#dammit juliet

[cherrytea556]

Being aroace is like living as a background character lol.

[an-aura-about-you]

I got an email saying the local ballet company is performing Romeo and Juliet around Valentine's Day and I'm like, "No. This is coincidence. They are doing this because that weekend is also the long weekend closest to my birthday and Romeo and Juliet is my favorite of Shakespeare's plays."

[pebblezone]

Living life yay huzzah yay

[theglamourswornthin]

saw right through my silly little guy facade

like. right fuckin through.

made a uquiz

[ncis-nerd]

Don't you worry darling

theatre actor r! x stage manager!natasha romanov

warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, sensory issues, panic attacks, crying.

Marvel Masterlist

a/n: not based off true events .. juliet if you see this... no u don't 😭

"Dude!! You're clothes are getting wet!!" Your castmate, Kate exclaimed. "Huh?" You looked at her confused. Your clothes were sitting perfectly on top of your bag, on the chair..Were they not?

Your eyes glanced towards the chair where your stuff resided at, and there were gone. SHIT- You rushed to pick it up from the tray of water but it was too late, the damage was done.

You were in an off Broadway play, sharing a dressing room with 13 of your cast mates, plus the guys from the other play. They kept the room so disgusting and you got the smaller room out of the two. But at least yours had a window and now had air conditioning. A downside to the air conditioning is that it would leak, so they had to get a tray to let the water fall into.

You knew it was risky putting your stuff so close to it but you just wanted to stay out of people's way. It was hard being squeezed into a tight, sweaty dressing room with 13 other people.

So of course, you didn't know how to react when you picked up your shirt, hoodie and pants, all drenched in the freezing water bin. Stupidly, you left it on top of your bag and rushed out. Keep it together, keep it together. Don't cry. You locked yourself in the bathroom, tossing cold water onto your very red face. Tears streamed down your face.

What were you suppose to do? Your clothes to change back into were wet, you can't wear your costume home and you'll get sick wearing wet clothes on a 2 hour train ride back home. Not to mention uncomfortable, due to the texture.

After a minute of attempting to calm yourself down, you exit the bathroom. As you open the door to the dressing room, you noticed members form the other cast have migrated in there as well, like Tony, Steve, Bucky, etc. "Y/N! Come join us in cards!!" Maria exclaimed. "No.. it's okay" you mumbled, as they shut the door.

It was way too crowded in there and you did not want to go in there. Instead, you looked for your director Natasha or the stage member Wanda or literally anyone that could help. But no one was there, so you stood there pacing. Don't start crying again, don't start crying. Your hand rose, taking its place on your scalp. Your fingers ran down your hair, a nervous tick of yours.

Finally, after fighting back years, you start to feel drops run down your face. "Yeah and she said- hold on I'll be right back!" You heard 2 of your cast mates, Kate and Yelena speak. You saw them when you came out of the bathroom but they went down the hall to gossip. Kate went into the bathroom and Yelena made her way back down the hall, towards you.

Dammit- she's gonna see me crying.. As Yelena starts to walk down the hall, she finds you crying in the corner. "Y/n- are you okay??" She spoke, her expressed worried. "I-i" You saw your assistant manager enter backstage.

Her eyes trailed onto yours, the brunette obviously concerned about you. "Someone knocked my clothes into the water and now it's all wet" you sniffles, fidgeting with your fingers nervously. A hitch in your breath and you could feel snot running down your face.

"Hey. Hey. It's gonna be all right, okay? We've got extra clothes, okay? Are wet clothes a texture thing for you?" Wanda, your assistant manager asked.

"No but it's gonna be uncomfortable wearing wet clothes for a 2 hour commute home" you said, wiping the tears from your face.

"I see you're an overthinker but try not to worry. We have dryers. I could put your clothes to dry?" The brunette asked.

"It's on the blue bag, close to the water tray. It's a hoodie, shirt and pants." You stuttered, trying to get your words out. "Okay, thank you, Y/n, I'll go grab it right now. Don't worry" she spoke softly.

You nodded as she entered the room, you saw her come back out with your clothes in her hand. "Luckily it's not too wet but I'll still go ahead and dry that for you." She smiled.

As the brunette left, you sat by the door. Not wanting to go back in the crowded room. You heard a loud "YEAH!!" or stomp or overall odd sound, come from the room. "That can't be good.." Wanda sighed, not bothering to go check it out.

Yelena and Kate, and a few other people from the other play whom you didn't know were chilling outside the room, so you just sat there with them. Not paying much attention to their conversations, just on your phone.

"I WIN!!" A voice screams from the room. "That sounds..." Kate trailed off. "Welcome to my world!" Wanda hummed, making her way back on stage.

--

FUCK, how could you be so stupid! You finally mastered your cues but managed to fuck up the one line you had. Everyone else did so good! "And I don't!" Mj exclaimed. Shocking everyone with how much she had improved in practing her monolouge. Your castmates went over to praise her. "You did so good!" "MJ THAT WAS AMAZING!!" you join them for a moment but then you dig your fingers into your palm. Don't you start crying. Not here, in front of them.

You made your way back to the dressing room, with the other girls. Yesterday you saw Maria sit under the dresser counter, it looked comfortable and most of all- isolated. You sat down, bumping your head in the procress. "Ouchh" you groan softly.

Your head took it place on your knees, you covered your face and began to sob quietly, you literally have the easiest job. Only 2 lines, and a few cues. It's not that hard. How could you screw that up?

