ceiling before?” she asks suddenly. “And why do you have so many Band-Aids on?”

“Just don’t ask,” Brooke blurts around her edible, actually-not-bad steak, grateful when “I’m Stone in Love With You” picks up and Vanessa’s attention shifts to another story.

Brooke is washing the dishes from the tarts (a little crunchy around the edges, maybe, but altogether decent) when it comes on, like she timed it (which she had, stalling on the dish-scrubbing for just the right moment).

‘Now I’ve had the time of my life…’

“Brooke!” Vanessa squeals. “You didn’t!”

Brooke drops her washcloth in the sink and tugs Vanessa into the living room. “I did.”

The music sweeps around them and they join together in a slow dance, twirling around the living room laughing and smiling, that night years ago reflected in both of their eyes.

Vanessa takes a step back as the time grows near, searching Brooke’s face for the answer to an unasked question.

“I still got you,” Brooke promises.

Her hands are on Vanessa’s hips seconds later, Vanessa screeching up in the air while Brooke laughs beneath her, fingers exuding a promise she first made years ago into Vanessa’s skin, the promise that she will always be there for her wife, no matter what.

She brings Vanessa down into a kiss as the song fades out and melts into Diana Ross. Every kiss with Vanessa over the years has been special, but this one is fiery and desperate, filled with every need that went unanswered last night. Needs that Brooke won’t let be neglected again, because she isn’t going to put her job above her wife–her kind, passionate, fierce, loving wife–again.

She carries Vanessa up the stairs and this time she doesn’t have to search for a bedroom in an unfamiliar apartment because now it’s their bedroom, their home. Their life.

And she knows that tomorrow they’ll wake up and Vanessa will drink coffee out of that mug, and Brooke will wash it tomorrow night with a smile on her face, because even if the way she loves Vanessa has changed over the years, Brooke knows she has never loved her more.

[getitinbusan]

The Lost Boys Series: Kim Namjoon

Driving down the dark road you waited for the box of lights that kept the station illuminated to appear. In the distance you could just make them out, they were like a homing beacon in the night, and like a moth you just couldn't stay away.  It had been a bad day and only Joon could fix it. Your tires slowed as you pulled in, the headlights shining into the window alerting him to your arrival. 

He walked out and crossed his arms on your open window, resting his head on top of them he gave you a dimpled smile, "Full Service tonight Y/N?" Turning the ignition off, you climbed out of your large black Range Rover and walked around the vehicle to stand next to him. "I don't know why such a tiny girl needs such a big car," he chuckled while wrapping his arms around you. "Only the best for my family Joon, if it's not a status symbol it's not for us," you'd repeated your father's motto so many times it rolled out of your mouth too easily. He dropped his arms and began to walk away from you taking up a defensive position by the pump. "So what happened today? What pissed you off so much that you came looking to slum it with me?" He was unusually mad at your words, his face turned into a frown and his eyes looked sad. "Hey, Joon… what's going on? I thought we were both cool with this?" you questioned him but you weren't sure you wanted an answer. "I'm just trying to correlate how my dick is good enough for you but I'm not," and there it was. For the past 8 months you'd been showing up here whenever you needed him.  What was he to you? A friend with benefits, an ego boost, an escape? "Joon please, you know my situation. I can't just leave my fiance and disappoint my family. I thought you were okay with helping me let off steam." You walked over to him and laid your hand on his shoulder, "You're the only real thing I have in my life." Sighing he looped his finger into the waist of your jeans and pulled you close to him, "It's starting to hurt Y/N." You leaned your head onto his chest and inhaled, the smell of gasoline hung onto his clothes creating a scent memory that made you crave him.

 "What should I do Joon? You know how I feel about you but my family would disown me, I'd lose everything." You looked up at him hoping he could just understand. He knew he had nothing to promise you other than his love and his poetry, so he offered the one tangible thing he could,  "I'd take care of you in all the ways he can't," You began to say his name when he cut your words off with his lips. Gripping your hips he pulled you closer. "I know he can't fuck you like I can, you wouldn't be here if he could" he gripped your hair and ran his tongue up your neck sending shivers down your spine. Grabbing his hand you pulled him into the building, the bell ringing above the door frantically as you made your way into the store. You pushed him back against the counter and fumbled with his belt desperately trying to get it undone. "Right here?" he asked "Aren't you afraid someone will see?" Rubbing his hardened cock you stopped to look him in the eye and teased, "You're not getting shy on me now are you Joon?" He stopped you and cupped your face, "Y/N, I'm not the one with something to lose. I'll take you right here in front of the window if it's what you want." You dropped to your knees and kissed his bulge through his jeans stopping to bite delicately at the tip. A soft "fuck" escaped his mouth, "please baby"

You loved when he begged, nothing got you wetter faster than knowing how much he wanted you. Lifting his shirt you moaned at the sight of his pubic trail, your nose against his abdomen licking your way down its path. Popping the button of his denims you looked up at him while slowly working the zipper down. His blue boxers sat low on his hips and you pushed them down just enough to expose his rock hard cock. Reaching in you cupped your hand around his balls and rubbed them while he twitched impatiently waiting for your mouth. He looked beautiful with his eyes closed, his smile upturned, and his muscular chest moving with his heavy deep breathes. His cock always smelled like soap, and it turned you on thinking about how he must give himself a few gratuitous pumps in the shower, maybe thinking about you. Your head was spinning, you needed him, wanted to give him something more,  wrapping your arms around him grabbing his ass you thrust him towards you. Circling his beautiful firm pink tip with your tongue you teased the bead of precum leaking from his slit. "God you taste good" you let out before plunging him deep into your throat. The animalistic grunt he let out encouraged you to continue. Wrapping your fingers tightly around his base you held him firm while you pushed and pulled your mouth over his length working him into a moaning mess. 

Suddenly he stopped you, pulling you up into him he swung you around to the back of the counter and pushed you down out of sight. "Shhh," he whispered, you could hear a series of voices approaching. The bell chimed, you were no longer alone,  "Hey Joon, what time are you off tonight? Should we wait around?" It was a male voice speaking but hearing others in the background you guessed it was his band of housemates. "No, it's okay, I think I might be late closing tonight," he answered, trying to get them to leave. You decided to keep going, see how he'd handle a little head under the counter. Your hand was still wet with saliva so you began pumping his now softening erection, giving his exposed balls little kitten licks while he tried to hold a conversation. The frustration on his face trying not to surrender to the pleasure you were giving him was humorous. A deep voice broke through the others, "Is that the famous Y/N's Range Rover out there?" you froze, had he told them about you? He stammered trying to come up with an answer, "Yeah, it needs some work so she left it here." There was laughter amongst the boys and too many things being said, you strained to hear while keeping pace. "You love her", "You are so whipped Namjoon", "Are we ever going to meet her, I for one don't believe she's real", "I told you guys he wasn't going to break up with her like he said", "Yeah, I thought you said you were calling it off." You halted your movements in reaction to this information knowing his dick needed to not be in your mouth anymore. He glanced down at you on your knees hiding behind a gas station counter, unflattering fluorescents highlighting the tears glazing over your eyes, you were still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He felt like an asshole, his head hurt at the thought that this may be the last time he'd see you.  He had to explain, "Listen guys, the boss has been reviewing our shift tapes and I don't want to get in trouble for having you hanging around, I'll just meet up with you later back home" you didn't see it, but his eyes looked down towards the counter hoping they'd get the hint. "Oh! Shit, sorry Joon, ahh.. yeah we'll get going." The bell chimed, you were alone again.  

He reached his hand out to help you up and pulled you into his arms. "I'm so fucking sorry Y/N." You couldn't be mad, how could you blame him? You had a fiance, you were using him for sex, you knew he deserved so much more than you. "I guess we had to end it eventually," you said as a tear fell down your cheek. "Is it because you don't love me?" He shook his head at you, "Without you, there’s no me, you’re the best of me." You threaded your fingers with his and grasped his hand tightly, "I love you Joon." Kissing you softly he whispered, "I love you too." 

In a desperate last attempt, you tangled your fingers into his hair and pulled him closer to you, your lips became one,  your tongues searching for their counterpart. Lifting you up he placed you down on the customer service counter and moved to stand in between your legs.  As close as he was, it wasn't enough, "Joon I need you inside me" it sounded desperate but you didn't care, the thought of never being with him again was devastating. He gently caressed your cheek and wiped away a tear that lingered there with his thumb. "It doesn't have to be over, but you have to choose, I can't share you anymore," his hand slid under your skirt and his fingers moved delicately over your panties. "Don't talk, just let me prove how much I love you." Shifting the fabric to the side he ran his fingers through your wetness until he was coated enough to slide one into you. With one finger inside and his thumb drawing circles on your clit he used his other hand to unbutton your blouse.  Pulling down the cup of your bra he exposed your erect nipple and leaned in to circle it with his tongue. He was well aware that combining the two moves affected you in the best way. He knew your body, your needs, he could make you cum in seconds if he wanted to, but he didn't want to, not tonight. He let you enjoy a few more minutes until he stopped, getting on his knees he grabbed your panties and pulled them down tossing them aside. Pushing your thighs apart you could feel his warm breath getting closer to where you wanted him the most. His tongue moved slowly over your clit, circling and sucking as he slid his fingers back in. Taking his time, he languidly enjoyed every drop of excitement he coaxed out of you.  Your legs started to shake, and he eased himself away, "I need you to slow down baby, I want you to cum with me, okay?" You could only nod in agreement, your head was floating in the clouds incapable of coherent thoughts or words. His mouth met yours softly, and you moaned into the kiss. He pulled away and smiled knowing that tasting yourself on his lips turned you on more than it should. His stiff cock was still out and he couldn't take waiting anymore. Moving in to meet your entrance, the counter height lined you up perfectly. He slowly pushed into you and simultaneous sighs escaped you both. This was right, he belonged here, how could this be the end? You became a tangle of arms, legs and mouths, not wanting to miss any part of each other. Reaching the end, climax imminent, he held onto you tightly while he gave his final thrusts and came inside you. Neither of you moved, afraid to break away the tears rolled down your cheeks. His hand was in your hair and he whispered "I want to be a part of your page,  I want to Interfere in your story, as your lover." He fell out of you, now limp and pulled away, turning his back on you. He was zipping himself up and the permanence of it all hit like a ton of bricks. "Joon, please…" you pleaded, "I just can't anymore," he choked out through his tears. "No, listen to me… please…Joon, take me home," you placed your hand on his shoulder and he turned back to look at you. His eyes were red and his lips were quivering, "My home?" you nodded. He was at a loss, "It's not what your used to Y/N, it's dirty and I live with 6 guys… "Joon, as long as I'm with you it doesn't matter. With you, anywhere will be my home."

[analyzingdestiel]

DESTIEL REVIEW OF 6X10: CAGED HEAT

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

SCENE 1

Castiel is watching TV, while Sam and Dean sit at a table, doing research.

Castiel: It's very complex.

Dean: Mm-hmm.

Castiel: If the pizza man truly loves this babysitter, why does he keep slapping her rear? Perhaps she's done something wrong.

Dean: You're watching p*rn? Why?

Castiel: It was there.

Dean: You don't watch p*rn in a room full of dudes. And you don't talk about it. Just turn it off. [to Sam when Cas looks down at his lap] Well, now he's got a b*ner.

There's a knock on the door. Dean goes to open it, finding Samuel.

Samuel: This what you boys do, sit around watching p*rnos with angels?

Castiel: We're not supposed to talk about it.

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

REVIEW OF SCENE 1

So Castiel watches p*rn out of curiosity. He reacts differently here than he's reacted to this sort of thing in the past. Perhaps because it's on television and not real life. Rather than fearful, he becomes physically aroused.

I am curious as to whether his vessel reacted this way because of his, Castiel's pleasure, or reacted that way because of Jimmy. Castiel didn't seem to enjoy the p*rnography, so much as he was very curious and confused by it. Though his vessel reacted to it as if he did enjoy it.

It becomes difficult at this point to understand. I feel for the most part that we were meant to view this as Castiel, himself, becoming aroused. Ultimately that is what's happening, though we could go deeper into the idea if we wanted to.

Technically even we have a vessel of sorts. Us on Earth are not purely physical; we have an energy that is merely housed in a physical body. We are not purely physical beings. And when we become aroused physically based on our thoughts or preferences, we consider this US becoming aroused, because we reside in this body. So perhaps even if the vessel is not his original body, that it is, in a way, still his body and reacting according to his own thoughts. For instance, when he moves his hand, it is not moving because Jimmy wants it to, but because Castiel wants it to. He is controlling the body. So that would mean most likely that Castiel's thoughts, or vibrations, is what caused the physical arousal. Jimmy, in a way, is gone. Castiel's driving.

So I feel he could have been attracted to the man, he could have been attracted to the woman, or could have been attracted to both.

Dean: You don't watch p*rn in a room full of dudes. And you don't talk about it. Just turn it off. [to Sam when Cas looks down at his lap] Well, now he's got a b*ner.

Dean shows discomfort, though this is to be expected. Not only are they with Sam, but Dean is not at the point where he would be with another man in a sexual manner. I base this off his previous scenes; he's far too fearful of this sort of thing at the moment.