"Time for notes!" Your stage manager Natasha exclaimed, entering the room. You didn't budge but no one seemed to notice you and you were greatful for that.

"Maria you really surprised us all back there, that was incredible!" Natasha smiled, praising the girl. "Yeah that was epic!" Another voice said. You recognized it, it was May, another one of the managers. You thought it was only Natasha there, is Wanda also there?

"And y/n?" Natasha paused. "Y/N? Are they asleep? Are they okay?" You heard her speak. A bunch of mumbles filled your ears, they were overly sensitive like that. Natasha took the hint to move on after no movement or words from you.

After the managers had left, they said you and your cast could change out of costumes and were dismissed. You rushed out, making a run for the bathroom before it got crowded. You had snot dripping down your shirt and needed to wash your face.

When you were done, you looked around. For someone, Natasha or Wanda. To explain what had happened and that you weren't just slacking off. But you saw no one. Kate left the dressing room, "Hey have you seen Wanda?" You mumbled, trying not to cry. You felt a big gulp in your throat. "Yeah I think she might be on stage." Kate smiled softly. "Could you get her for me, please?" You mumbled, once again fidgeting with your fingers. Kate nodded and you stood backstage, waiting. As she left, Natasha entered. "Hey! Y/N? What happened?" Natasha spoke softly, with an ounce of concern in her voice. Her face filled with sympathy. "Do you want to talk?" You nodded and thats when Wanda entered the room. They led you out of the theater and somewhere more private to speak.

You were nervous about being in there because the company that owns the theater had told you guys that you weren't allowed to hang out or be in there. But you ignored it, as they were trying to be accommodating to the best they could.

You took a seat next to Natasha, Wanda standing. "I forgot my lines, I froze and I forgot my lines but everyone else did so good." You sniffled. "Hey, it's okay. You messed up but you know that you did, you know you made a mistake so that's progress! Is there anything you need?" Natasha spoke softly, her eyes focused on your teary ones. "...Water" you mumbled, Natasha and Wanda left the room. Natasha was the first to return with a cup of water. "Wanda went to check on your clothes." Natasha said, when you noticed that Wanda was gone.

You nodded and tried to break the silence. "Do you have any notes for me?" You asked. "Are you sure you want to hear that right now?" Natasha shot you a hesitant look. You nodded, "Yeah, please?" "Alright, if that's what you want. Could you be louder in the songs? We couldn't quite hear you from the back. And then there's the note about how you froze but you know so that's pretty much it." Natasha spoke softly.

Wanda entered the room, with your clothes and a shirt. "So your clothes are mostly dried, your shirts still a little wet. We can leave that here to dry, I gave you my shirt." Wanda smiled, putting a hand on your shoulder for support, before she left. "I-im gonna go change, if that's okay?" You spoke. Natasha nodded.

..

this baby has been sitting in my drafts for months bruh. pls don't flop i know there's barely any intimacy but i wanted to try to keep it as real as possible

[margowritesthings]

ROMEO AND JULIET: II

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐜𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧.

series masterpost part I

pairing: low honour!Arthur Morgan x O'Driscoll!reader (f) word count: 5107 words warnings: 18+ minors dni, sexually explicit, low honour Arthur, rough sex, fingering (r receiving), oral (r receiving), blood play, knife play, gun play, touch of cnc, dirty talk, degradation, enemies while lovers, violence, murder, choking, low honour Arthur being sexy af (yes it needs its own warning) authors note: okay, it's been a whiiiile for these two crazies, but part 2 is finally here!! i gave this one my all, i hope y'all enjoy <3 i have a plan for this series that's mostly built on requests ive received, so if y'all have any suggestions please feel free to drop them in my asks!!<3 as always thank you to my darling Bea for being my cheerleader throughout getting back to writing. couldn't do it without ya <3beta read by @cowboydisaster

taglist: @cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @counteveryfreckle @elifsukirdaghehe @reaveries @delilah-grimes @mrsarthurmorgan7 @twola

Thanks to Arthur, and your own terrible decisions, it is far from the easiest ride back to camp, your bare, sticky skin uncomfortably grinding against your saddle with each movement your steed makes. Also thanks to Arthur, ironically, it isn’t the roughest ride you’ve ever had. You’d actually be hard pressed to find a harder ride than the one you experienced just minutes ago. It infuriates you, how unbelievably satisfied you feel despite everything. It’s bone deep and unlike anything you’ve felt with any of the other men you’ve been with. It even dopes your mind up enough to allow you to reach the bridge out of Saint Denis before the real regret sets in like a gypsies fuckin’ curse. 

You urge Tybalt, your snow white Arabian, faster, almost frantically squeezing your calves and verbally ordering his gallop. The saddle burn is searing, but it’s not nearly as bad as the ice water that feels as though it’s being dumped over your head when you realise what you’ve done. 

Arthur Morgan.

Arthur Fucking Morgan.

Fucking Arthur Fucking Morgan.

You don’t even really remember how it happened. It’s a complete blur of pleasure and pain and the smell of Arthur’s smoky breath and the feel of his calloused hands against your softest, most sensual parts. One minute, you’re gathering information, planning just how you’re going to loot the bastard, the next you’re bleeding for him, burning for him as he takes you under the orange glow of the streetlights.

The wind whips at your cheeks painfully, the skin of your thighs ripping against the hard leather of the saddle. The faster you ride, the more it hurts, but you’re grateful for it. It's the perfect punishment for what you’ve done, a painful distraction from the thoughts plaguing your mind of you fucking someone who considers your father’s killer a father to him. To add insult to all the injury, you have to go back to camp empty handed. You didn’t even think about the job Morgan is probably off finishing right now after finishing you, which is probably exactly what he wanted.