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

SCENE 2

Meg grabs Castiel by the neck and kisses him, at the Same time removing his sword. Castiel pushes her up against the wall and returns the kiss with interest.

Meg: What was that?

Castiel: I learned that from the pizza man.

Meg kissing Castiel I don't feel was anything significant. She is often a sexual being. Castiel's reaction to it was interesting. He took what he saw in the p*ornographic video and applied it. I feel it's apparent that Castiel wouldn't have done this is she hadn't kissed him. Did he respond this way out of desire or because he felt that this is what beings with physical bodies are meant to do? I don't feel that Castiel loves her. This isn't entirely against Destiel, but it certainly isn't for Destiel either. The reason it isn't against Destiel is because Meg initiated it for one. For two, it is clear that Castiel loves Dean; the fact that he hasn't kissed Dean is because for one, Castiel doesn't seem to have considered physical intimacy until now, and for two, Dean shows obvious discomfort over two males becoming intimate on an erotic level. In the previous scene, Dean made it quite clear that he does not want Castiel engaging in any sort of sexual activity while in his presence. And this may or may not be related, but I feel it is obvious that Dean has never felt for Castiel the way Castiel feels for Dean. It's always been one-sided and I feel Castiel is aware of this. Even if he does love Dean, and doesn't love Meg, Meg is not only receptive, but she is also the initiator which Castiel needs considering his lack of an understanding of physical intimacy. And Dean at this point certainly isn't going to initiate that sort of thing.

So I feel what happened with Meg in this scene is not even related to love at all. When it comes to who Castiel loves, that would still be Dean, as always.

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

SCENE 3

Castiel reappears suddenly.

Castiel: Leave them alone.

CROWLEY: Castiel, haven't seen you all season. You the cavalry now?

Castiel: Put the knife down.

CROWLEY: You that bossy in Heaven? Hear you're losing out to Raphael. The whole affair makes Vietnam look like a roller derby. Hey, what's in the gift bag?

Castiel [taking a skull out of the bag he's holding]: You are.

CROWLEY: Not possible.

Castiel: You didn't hide your bones as well as you should have.

CROWLEY [claps mockingly]: Cookie for you.

Castiel: Can you restore Sam's soul or not?

CROWLEY: If I could help out in any other –

Dean: Answer him!

CROWLEY: I can't. Castiel incinerates Crowley's bones. Bye bye, King of Hell. Meg vanishes into thin air.

Dean: Well, she's smart, I'll give her that. I was gonna kill her, too. [to Cas] 'Course, I'd have given you an hour with her first.

Castiel: Why would I want that?

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

REVIEW OF SCENE 3

Castiel protects Dean and Sam and also saves Meg. Though it is not clear if Castiel deliberately saved Meg or if he was more concerned with Dean and Sam. I did notice that he didn't look at Meg during the scene but did look at Dean to make sure he was alright. And Castiel makes it clear that his reason for appearing was to get information for Sam; though Sam had threatened him previously so perhaps it was for this reason. **I want to remind you here, that I predicted Castiel would come when Sam called next time, because Dean told him to in 6x3.** Ultimately I feel Castiel would have saved them whether Sam threatened him or not, especially considering he has been the one to save them quite a few times.

Dean: Well, she's smart, I'll give her that. I was gonna kill her, too. [to Cas] 'Course, I'd have given you an hour with her first.

Castiel: Why would I want that?

Castiel doesn't show any upset after Dean saying he was going to kill Meg. I don't feel Castiel has any sort of emotional connection to her. I feel that Castiel kissing her was because she had kissed him and he saw very recently that this is what you do when someone kisses you. Perhaps on some level, Castiel was curious and liked it, though I feel it was a physical thing more than an emotional thing.

Here we see that Castiel hadn't considered becoming physically intimate with her on any other level. Perhaps he would have if under different circumstances though at this point it seems he hadn't considered it and that he doesn't really even understand what Dean was referring to. Though with Dean saying "I was going to kill her" and "I'd have given you an hour with her first" and Castiel's response of "why would I want that", it feels to me as if he felt Dean should just kill her and not give him an hour with her. He didn't seem affected by the kiss, at least not at this point.

Bottom line, the kiss with Meg, I feel for Castiel wasn't of import. Though I do feel it meant something for her and I get the feeling that it’s not over between them.

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

SCENE 4

Dean: Thanks, Cas. Hadn't it been for you –

Dean thanks Castiel. These moments where Dean shows appreciation of Castiel are rare so I feel they are important to mention.

Castiel: Crowley was right. It's not going well for me upstairs.

Dean: If there's anything we can do –

Dean offers to help Castiel, which is also a rarity. He often asks for help from Castiel but doesn't often offer it.

Castiel: There isn't. I wish circumstances were different. Much of the time I'd rather be here.

Castiel admits he'd rather be on Earth than in Heaven. I relate this to Dean because I feel that is what Castiel relates to the most. He's made this apparent in previous episodes and that hasn't changed at this point.

Dean: Look, Cas, we know you got a steaming pile on your plate. There's no need for apologies. We're your friends.

Dean makes it clear yet again that he considers Castiel a friend.

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

DESTIEL REVIEW OF EPISODE OVERALL

I certainly can't up the rating with this episode considering the kiss didn't happen between Dean and Castiel. Though I also won't take from the rating because it wasn't Castiel's idea and Castiel doesn't seem to have any emotional attachment to Meg. I also question entirely whether or not Castiel kissed her back out of desire or because he felt it was just "what humans do".

I don’t feel the need to bring sexuality into it at this point. Castiel is not against being with women, but that does not mean he is against being with men. I feel it’s different for an energetic being. I don’t feel energetic beings would set limits on this sort of thing especially considering humans who are against being with the same sex have been taught to be this way. Castiel hasn’t been taught to be against loving the same sex. And considering the physical body he is using is not even his actual form, I don’t feel sexuality is really even relevant at all where Castiel is concerned.

Ultimately I still feel that Dean matters most to Castiel.

The rating doesn’t go anywhere where Dean is concerned, either. Even now their friendship doesn’t feel entirely solid. He also didn’t show any jealousy toward Meg and Castiel kissing. Also, last season Dean really didn’t have much of a reaction to Castiel dying. And at this point he seems like he considers Castiel a business partner most times but that every once in a while he will consider him a friend. It’s never gone above “friend” where Dean is concerned. At the moment it’s see-sawing between “business partner” and “friend”.

The rating stays the same.