“God fucking dammit!” you scream out into the swamps of Lemoyne, scattering a few birds from the trees into the inky night sky. 

Tybalt carries you home, but in your current state you simply cannot face your family and the other gang members. It's 4am before all the lanterns are distinguished and you can finally hitch up and bring yourself to enter camp, tying Arthur’s jacket tighter around your waist and walking as quietly as you can back to your tent. You don’t sleep, despite longing for nothing but your cot the whole time you were waiting. 

Your jeans burn faster than expected. 

If only you could burn the rest of the night to ashes just as quickly.

═══════☆═══════

It’s been three weeks since you’ve seen Arthur Morgan. Actually seen Arthur Morgan, that is. Three weeks of good old Uncle Colm handing you the shittiest jobs as punishment for your failings. Three weeks of trying so damn hard not to bring yourself back to that night every time you’re alone in your tent, but finding it near impossible. It takes 9 days for the bruises on your thighs to fade and 14 for the cuts on your neck, though the constant reminder of your sins lies just on your inner thigh, where Arthur’s knife ripped your skin as you came undone in his arms. The scar shines in the candlelight, only seen in the dead of night when you’re alone, shamefully tracing the same lines Arthur did with your fingers over and over, chasing that rush you know deep down you won’t find without him. He haunts you, and yet you’re infuriated each and every time his cocky goddamn smirk somehow shows up in your deepest fantasies. 

It’s not your fault. You can’t even get yourself off without brushing against the mark he left on you. Hell, he may as well have branded his name into your leg. Bastard.

These are the grievances you grumble to yourself near nightly, the battle you fight with your subconscious even now, as the lock to the gunsmith’s clicks open in your nimble hands. The old door screams out the tale of years without oil for its hinges when you push it open, stepping inside into the dark, empty room. You’re far too focused on everything you shouldn’t be focused on right now to check over your shoulder before slipping inside, but in your years as an outlaw that mistake is yet to cause an issue.

The moonlight streams through the windows, the panes casting shadows of crosses on the shelves and the weapons adorning them. Your tired eyes scan your surroundings, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lip at the sight of those beautiful weapons, all yours for the taking.

The owner of the store almost certainly lives upstairs, so when the weight of your boots on the wooden floorboards makes them creak underneath you, you wince. Yes, you’re more than prepared for any disturbances, but you’d rather not have to deal with the hassle of shooting some guy in the face. A quick job, in and out, and you can get back to camp victorious and not think about Arthur Morgan.

You start with the ammo, loading the leather bag up with all the little boxes. The shells and bullets make such beautiful music to your ears as they clatter around their cardboard boxes, a song of abundance and a successful loot that you could listen to all night. When all the side pockets are full, you turn on your heel, spurs scraping against the wood as you begin to survey the shelves upon shelves of weapons. They appear to be organised well, the rifles in one corner, repeaters next to them, there’s an entire wall of pistols, some glinting in the moonlight that breaks through the dusty window, with all the other types delegated to an area of the shop each. It’s a beautiful sight for an outlaw, especially when you see the cabinet of knives and start to imagine all the different places you could shove them into Arthur’s ridiculously muscular body…

You’re getting off topic. 

The floorboards groan under your weight again the moment you start pacing the shop to grab at least two of each kind of gun. For each that goes in the bag for camp, you grab another, ever so slightly better one for yourself. You’ll carry them out separately and tie them up to Tybalt once you’re out of this place. That’s the plan, at least. 

It takes you the longest to pick out the knives, each one possessing a captivating reason to be your favourite. The carvings on all of the different handles are stunning, each blade almost glowing right to their pointed tips. Guns are great, but you’ve always been fond of the art form of blades. You reach for one, an ornate dagger that seems to shine brighter than the others, its handle carved into a beautiful, twisted scene. There’s a woman in the middle, flames wrapping around her legs and waist as the Grim Reaper holds her from behind. The detail is incredible, each bony finger of Death himself gripping into the woman’s hip. It almost takes your breath away, but something beats it to it. Someone beats it to it. 

“Aw, shucks, I caught another stray!” Arthur exclaims, all sarcasm and bravado as your gasp gets stuck in your throat. How the hell did he sneak up on you? You can’t even breathe without the wooden floorboards threatening loudly to collapse in on you. 

You set your jaw, grinding your molars and letting out a long sigh through your nose. You don’t turn around to face him, not wanting to look at him for fear everything will come racing back again.

“Fuck off, Morgan. This job’s mine. You’re too late.” 

He takes two long strides forward until he’s right behind you, which you only know thanks to the buzzing of energy tickling your back. How you can feel him without actually touching him, you may never know. But you do, and it clouds your mind something awful. 

“Now now, little stray. Don’t we share jobs? I seem to recall you tryna’ claim some of my takin’s a few weeks back.” 

Your grip on the ornate handle of the knife gets tight enough to turn your knuckles white, but you still refuse to face him, telling yourself it’s so you don’t have to look at his stupid face and absolutely no other reason. 

“And if you’ll recall, I took nothin’ from you.”

“Not for lack’a tryin��, princess. I think we both remember just what I had to do to you to stop ya’...” he taunts, low and gravelly. It vibrates against your back.