DESTIEL RATING AFTER EPISODE (based on how believable): 4.5/10

[whifferdills]

As promised~ (1/3) A prompt that I think you'd do wonderfully at, if you're up for it: 12/delgado!master, some h/c in the form of talking things out + maybe cuddling, takes place before 12 meets Missy. The two accidentally bump into each other on neutral ground (like a bar, y'know, but it doesn't have to be a bar? A place where 12 isn't being righteous and the master isn't being evil, they've both just come to this place bc they want to and the other just happens to be there).

(2/3) 12 is like oh shit the timelines, the master can tell this doctor is far older than him. As he has not met missy yet, 12’s most recent memories of the master are of simm, who is far more unstable and violent. 12 is jumpy around this version of the master even though it hasn’t happened for him yet. Delgado can tell something is off, asks him about it- even though they’ve had their spats, the doctor has never been this nervous around him. Aforementioned talking things out and h/c ensues-            

(3/3) -perhaps somewhere quieter (TARDIS?). Basically I just need delgado being steady and sure and relatively gentle (compared to the violence of simm) with a skittish and nervous 12 who honestly just wants to hide- but delgado won’t let him until they’ve talked things out since this is so uncharacteristic for the doctor. (12 tries to make timeline excuses but delgado just points out that he’ll forget). Bonus points for cuddling, the master being a rock that keeps anxious!12 grounded?            

i feel like i can do a better job of this but this is what i wrote so

uh

“To Here Knows When”Delgado!Master/12Gennish with some implications, ~2.5k words

Oh, look: there he is again. He’s absolutely everywhere, a sloppy mess strewn across the universe. Leaving a trail of shit and/or smarmy egotistical do-gooder nonsense in his wake. The Doctor.

The Master realizes he’s said that last bit out loud when the barkeep looks at him strangely. “Move along, nothing to see here,” he says, putting some oomph into it. The barkeep moves on.

Not any face he’s met yet, or at least he thinks so - timelines, paradoxes, it’s all a bit of a jumble on the best of days. But he is fairly certain that this one is new. To him, to the world at large. All raw post-regeneration energy, lived with a bit but not fully dissipated. The uncertainty with how he operates his own skin and bones. And a face as striking as that, the Master would like to think he’d remember seeing it before.

His glass is empty but the barkeep is doing a thorough job of following his suggestion. He picks it up, savors the last few drops, staring through to this new Doctor. Alone, apparently. Nursing a half-full glass of something brown. The timeline is creaking around them. This is wrong, the two of them here. It’d be wronger still for them to actually meet.

Thankfully, neither of them have ever had much time for rules. The Master takes advantage of the barkeep’s resolute, studied avoidance to duck behind the counter and grab a bottle of something very old and very expensive, and makes his way over to the Doctor.

The music and the crowd growing louder, too loud, and it doesn’t matter. Might as well be silent, here, now, between the two of them. The world dropping out, just as it always has, despite his best efforts.

You, the Doctor says. Mentally but clear enough it could have been spoken aloud.

And you. The Master is slightly disappointed: the Doctor’s traditional obliviousness to the Master’s presence when under the thinnest of disguises has always been a great source of joy. No disguise now, though. However: a great deal of time.

Far, far too much time. The wrong kinds of time. There’s a Gordian knot of tragedy, atrocity, violence, and so, so much time sitting at the center of the Doctor. The Master feels unusually young and untarnished, comparatively speaking - he does not, of course, let on.

He fills up his glass and tops off the Doctor’s. “I haven’t seen you in centuries. Still insufferable, I trust?”

“Last time I saw you, you were committing suicide by Chancellery Guard.” The Doctor’s tone is flat, brusque. He’s staring straight ahead, at the wall of bottles glinting bright in the spot lighting.

“I imagine I had a plan,” the Master says.

Think you just wanted to die, which was better than you deserved, the Doctor bleeds out, seemingly unwillingly. “Always do,” he says out loud. “So what brings you to town? Genocide? Apocalypse? Another cunning plan?”

“There’s an interesting paleontology exhibit involving what are probably vortisaurs at the local otherwise-worthless backwater-town museum; I had some spare time. I’m specifically here in this bar because I wanted a drink and it had good Yelp reviews. Yourself?”

The Doctor curls in on himself, simultaneously ready to withstand a fight and itching for flight. Knuckles gone white wrapped around the glass. “Avoiding responsibilities. Hiding. Trying to get drunk.” He takes a deep drink of the scotch - such a waste, such things are to be savored - and slams the glass back down on the counter. “S'not working.”

He’s got the expression, the body language, the mental presence like he’s in the company of a ghost, and like he’s not even bothering to process that completely, and like he’s daring and/or begging the Master to do something, anything. Jittery, cocky, half-flung into whatever void. It’s half-familiar and half completely and unsettlingly foreign.

The Master swirls his glass, watching the light play off the liquid. “Something happened,” he assumes. The timeline, again. Some questions should not be asked.

“You could say that.” For all he declared his sobriety, the words are slurred, and when the Master glances over his eyes are unfocused, watery.

Pushing his half-full glass towards the barkeep (still dutifully ignoring him) and screwing the cap back onto the bottle (and then squirreling it away into his deceptively voluminous coat pocket), he stands up, claps the Doctor firmly on the back. “Good to see you again, my dear, but I must be off. Til next time?”

Come with me, he thinks. Putting some English on it, turning it up loud enough for even the weakest telepath to hear.

“Yeah. Til the next time.” The Doctor’s still staring directly at whatever imagined middle-distance. Maybe his eyes flicker over, just for a split-second. Maybe.

The Master leaves, carving a path straight through the crowd. He waits for a while, outside the door, the fresh air hitting him harder than he would have expected or liked; waits just long enough to be sure the Doctor is following him.

He could kill the Doctor. Loose and elsewhere as he is, it wouldn’t take much. It never does happen, though. The Master makes a mistake, the Doctor has a stroke of good luck. Or vice versa. One way or another, neither of them ever wins. Or loses. Neither of them ever dies.

The Doctor stumbles along behind him. Does he know he’s this much? This violent spill-out, harsh and brash, all live-wire energy? Probably not, self-awareness was never his strong suit.

“Let me guess. You’ve infiltrated the local…fish people, and you’re using them as leverage to stage a coup on the palace, which will enable you to be Queen of Hell for all eternity.”

“Like I said. The natural history museum here has a fantastic exhibit of vortisaur skeletons.”

They reach the front door of the house the Master may or may not have killed one or more people to acquire, and may or may not be now technically squatting in. He pulls out his keys, the metal jingling. The Doctor stares at him, unfathomable, endless and slightly pathetic and brutally focused.

“Didn’t know you were capable of existing in anything other than a castle or a crypt,” the Doctor says, looking at the Master like he can see completely through him, and like he’s managing to not see anything at all.

“Needs must,” the Master says, opening the door to the modest terraced home, sliding the keys back into his pocket, alongside the stolen scotch, and closing the door behind them.

Once inside, the Doctor seems entirely more sober. Nervous, wary, nosy. Opening drawers and pawing through bookcases. Leaving things knocked off on the ground, like an especially petulant cat.

The Master goes to put the kettle on for tea. It’s only polite, after all. He leaves the scotch in his pocket for a rainy day. They’re both drunk enough, wouldn’t do to go overboard here.

“I’m more for coffee, these days,” the Doctor calls out. There’s a muffled thump, and then a muffled curse, and a brief burst of activity. “Extra-sweet.”

“I don’t have any coffee, I’m afraid.” He considers pulling out his best biscuits - this Doctor is whipcord-lean but he’s always had a sweet tooth, they would undoubtedly be appreciated - but it seems a bit too much. Too homey. A normal thing for normal people. And besides, he’s run low, and what’s left he’d rather keep for himself. He closes the cupboard door, saving the Hobnobs for the future.

There’s another round of crash-noises and invectives and the Doctor appears in the doorway to the kitchen, hair on end, breathless. “You gonna kill me?” he asks. The question seems to be genuine.

He considers. Maybe. Possibly. Right now? No. “Potentially,” he says, pouring the boiling water into two mismatched mugs. The Doctor nods, distracted, watching the steam rise.

They’re drinking tea, normal as you like. The Master with a pleasingly angular, modernist sort of contraption, black with lemon; the Doctor with a Sports Direct mug filled alarmingly close to the brim with milk and sugar. It’s an absurd situation. The timeline is straining around them; if he does want to or plans on killing the Doctor, it won’t work out. It never does.

And besides, the Doctor feels as much like luck and ashes as he ever has. More so, too much so. Clinging to life out of spite and a clumsy, unacknowledged self-assurance; unkillable, unknowable. The bastard’s been hanging on by the skin of his teeth and the confidence of an old-blood Time Lord for as long as the Master can remember. That contradiction of a Lungbarrow orphan, both privileged and left for dead. And now: like that’s happened over and over and over again.

Plus, apparently, a whole entire war (or two) and then some other hinted-at things; the Master does not ask for, as the Doctor would call them, ‘spoilers’. The Doctor is babbling, as is expected; insults, braggadocio, stream-of-consciousness asides. It’s almost charming. The Master is, despite himself, nearly charmed.

In a moment which may be described as weakness, the Master reaches out, puts his hand on the Doctor’s wrist, when he’s looking especially broken and like he doesn’t realize that oh, and the last time I died is not anything meant to be said in a normal, casual tone of voice - he puts his hand on the skin exposed when the Doctor’s cuffs ride up on a dramatic gesture at the tail-end of an especially excited sentence.

Mistake. A misjudgment. The Master internally rolls his eyes as the Doctor slaps his hand away.

“Don’t,” he snaps. Voice hoarse, more high-pitched than it’s been these past few hours. Stands up, takes two steps back, vibrating like he’s trying to shake right out of his skin. A look in his eyes like part of him is somewhere else entirely.

The Master holds his hands by his shoulders, palms open, placating. No threat here, see? “That’s changed as well, then?” He does not betray the mix of insult, disappointment, a certain undefinable sense of loss-to-come.

“I beg your pardon?” The anxiety and distance drift closer to a more familiar absent-mindedness. Familiar in a slightly wrong way, though, as if he’s flipping through a list of all the people he’s been and trying to decide which one he’s meant to be now.

“You used to like it when I touched you.”

The Doctor huffs a breath roughly through his nose: a laugh, nearly. “Yeah. That. Ah, d'you remember, when we were kids?”

Most of it, yes. The Master waits patiently, mentally sorting through and cataloguing how the familiarity has slipped into something more particular. Cadence, accent, the way the Doctor is holding himself now.

“They said I had a natural aptitude, for the.” He gestures at his head. “Psychic stuff. And then they said I had no discipline, couldn’t control it, and they were right. Think I made it to one of the workshops. Out of fifteen. Passed on the second go, though, got there eventually. But it’s like that, now. Again. Touch a damn rock, I can feel it, all of it. Touch anything sentient - well. And you…”

Poor thing, that’s an unprecedented amount of sharing in general and it appears to be especially overmuch for this one. Must’ve taken it out of him, the dear. The Master tries to not overtly, pruriently enjoy the raw, raspy, cracked desperation in the Doctor’s voice.

(And there’s more there, more than just that admission. The way the Doctor is looking at him, scared, judgmental; something will happen there. He chooses not to push. What will come, will come. No sense getting tangled up in the will-be’s.)

“I could put my gloves on,” the Master says. And maybe he can enjoy it, just a bit. “You used to like it when I wore gloves.”

The Doctor laughs again, a touch more genuine this time. “I did, yeah.”

“We had fun, didn’t we,” the Master says, chuckling with only the barest, most delicate amount of Evil Charm. He stretches out, hands settling down by his sides: on the edge of his perception, the softest of mental brushes, he can feel the Doctor blaring out indiscriminately on all channels. The confused dread, the self-loathing, the bit-down-on panic; a snapshot of the Master’s gloved hand closing around his throat, around the cock he’d apparently bumbled into giving himself, pale and reedy as the rest of him (the Doctor had never been any good at the very basic task of choosing a goal during regeneration, but he’d previously chanced once or thrice on a version of the far superior interior genitalia; not this time, apparently).

In this moment of tender vulnerability, the Master politely only spends approximately 15% of his attention on what’s between the Doctor’s legs. He isn’t an animal. And he can sense that the blatant eroticism is, if not exactly forced, then something born more out of nostalgia - out of familiarity - than anything the Doctor truly wants.

So.

The Master withdraws as he moves his physical body closer. The Doctor flinches, but stands his ground, a predictable ‘go on I dare you’ expression on his face. The Master retrieves his gloves from his coat pocket - the Doctor flinches again, and speaking of nostalgia: that skittish fuck-off/fuck you/fuck me/fuck this wildness is erasing the outlines of this Doctor and leaving a small, defiant Thete in their wake.

“I’m not going to fuck you,” the Master says.

The Doctor exhales. Disappointed? Relieved? Something else entirely? “Didn’t say you would.”

“But I would like - ” The Master breathes in carefully, leaning only just against the spiky edge of what the Doctor is. “Forgive me. I’ve become sentimental in my relative old age. And I’ve missed you.” He says it like he means it, and potentially he does mean it, but there’s enough camp and irony there for it to not mean anything at all. “May I hold your hand?”