Even with your back to him, you can picture so clearly exactly what shit eating smirk he wears right now, as Arthur reaches up to the nape of your neck, running his knuckles so softly down each vertebrae of your spine, melting your very bones. For some reason, you allow yourself a moment- just a moment- to indulge in it, to let that tingling feeling spread like ripples in a pond crafted by his hand, before the immense effort you have to put in to not moan audibly slams you back into reality. You spin to face Arthur, braid whipping the air around you from the speed of it as your new weapon is pushed against Arthur’s throat, the tip threatening to slice open his jugular.

“Now you listen here, Morgan, and you listen good. That night never happened. You had a knife to my goddamn throat, you took whatever you damn well wanted from me and I’ll be damned if you take one more single fucking thing. Now get out of my fucking sight and let me do my job.”

Despite your white hot rage, despite the sharp metal nearly being forced through his windpipe, Arthur is still smirking, and by god if that doesn’t throw more fuel onto your burning fury. He scoffs a laugh out, swallowing hard enough for his Adam's apple to push back into the blade, making a point that he isn’t in the slightest bit scared of you. When he leans in, your arm follows, your resolve to slice his throat open dissipates into the thick air. Arthur reaches up, wrapping thick fingers around your wrist to pull it down away from him. For some reason, a reason you’ll spend an eternity searching for, you let him, you chest rising and falling as you attempt to merely exist without the growing tension cutting you apart limb by limb. His breath tickles your nose, and his lips are so close to yours you’re sure he’s going to kiss you, but he stops no more than half an inch away from you.

“You know I took nothin’ from you that you didn’t freely give me, little stray.”

The insinuation shatters that lie you keep telling yourself, the version of events where Arthur forced himself upon you and none of this is your fault. You know he’s right, but admitting that to yourself would break you, does break you. But you can’t break in front of him, can’t allow the slightest crack for him to prise open and reveal your true self. You hate him so much, that much is the truth, but there’s so much hiding behind that veracity that you can never allow to see the light of day nor the glow of the moon. 

You grit your teeth, jaw painfully twitching from the strain of working the muscle so hard since Arthur’s presence has begun to drown you. The fire in your eyes burns threateningly, but it’s taking more and more to keep it aflame the closer Arthur’s wandering hand gets to cupping your cheek. Without breaking the stare tethering you together, you reach up with cat-like reflexes to grip his wrist, stopping him just before contact is made.

��Get out, or I’ll scream and everyone will know you’re here.”

You’re at an impasse yet again, Arthur clutching your wrist with a near bruising force, you gripping his with his hand suspended in the air. It’s silent, save for the deafening buzzing of electricity cracking between you. Arthur chuckles, the sound coming from deep in his chest and reaching the depths of you.

“You think that’s a threat, woman? Scream in fear of me, scream for me while I take that pretty little cunt of yours again, it don’t matter. Ain’t nobody gonna come runnin’ to save you.”

He lets go first, because he knows your threats are empty. He knows you’re clenching down tight on your molars because it’s the only sensation distracting you from the heat pooling between your legs and he knows you want him just as much now as you did that night in the alleyway. Arthur Morgan always gets his way, it would seem. And you’re no different. 

You don’t expect him to release you, so the silence between you fragments and slices you when you drop your blade to the ground with a loud clatter. Anybody upstairs definitely would have heard that, and you’re infuriated that Arthur is ruining the first decent job you’ve been given in weeks, as much as your anger is overshadowed by… other sensations.

“We’re… we’re trespassing. They’ll call the law, ain’t you a wanted man, Morgan?” There’s no integrity to your words, no more fire, only an apprehension that you pray to god he can’t detect. 

He sneers, “And you’re here to what? Clean this bastard’s floors? C’mon, O’Driscoll…” At that, Arthur kneels down, picking up your discarded weapon. He drags the blade lightly up your inner thigh, making it all that much harder to suppress the little moan building from the sensation. He spins the dagger so that the blade is in his hand, offering it back to you. You look down at him while you take it, enjoying the sight of the notorious Arthur Morgan kneeling before you like this more than you could ever admit to yourself. “You know we’re just as wanted as each other.” 

His words strike a chord. A lonely chord, in a lonely song of two lonely souls who can never let anybody else in. In your line of work, closeness is danger, it’s risk and it’s not worth it. Nobody outside could ever understand… except him. You know the stories of the Van der Linde gang, of Arthur and his son and suddenly it all makes sense, why he’s chasing you like a hungry cat after a mouse. It’s the same reason you didn’t stop him the first time, the same reason you haven’t screamed like you’d threatened to, the same reason why you’re going to let him do this all over again. That closeness… you need it, even if it is with a man you can’t bring yourself to stand. You’re just as wanted as each other… just not by anybody who matters.

He watches in real-time as you realise all this, as you figure out that the man you hate most in the world is the only one you could possibly let in. It’s maddening, infuriating, and now you need a distraction. And you’re going to take it. 

You meet each other's eye, spotting the challenge hanging between you to see who will be the first to break. You feel the tension infiltrating your body, stealing the breath from your lungs and setting your skin aflame and you know the only way to stop it isn’t through extinguishing the flames but fuelling them. You need to burn with Arthur until there’s nothing left but ash and soot. 

You spark, while your oxygen gets ever closer. Arthur takes a few slow steps forward, and it’s only when his smoky breath infiltrates your senses do you realise that despite everything, you have never kissed him. He backs you up against the display case until there is nowhere for you to escape, your lips so close you can nearly taste the whiskey on him. Your heart hitches in your throat, convinced he’s about to break the barrier you didn’t cross before. 