The Doctor stares at him, eyes wide, brows furrowed. The tea’s going cold, the Master is losing his patience.

“When you knew me,” the Doctor starts. Very carefully, enunciating clearly in that accent he has now. “Was I a good man?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” the Master says. Fantastic, more ego-stroking.

“Because I’m not entirely sure, now. Of either of those.” The Doctor is still staring, and he’s so open and vulnerable and, in the cheap lighting of this cheap house, impossibly beautiful, and he’s, what, looking for the Master’s approval?

He tries not to appreciate that too much. Closes a firm mental fist around whatever it is that’s building up inside him. In the both of them. “You are eternally, obnoxiously ‘good’.”

This is maybe the right answer. The Doctor doesn’t quite relax, but when the Master extends their hand in the human fashion, the Doctor takes it, and then lets himself be pulled forward. The Master’s arm around him, the Doctor leans against his chest, head tucked under his chin, nuzzling against the fabric of his coat.

It should be embarrassing. It is embarrassing, a bit, but it’s also…nice? Ammunition, for sure, the next time he comes up against the Doctor. Remember that time you wanted to cuddle?

He should say something, now. Make a move. He has his plans. But they can wait, surely. He can bide his time. And, Rassilon help him, he can’t quite bring himself to hurt Thete. Not now, not like this, not when he’s clinging to him like an angry limpet. So he leads him to the bedroom, pulls the covers back, glares just hard enough for Thete to get his boots off at least, and then tucks the two of them in. At a safe distance, his hands nearby but not touching, his face close but not too close. The Doctor looks like he’s torn between fear and a long-lost sense of peace.

“We’ll forget this,” the Master reminds him. “So why not just enjoy it?”

“This, yeah. Whatever it is,” he mutters. “Probably a scheme. Bet you’d like me forgetting it, so you can go do your dastardly deeds without me trying to stop you.” But he breathes out, and the edges of him soften, and they are almost, almost holding hands.

(Either of those, he’d said. He’d been a girl, once. The Master rolled the pronouns around in his head, trying to come up with the right word for this arsehole currently curled up and sighing, squirming incrementally towards him. The Doctor shifts around, and nudges their back against the Master’s chest, and then they both briefly black out; the idiot never did know how to regulate their telepathy.)

[carbonjen]

you are a fantastic author and I always love it when you open up your prompts! and if you're still taking them: dick is the author of a popular book (under a pen name, of course) and Jason is the book store clerk who unknowingly recommends dick's own book to him

I’ll admit, I feel like I’ve been depriving you guys of the JayDick prompt fills you really deserve so today, I decided to write something on the longer side. This was a really fun prompt and could easily become a 10k plus fic. 

Between the Lines

One of the best things about working at a bookstore was that sometimes, if Jason’s boss was feeling really nice that day, he would be able to read the new releases for his favorite series early. Selina, the owner, would close up shop and put Jason in charge of putting out the new books, and as soon as the displays were out, Jason would be curled up in his favorite chair in the break room reading the newest books before anyone else could. 

Selina was especially nice and let Jason read the next book in what was Jason, and apparently the rest of the world’s, new favorite series The Nightwing. Jason didn’t know how John Robins put out so many good books in a row. A series usually lost its steam, and if the series didn’t lose its steam, the author did. Somehow, John Robins knew exactly when to end the series and go on new adventures and the world ate it up. 

So many people, including Jason, wanted to know more about the man, but he was anonymous, only making the occasional post to his social media accounts. The closest thing he’d done to an interview was an AMA on a popular website, and the book world had practically exploded. John Robins behind a keyboard on social media was just as verbose, but he made puns, and jokes! Jason had read over the interview more times than he’d like to admit. 

It was a quiet day in Selina’s shop, there had been a little buzz over the past week when the new Nightwing book had come out. They’d had a small release party and had sold out of all their copies within a few days. The new stock had come in quickly and from what Jason knew, the publishers were working on printing a second edition of the book already. 

Jason was sitting behind the counter sipping tea and reading through one of the week’s new releases. The staff in the shop read through the new books that came out and liked posting little reviews of them on the shelves for the clients in the shop. While The Watermelon Killer was an interesting read, it wasn’t Jason’s favorite. 

“Is that one any good?” A smooth tenor voice asked. 

Jason startled and looked up. In front of him was a handsome stranger. They got attractive people in the shop pretty frequently and Jason had gotten his fair share of phone numbers, but this guy was something else. He had golden tanned skin and bright blue eyes framed by wavy black hair. His features were complimented by a fitted black peacoat and a blue scarf. 

“Uh,” Jason looked at the book. “It’s an interesting concept,” Jason said as he saved his page and set the book down. “But the execution proves that killing people with watermelons isn’t really all that practical.” 

“I haven’t read it yet,” the stranger said. “Does the killer use frozen watermelons at all or just fresh?”

Jason smiled. “You think he would use frozen if he was dropping them on people with the intent to kill them, but they’re all fresh so far.” Jason said. “If you’re looking for a good murder mystery, John Robins took a break between the Birds and Bats series and the Nightwing series and wrote a pretty good mystery novel. It’s probably one of the more popular ones in the shop. 

“Oh really,” the stranger smiled at him and Jason felt like he was missing out on something. “I’ll have to check it out then. What other recommendations do you have?” 

Jason hopped off the stool he was sitting on. “I can show you,” he offered, gesturing to the shop. Normally he wouldn’t do this, but Jason was willing to make an exception today. “We read and write recommendations a couple of times a week,” Jason said as he pointed to the piece of paper on the shelf with the hand written note. There were small notes with reviews from the staff all over the shelves. “What genre are you looking for?”

“Hmm,” the stranger put a hand on his chin. “Fiction.”

“What type of fiction?”

“How about your favorites,” the stranger suggested. 

Jason led the man on a tour of the shop, pointing out his favorite books along with some of the worse ones he’d read. The guy had read a few of the things Jason pointed to, but he also started collecting a small pile in his arms.

“Okay,” the stranger said. “Last question, I promise. What’s your favorite release this month?”

“The new John Robins book,” Jason said. “Hands down. The guy consistently writes really fresh, new stuff, without it being bad. He knows how to write a story, and he knows how to write books,” Jason said. “Which believe me, they’re two different things.” 

“Okay,” the stranger said as he picked up one of the copies that was on display near the register. He put it on top and Jason started scanning the books. “What was your name again?”

“Jason,” he said with a smile. “Jason Todd.”

“Nice to meet you, Jason Todd,” the stranger said. “I’m Dick Grayson.” 

They stood in comfortable silence while Jason finished scanning the books that Dick was burying.

“So,” Dick said when he swiped his credit card. “Would you want to go out sometime?”

Jason looked up and he couldn’t help the smile on his face. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Dick slid his phone across the counter and Jason put his contact information in while the credit card machine processed the purchase. Dick sent Jason a text and he smiled when he heard his phone buzz under the counter.

“I’ll text you!” Dick said as he took his bag and walked out of the store. Jason watched him as he left. Dick had long legs, clad in dark blue denim, and he looked almost as good from behind as he did from the front. 

-

“You were right about the whole cat motif,” Dick said as he sipped at his coffee. It was their second time meeting up to talk about books. The first time, they’d gone to lunch and their discussion had gone on for so long that the manager had politely asked them to leave while they prepared for dinner. Jason and Dick had laughed and gone out for coffee immediately after. 

“I know,” Jason said. “Sometimes it’s a bit much with the cat meowing, but I think it was an interesting way to show that someone was about to die. I wish it had been more subtle though.”

“I actually read something once,” Dick said. “Where characters drank water right before they died. It was a more aquatic themed novel though so everything water related was a symbol for something.”

“Wait,” Jason asked. “Was it Flow?” 

“Yeah!” Dick smiled. “I probably read that one three times and I found something new every time. I don’t know how the author packed so much imagery into one book without it feeling overloaded.”

Jason liked his dates with Dick, they talked about everything under the sun, but the book discussions they had were always great. Dick was so expressive when he got excited about something he’d read. Sometimes they went in depth about their favorite parts of a book, and other times, they both laughed over the terrible things they’d both read too. 

“Okay,” Dick said after a few hours. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Want continue this and get some dinner?”

“Yeah,” Jason said. “That sounds great.” 

They decided to go to a local place that bragged they had the best burgers in Gotham. While they walked, Dick’s fingers brushed Jason’s on occasion and Jason took Dick’s hand in his own. Throughout the rest of the night, the casual touches continued, Dick’s fingers brushing his, an ankle brushing under the table, and Dick was looking at him with softer glances than before. 

They left the restaurant and started walking down the street. “This was fun,” Jason said. 

“Yeah,” Dick agreed. “I almost don’t want it to end.”

“It doesn’t have to,” Jason replied, voice soft. Dick looked up at him. 

“Can I try something?” Dick asked. 

“Yeah,” Jason replied as they stopped walking. Dick cupped Jason’s face with his hands and closed the distance between them. Jason’s eyes slipped shut as their mouths slotted together, one kiss turning into two, which turned into three and then blurred into something else before they both pulled away. 

“My place is just a few blocks from here,” Dick offered. 

Dick was just as expressive and passionate in bed as he was about the books he and Jason talked about. His body was tight and beautiful and they whispered sweet compliments to each other as their bodies connected. Jason had fucked people before, but with Dick it felt like something else entirely. 

“That was amazing,” Dick said. His body had a sheen of sweat that made him glow in the faint lighting in the room. 

“Yeah,” Jason agreed. “The thing you did with your…that was incredible, Dick.”

Dick laughed. “Thanks,” he said with a smile on his face. He pressed a kiss to Jason’s lips and they got lost in their bodies again.  

The next morning, Jason woke up and he smiled when he saw the warm body next to him. Dick’s face was slack with sleep, still beautiful even though his hair was sticking up and his mouth was open. Jason pressed a kiss to his forehead and made his way to the bookshelf that lined one of the walls of Dick’s bedroom. He looked over it and he saw a box in the corner that was partially open. Jason knew better than to snoop, he really did. 

He looked over his shoulder and nudged the cardboard over a bit to look inside. He was met with several new copies of the new John Robins novel, all in different languages. On top of the pile was a note that said, “world famous!” and Jason looked back over his shoulder. 

This didn’t mean. Did it? Jason got back in bed, pulling Dick into his arms and going back to sleep for a few more hours. 

Later, while he was making them breakfast and Dick was checking the news on his tablet, Jason couldn’t bear the weight of what he’d seen any longer. 

“Hey Dick?” He asked as he turned around. 

“Yeah?” Dick asked without looking up from the tablet. 

“This is going to sound weird, but why do you have a box full of international copies of the new John Robins novel?”

Dick looked up at him with wide eyes. “I uh..I was…”

“Oh my god,” Jason said. “You’re John Robins, aren’t you?”

Dick smiled awkwardly, shifting in his chair. “Guilty?”

“When were you going to tell me?” Jason asked. 

Dick shrugged. “I wanted to make sure we were serious first,” Dick told him. “I can’t tell every person I date I’m John Robins otherwise the whole anonymity thing will be ruined.”

“So are we?” Jason asked. 

“Serious?” Dick asked. He pushed his tablet aside. “I’d like us to be if that’s what you want, but I don’t want to put any pressure on you. And because you know about John Robins, you’ll have to sign and NDA and I didn’t want you to think I was being an asshole about it because I trust you, but the publisher is-”

Jason cut Dick off with a kiss, smiling when he heard the little yelp Dick made. They kissed until the smell of burning pancakes caused Jason to jump and run over to the stove, scraping the burnt one into the trash. 

“You know I was always wondering why you never talked about the John Robins novels with me,” Jason said as he plated the pancakes. 

“Really?” Dick asked.

“Yeah,” Jason said. “I thought you didn’t like them but you were afraid to tell me.” 

“It feels a bit weird talking about your own book like that.” Dick said. “Trust me, it’s so…odd.”

Jason put the dishes in the sink and sipped at his tea. 

“So,” Jason asked as he put a plate in front of Dick. “Does Brendan Cross make it out of the jungle alive?”

Dick grinned. “I don’t know. I guess, you’ll have to wait and see.”

“Tease,” Jason said as he sat down next to Dick and put syrup on his own pancakes. 

“That’s what writers do best you know.” 

“Oh yeah,” Jason said with a grin. “I noticed last night.”

Dick blushed and slapped his arm, but the smile on his face said it all. 

A few months later, John Robins released a romance novel that shot to the top of the best seller list. 

[comshipbracket]

Antis DNI - Block the tag "comship" if this causes discomfort.

Remember, you are voting for the ship you prefer, not the ship you find more problematic

Propaganda for both ships under the cut.

Disclaimer: All ships (other than the now-eliminated NozoCoco) on this bracket are FOLLOWER-SUBMITTED ships, the Mods do not always hold necessary knowledge to be aware of any errors or fanonizing what should be canon material that may arise.