Arthur doesn’t kiss you, instead growling deep in his chest as he sniffs, trailing his nose from your collarbone to your jaw. You shudder, your shirt suddenly feeling much too tight on your form.

“W-What are you-”

“Exactly what you want me to, little stray.” He whispers, “Or should I-”

“No. D-Don’t stop, I-” 

He doesn’t let you finish your request, knowing exactly what it is before the words can leave your lips and you’re grateful, it means you can hold full deniability after the storm just like you did last time. Arthur grasps your collar in each hand, tearing your shirt apart and scattering your buttons across the floorboards. Your nipples feel the cool night air only for a moment before one is taken in Arthur’s mouth, the other pinched between his calloused fingers. It’s too much and not enough all at once, and you feel the heat and moisture pool in your underwear at the very thought of what's to come. You need more. Now.

Your nails dig into Arthur’s shoulders, pushing him to his knees before you with a force enough to bruise him. It is an addicting view, Arthur kneeling for you, and it’s not one you’re about to pass up again. His hands are quickly on your belt, unbuckling it to access your buttons and zipper to slide your jeans and panties down your legs. Clothes discarded, he grips into your thighs and spreads them, diving into your heat like it’s a source of oxygen. There’s no teasing, no featherlight touches nor gentle licks… no, he takes your clit in between his teeth, the sharpness shooting everywhere as he begins to suck. It catapults you. To where, you have no idea, but it’s incredible, otherworldly, and enough to make you instantly forget where you are. You mewl, tugging at Arthur’s locks as he begins to lap your juices up like a man starved. Say what you will about Arthur Morgan- and you do, often- but by god does he know exactly how to make you feel good. 

You’ve never had a man take you like this, with you standing above him while he bows to you, and it takes near everything you have to not let your legs buckle beneath you. Somehow, you know Arthur would catch you, but you’d rather not find that out right now. 

“Fuck…” you breathe out amongst moans and whimpers, hips bucking against Arthur’s face. His stubble burns against your thigh beautifully, each and every sensation of the moment working harmoniously to send you to dizzying levels of pleasure. You ride Arthur’s face, bare feet pointed on your tiptoes to allow him better access as you climb closer to nirvana. Your nails scratch hard against his scalp, wordlessly letting him know just how close you are, silently demanding he doesn’t dare stop. Arthur sucks hard on your sensitive little bundle of nerves, his teeth catching it every so often in the sweetest pain you’ve felt in… well, about 3 weeks. It hurtles you over the precipice you’ve been dangled over, and you have to bite down on your lip so hard you draw blood. A coppery taste blooms over your tongue, your only sign that you’re still human despite the unearthly, ethereal sensations burning every inch of your body inside and out. 

When you reach what you assume to be the peak, the very edge of what you’re sure a human body can handle, the strength of your bite becomes no match for the need to moan out. It echoes around the room, a positively obscene sound that you can’t even really hear over the rushing of your own blood in your ears. 

“Quiet, goddammit.” Arthur grumbles, all but slapping his palm against your open, quivering mouth. Just as you think you’re about to come down from this immeasurable high, you feel two of Arthur’s thick fingers run over the part of your soaked slit that isn’t consumed in between his teeth. It’s the only warning you get before he plunges them deep inside you, curling to find that swollen spot he seems to have a map to. No barrier on this Earth or otherwise could stop the scream derived from pure ecstasy escaping your lips. The combination of the delicious suction Arthur has on your clit and the curved pumping of his fingers is a completely new level of euphoria. You feel so full before Arthur’s cock has even broken free from its denim confides and you’re not sure how much more of this relentless orgasm you can take without collapsing into him. 

You reach a crest higher than you thought possible, crashing back down into this realm as if your body is nothing but seafoam. Your chest swells with each laboured breath you’re finally allowed to take once Arthur removes his hand from your mouth, though you still can’t really see straight. Your mind is fuzzy, still trying to wrap itself around the concept that anyone could make you feel that good, so Arthur already has his zipper undone and is reaching to pull his cock out before you’ve even registered that he has stood.

After three weeks of Arthur only existing in your mind, you’d convinced yourself that your memory couldn’t possibly be accurate, that over a few lustful nights alone in the dark you’ve managed to exaggerate… but no. Arthur is, as much as you loathe to admit it, magnificent. Just as thick as you remember, with veins that wrap around his shaft like ivy throbbing with pure need. He’s almost too big, your overstimulated cunt seems to think, widening your eyes in awe to watch when Arthur begins to palm his leaking cock.

“I-I don’t think I can-“

“Oh yeah you fuckin’ can,” He grits, giving you no time to catch up with your own racing heart as he grips your thighs, lifting you up to perch on the glass counter of weapons and spreading you wide. Arthur surges up, spearing into you. He wastes no time, he needs not warm you up; after such a blinding orgasm, you’re already soaking for him. He feels your arousal, mixed with his own residual spit, coating his cock as he slides in up to the hilt. He groans viscerally, leaning right into the crook of your neck so his breath burns your skin. He takes your flesh between his teeth in a sharp, pinching bite and you yelp between mewls. Tears form in the corners of your eyes from the pure stretch and invasion of Arthur filling you so wholly, but you’re too far gone into this cloud of sensation to care if they fall. 

“See how much you need me, little stray… how much you fuckin’ need this cock, huh? Actin’ like you hate the big bad wolf, but I feel how your cunt weeps for me, how it wraps around me while I fuck you senseless.”

Your inner thigh is left with a burning red handprint when Arthur releases it to reach and rub hard circles on your clit. It makes it so hard to meet his eye without your own rolling to the back of your head in bliss, makes it near impossible to argue back when you can already feel another orgasm approaching, but your stubbornness persists enough to let you try and struggle out an argument.

“I can enjoy your cock and still hate you, wolfie.” 

Your less than affectionate nickname earns you a harsh slap against your clit, the pain bouncing through your every inch in the sweetest pain you could imagine. You cry out again, sucking in a breath through gritted teeth as Arthur continues to relentlessly pound into you. You’re sure you won’t be able to walk tomorrow, or ride for at least a week, but it’s a small price to pay for something so fucking good.

Neither of you are holding back, moaning into eachothers mouths, inhaling eachothers breaths, growling for each other and just barely avoiding your lips touching. You don’t hear the ceiling creak, nor the stairs groan under the weight of the gunsmith on his way to see who or what is making such grotesque noises in his humble little shop. All there is in this moment is you, Arthur, and his glorious cock fucking you insensible. Your ass burns from the friction of rubbing up against the glass display case, even more so when Arthur releases your other thigh to reach for something at his hip and the case is left to hold your entire weight. You see nothing but your big bad wolf, grunting and growling deep as you climb ever higher with him.

“What in the-”

BANG 

A gasp is ripped from your throat with the gunshot ringing in your ears. Your heart couldn’t pound any harder without breaking free of your ribcage, but a swift look to your left shows that you’re in no danger at all. Arthur’s arm is outstretched, smoking pistol pointed to the air above the now dead gunsmith. He doesn’t even look away from your face, contorted in such bliss as he continues to dangle you over the edge. He killed a man while buried so deep inside you, his victim’s blood now splattered across both your faces like crimson freckles. 

There’s no time to mourn, or even acknowledge, as grasps your jaw hard between his thumb and forefinger and forces your eyes back to him. The blood sprayed on his features suits him, you think, but that makes sense for the big bad wolf. The way he takes a life with such ease… it terrifies and enthrals you all the same. Your pussy squeezes around his shaft involuntarily at the thought of watching him kill again and again just to fuck you just that bit longer, at the idea that those measly mortal lives pale in comparison for his need to be inside you. 

“Oh, fuck, Arthur I’m gonna-” 

You’re cut off by a sharp slap to your cheek, and it burns so beautifully. The blood on Arthur’s hands smears across your skin, tainting you, body and soul. His hand quickly returns to its bruising grip on your cheeks, and you feel the heat of the pistol in his other hand pressing into your stomach. His finger isn’t near the trigger, and somehow you don’t think he would hurt you with it, but you suddenly realise the danger you could be in right now. You and Arthur hold a long-standing feud, your respective gangs have been fighting for even longer than that. The outlaw just executed a man ruthlessly for simply being in the wrong place, his own property, at the wrong time, and now he holds your life in his hands, literally. There is nothing stopping him from widening those jaws and consuming his little stray right here and now…

And what a way to go it would be.

You can’t bring yourself to care, can’t let the fear serve any other purpose than to pump the adrenaline around your veins and carry you back to the climax you’re searching for.

“Gonna cum, little stray? Come apart for me all over again? Hate me all you want, you n’ I know what you do for me when we’re all alone. Cum, little stray. Now.”

And you do. You come apart not with a fizzle but a bang. A blinding, screaming bang, where your limbs tighten around Arthur and your skin fizzles at any contact. He never stops his thrusts, each one seeming to renew the sensations spreading around your whole body like waves lapping and crashing against you. The gun presses into your flesh, serving as a reminder of the danger Arthur is capable of inflicting, yet it only heightens everything. You moan into his ear, your tongue running across his lobe not by design but because you have completely lost control of yourself. In this moment, you’re Arthur’s. And you feel too fucking good to even worry about it. 

The fear that he could snap your neck with so little effort, or pull the trigger of his gun and blast you to bits, lingers, spurring on your frantic movements while you grind needily against his own thrusts. Part of you wishes he would, so the both of you could find some twisted hellish realm where this union makes sense and you can rule it, together. The big bad wolf and his little stray. It’s an alarming thought to have, but who could blame you? If the devil himself could make you feel this good you’d bow to him too, weapons or none.

Arthur’s movements become sloppier, less controlled, and his grip on your cheeks tightens. He’s close, while you’re still riding your high. There’s a sharp aching where the gun presses hard into your ribcage, giving your future self the perfect excuse as to why you didn’t make Arthur pull out. He curses loudly, though it comes out more a growl, before biting hard into your neck. He surely draws blood with the force of his teeth against your skin, but it’s difficult to find it in you to care. He’s pounding you so hard into the glass you’re worried it’ll smash beneath you, but being shredded by broken glass seems an easy punishment for the sins you’ve committed again with this man.

You both come down together, glistening with blood and sweat and tears. Arthur remains in the crook of your neck, exhaling hot breaths over your skin. There’s a few seconds of a silence only broken with exasperated gasps, and then a wince when Arthur slides out of your drenched cunt. Now you can actually think straight, your hand shoots to your swollen lips at the sight of the deceased gunsmith beside you. Arthur is covered in blood, and you’re no better, but by God does it suit him. 