Lucifadam Propaganda (Harmful Dynamic)

"Lucifer is a fallen angel while Adam is still an angel, leading an army of exorcists that slaughters Lucifer's people annually. He's constantly killing demons, and Lucifer has basically given up trying to prevent this after several attempts. However, he has that protective fire reignited in him when Adam decides to go after Lucifer's daughter - and Lucifer makes a comment that many take in a more suggestive fashion than Lucifer intended. They're SO unhealthy for each other, but that one comment eliciting that kind of reaction sparked fun ideas for their ship in my head, so I wanted to submit these two together."

Stannarrator Propaganda (Codependency, Toxic Power Dynamics - In most endings)

"The Stanley Parable is a game about The Narrator wanting to tell a story through their game but having to rely on the Stanley's choices. The core of the game is that Stanley and The Narrator are bound to each other: Stanley needs The Narrator to make the "parable" he lives in, and The Narrator needs Stanley to make the choices that drive the story.

The Narrator clearly has the most power in this dynamic, since he can alter the world the Stanley lives in: modifying the rooms, creating and deleting objects at will, reloading the game, altering Stanley's perception, knowing almost everything and being almost everywhere. But, despite all that power, he isn't able to control the one thing that keeps his story existing: Stanley's choices.

Okay, spoilers to both the original 2013 game and the Ultra Deluxe remake from here on out since it's impossible to talk about them without spoiling a lot of the endings.

In one of the new endings on the Ultra Deluxe remake, the Skip Button ending, The Narrator creates a button that lets Stanley skip his dialogue `inspired` by a bad Steam review, but when Stanley clicks this button The Narrator is left all alone in that room, and which each click the skip becomes longer, from minutes, to hours, to weeks, to months… And in the fifth skip (where Stanley stays frozen for like, one, two weeks), The Narrator breaks up, talking about how he needs Stanley to listen to him and how scared he is of slipping back into the silence he passes through every time we use the skip button. In his own words, `I can't lose myself in the stretch of emptiness between you and me.` Of course, since it's the only way to advance in this ending, we skip again, and again, until The Narrator ends up eventually disappearing after the 12th or 13th skip, leaving Stanley alone in a desert, and that's where the ending stops, though it continues on the Epilogue, but I'll leave some things to add as propaganda during the polls.

Despite this, The Narrator still has more control of the situation than Stanley, like on the Explosion ending, where he traps Stanley in a room while the building's destroys itself as consequence for choosing to activate the Mind Control Machine instead of shutting it down to free everyone. He keeps acting like Stanley is nothing but a vehicle for him to pass a message through his story. `Watching you try to make sense of everything and take back the control wrested away from you…it's quite rich. I almost hate to see it go!` `You're only still playing instead of watching a cutscene because I want to watch you for every moment that you're powerless, to see you made humble. […] You wanted to control this world; that's fine. But I'm going to destroy it first, so you can't.`

But there's one point where they're equal, they both want to free themselves. On the Museum ending, we meet a being that is higher than The Narrator, the Female Narrator (yeah, that's her name), and she gives the best description of the relationship between these two: `Oh, look at these two. How they wish to destroy one another. How they wish to control one another. How they both wish to be free. Can you see? Can you see how much they need one another? No, perhaps not. Sometimes these things cannot be seen.`"

[comshipbracket]

Antis DNI - Block the tag "comship" if this causes discomfort.

Remember, you are voting for the ship you prefer, not the ship you find more problematic

Propaganda for both ships under the cut.

Disclaimer: All ships (other than NozoCoco) on this bracket are FOLLOWER-SUBMITTED ships, the Mods do not always hold necessary knowledge to be aware of any errors or fanonizing what should be canon material that may arise.

Stuilly Propaganda (Abusive Dynamic)

"Billy is bent on murderous revenge, and Stu is the fucked up little person who's along for the ride. Their killing spree climaxed with symbolic mutual penetration as they stab each other as part of their scheme to pin it all on the film's final girl. The way they touch each other is affectionate to the point of intimacy. When their plan is out, Stu can't keep his hands off of Billy."

HaniMori Propaganda (Cousins, Pseudo-Age Difference - There isn't one, but Haninozuka looks much younger)

"Mori will literally do anything for Honey and it’s so cute!! You see them together in almost every scene they are so close"

Stannarrator Propaganda (Codependency, Toxic Power Dynamics - In most endings)

"The Stanley Parable is a game about The Narrator wanting to tell a story through their game but having to rely on the Stanley's choices. The core of the game is that Stanley and The Narrator are bound to each other: Stanley needs The Narrator to make the "parable" he lives in, and The Narrator needs Stanley to make the choices that drive the story.

The Narrator clearly has the most power in this dynamic, since he can alter the world the Stanley lives in: modifying the rooms, creating and deleting objects at will, reloading the game, altering Stanley's perception, knowing almost everything and being almost everywhere. But, despite all that power, he isn't able to control the one thing that keeps his story existing: Stanley's choices.

Okay, spoilers to both the original 2013 game and the Ultra Deluxe remake from here on out since it's impossible to talk about them without spoiling a lot of the endings.

In one of the new endings on the Ultra Deluxe remake, the Skip Button ending, The Narrator creates a button that lets Stanley skip his dialogue `inspired` by a bad Steam review, but when Stanley clicks this button The Narrator is left all alone in that room, and which each click the skip becomes longer, from minutes, to hours, to weeks, to months… And in the fifth skip (where Stanley stays frozen for like, one, two weeks), The Narrator breaks up, talking about how he needs Stanley to listen to him and how scared he is of slipping back into the silence he passes through every time we use the skip button. In his own words, `I can't lose myself in the stretch of emptiness between you and me.` Of course, since it's the only way to advance in this ending, we skip again, and again, until The Narrator ends up eventually disappearing after the 12th or 13th skip, leaving Stanley alone in a desert, and that's where the ending stops, though it continues on the Epilogue, but I'll leave some things to add as propaganda during the polls.

Despite this, The Narrator still has more control of the situation than Stanley, like on the Explosion ending, where he traps Stanley in a room while the building's destroys itself as consequence for choosing to activate the Mind Control Machine instead of shutting it down to free everyone. He keeps acting like Stanley is nothing but a vehicle for him to pass a message through his story. `Watching you try to make sense of everything and take back the control wrested away from you…it's quite rich. I almost hate to see it go!` `You're only still playing instead of watching a cutscene because I want to watch you for every moment that you're powerless, to see you made humble. […] You wanted to control this world; that's fine. But I'm going to destroy it first, so you can't.`

But there's one point where they're equal, they both want to free themselves. On the Museum ending, we meet a being that is higher than The Narrator, the Female Narrator (yeah, that's her name), and she gives the best description of the relationship between these two: `Oh, look at these two. How they wish to destroy one another. How they wish to control one another. How they both wish to be free. Can you see? Can you see how much they need one another? No, perhaps not. Sometimes these things cannot be seen.`"