Having not gotten fully undressed, save for resting his jeans below his hips, Arthur takes no time at all to right himself, holstering his gun and pulling his jacket over the bloodstained shirt. He looks over to you, the harsh shadows cast by the moon only exaggerating his smirk. It takes everything you have not to flinch when he reaches for you, though the panic quells when he runs his thumb gently over your jaw, leaving a scarlet trail in his wake.

“See you on the next job, little stray.”

[philtstone]

ok for the pairing/word prompt

pairing: shawn and chief vick

word: fergulous

haha get it ok sorry actual word for the prompt is: limit

:3

set somewhere around later s2ish

"Chief, I've come to a conclusion."

"Mmm?"

"I believe this baby and I are spiritual cousins. We can commune on a metaphysical level. Just look at her great head of hair."

Bringing a six month old infant to a police station is not exactly what her mother-in-law would call orthodox parenting, but the nanny cancelled last minute, and, if Karen is being truthful, there's a limit to the number of hours she can go in a row without having her daughter close by.

It's also true, Karen has to admit, that Iris was born with a fully-thatched head of thick dark curls.

"Don't drop her, please," is all she says, signing at the bottom of yet another ream of paperwork. To say it had surprised her when Shawn Spencer spent the better part of the last hour after her ten a.m. briefing hovering above her desk and pretending very hard like he had no interest at all in holding a baby is an understatement. Whatever cool detachment and casual flippancy he’d used to flirt around her office with previously is now gone, and Karen observes with no small measure of bemusement the fluttery look of mesmerized fascination on his face while he stands, shockingly still, with her unusually quiet and peaceful baby nestled only slightly awkwardly in the crook of his arm.

"Boss," Shawn starts again after another blessed minute of silence, his eyes still glued to the baby. "You gotta level with me here. Does Mr. Vick get more attention from womankind when he goes out with the stroller?"

"I'm going to have to ask that you don't make me consider the possibility, Mr. Spencer."

She signs another document.

"Aw, come on. Chicks love it when a man is on the same mental wavelength as kids. That's why I worked at a summer camp for six months, you know."

She has always wondered whether Shawn has experience working with children; there was that one horrible suicide case a few weeks ago that left a little girl in foster care, and the three hours she spent at the station that could have been miserable for all involved were mostly occupied instead by elaborate games of i Spy and – inexplicably – bananagrams. Shawn had claimed the game was a staple feature of Gus’s work backpack.

Not entirely unbelievable, Karen admits. 

"Mmm," is all she says now, flipping to her next page serenely. Iris coos. Shawn stares at her in awe and lets her suck on his probably-unclean pinky.

She doesn't grimace, because when she looks up it's to the sight of Detective O'Hara frozen behind the glass door to her office, an expression on her face akin to a limpid-eyed doe caught in the throes of a cotton-candy-flavored swoon. If the door were open Karen thinks that they’d probably hear a squeak. She watches Juliet catch herself, turn on her heel, and scamper back to her desk.

Karen sighs; she probably was going to deliver a much needed report on the Lamden case.

She needs that report, dammit.

"Mr. Spencer," she says cooly, internally lamenting the imminent loss of her free baby soother. "Don't you have a murderer to catch?"

"Hm?" says Shawn, nasally. Iris has grabbed ahold of his nose and is burbling softly.

"The dead girl from this morning?"

"Oh, yeah," Shawn says, sounding like a cartoon character. "The boyfriend did it."

"Concrete evidence, if it won't be too much trouble, Mr. Spencer."

He rolls his eyes, but Iris is deposited carefully back into her bassinet. She hiccups. Shawn salutes and skips away. As Karen expected, Detective O'Hara reappears exactly a minute later, clutching case files to her chest and looking only a little bit more dreamy-eyed than usual.

"If you could leave the Lamden report on my desk, Detective," Karen starts without looking up, and, when Juliet, too, begins to hover, hides another pleased grin.

Perhaps this wasn’t the worst idea she’d ever had, after all.

[wreckitremy]

#i read this in a ship tag way at first lol #violent tornadoes/ nebraska iowa! the hot new ao3 trend! #wait that's two different states would it be violent tornadoes/ nebraska/ iowa? #idek

����

Thank goodness this wasn't about my state and Missouri then bc that would have been fighting words

Violent tornados?

Are we calling the EF 1s and EF2s nonviolent tornados then?

Like

Breaking news

Tornado touched down in the rural Midwest to peacefully protest climate change

[aziraphales-library]

Hello!! :D i hope you're doing well

Do you guys have any good recs for fics set in lockdown? I have a preference for fluff and zero smut.

Thanks in advance :) <3

Hi! We have #good omens lockdown, #awake the snake, and #covid-19 tags, so check those out. Here are more lockdown fics...

starved for (your) company by elloquial (T)

He’s calling Crowley before he can fret about consequences and implications for another moment. The first three rings, which he listens to with dread mounting in his core, are torturous. But then Crowley answers, and his surly (awake!) voice is such a relief that Aziraphale skips hello entirely. “Would you like to do zooms with me?” (in which Aziraphale sets up nightly zoom meetings to keep Crowley from hibernating, and eventually re-evaluates his stance on quarantining together)

May I have your number? by Crowletto (G)

Aziraphale's student job has its perks. He certainly meets interesting people. (This is a Human-AU set in Lockdown, please mind the tags!)

nature is healing (or something like that, anyhow) by nightbloomingcereus (T)

Well. If Aziraphale could be stubborn, so could Crowley. He didn’t need Aziraphale, or his bookshop, dammit. He was going to take a nap, exactly like he’d said he would, and he wasn’t going to get up again until the world, and a certain frustrating angel, stopped being such a downer. It was the perfect plan. Or it would have been, had he still had his bloody bed in his bloody flat in bloody fucking Mayfair. Or, the one where Crowley takes his three-year-long pandemic nap in his plant-filled Bentley.

The Last Four Years by juliet, Laura Shapiro (T)

After the nightingale sang, before a naked archangel arrives in Soho – four years passed. What happened during that time?

Better With You by WordsInTimeAndSpace (M)

Due to a petty feud between their respective department heads, Crowley and Aziraphale have been hiding their friendship for months. When they’re suddenly stuck in lockdown amidst a pandemic, Crowley is not coping well. Thankfully, Aziraphale is there for him - but their changing relationship means that keeping secrets from their bosses only becomes more of a challenge.

Fancy Patter on the Telephone by HotCrossPigeon (G)

A series of telephone conversations between Aziraphale and Crowley during the Lockdown. They get steadily more desperate and ridiculous as the weeks go on. Featuring a moping demon, a teasing angel, a pub quiz, an explosion, extraordinary amounts of alcohol, a bubble bath, awkward flirting, several love confessions... and an ill-conceived bet on who can last the longest without seeing the other. What could possibly go wrong?

- Mod D

[crazyk-imagine]

The Coffee is Not the Murder Weapon

Pairing: Shawn Spencer x Plus!size!reader Characters: Plus!size!reader (aka Beans), Shawn Spencer, Burton “Gus” Guster, Carlton Lassiter, Juliet “Jules” O’Hara, Woody, Greg (the murderer), Buzz McNab (briefly mentioned) Warnings: Mentions of guns and bullets, violence, this man Greg is crazy, coffee shops should not be a place for murder plots, Woody being “prepared”, okay plot but stay for the fluff, friends to lovers, my love for writing for these peps returns Word Count: 2,466

A/N: Bad plot but I tried, and it didn’t turn out completely horrible so yay. Yes, I’m giving myself a pat on the back, don’t judge me :p

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Push on the gas, Lassie or else someone is going to get hurt and it’s not gonna be me,” Shawn says, his voice elevated as he thinks about what could happen. 

“What’re you talking about, Spencer?” 

“Shawn, calm down and tell us what’s going on,” Juliet tried to reason with him. 

“No! I can’t- I- you just gave to trust me on this.” 

“If you want us to trust you, you have to explain what’s going on. Do you feel something?” 

“Oh my god,” Gus says, after Shawn hands him the phone. “Floor it, Lassiter!” 

“Why?!” 

Shawn rubs his hands across his face. “The barista did it. We were wrong about the manager being poisoned.” 

Juliet furrows her brows, trying to make sense of the words flying out of the psychic’s mouth. “But Woody said-” 

“He-” 

“He’s calling me,” Gus announces, showing his friend the phone. 

Shawn quickly snatches it out of his buddy’s hand, answering it. 

“Shawn, you’ll never believe the story I overheard last night when I was at the bar. So, this girl, who was close to turning thirty, although I think she was lying. Anyway, she was saying-” 

“The barista did it with one of those skinny tongue depressors.” 

“Yes! It never ceases to amaze me how well your skills are.” 

The psychic tosses the phone up in the air for his friend to catch. 

“Sounds like we have the right to arrest someone.” Carlton speeds up, maneuvering himself, safely, between cars. “Where am I going, Spencer?” 

“Where do you think?” 

“If I knew, do you think I’d be asking you?” 

“The coffee shop. Beans told me she had a shift, and our killer does too. She put it together before my visions became clearer. If we don’t get there within the next five minutes, it’s going to be a manhunt and I’ll be the first in line.” 

“We’re not going to let anything happen to her,” Juliet tells him. 

“I’ll believe it when I can see that she’s safe.” 

“Sha-” 

“We’re here. Spencer, I’m only going to say this once and only once. Do not and I mean, do not go in there.” 

“But, I can-” 

“No,” Carlton tells him before he and Juliet rush out of the car, standing by the front door with their guns in front of them before they sneak into the building. 

-

“I’m going in.” 

“Oh, no you are not,” Gus slams his hand onto the door lock. 

“Yes, I am.” 

“Sha- Shawn.” Gus makes the noise people typically make when trying to call a cat over, “psst. Psst. Shawn, no.” He gets out of the car when he realizes his friend isn’t going to follow him back towards the safety. 

The two make their way into the building, sneaking through the front door, only pausing when they hear a strange noise. 

“Are we really going to go in there, Shawn? I mean, what if he has a gun or some other weapon?” 

“That’s when you selflessly throw yourself in front of our bad guy while I, the hero, save the day.” 

“I don’t like that plan.” 

“Well, it’s the only one I have so far.” 

“No, it’s not.” 

“Fine, it’s not but this one makes us both look like heroes.” 

“I understand why you’re making jokes, but we need a real plan if we want to make sure Beans doesn’t get hurt.” 

The psychic sighs, “I know, Gus.” He leans off the wall, glancing back over his shoulder. “I have a plan.” 

“What is it?” 

“You stay here and I’m gonna make a distraction.” 

“Okay- wait! What?” He turns around, finding his friend nowhere near him. “Dammit Shawn.” 

-

Shawn walks around the corner, hearing clattering coming from the back and rushes forward only for you to duck behind the counter. 

“Shawn?” You stare at him with furrowed brows. “Duck. Duck.” 

“Duck?” He dives to the floor when bullets come flying through the door, breaking the glass window. He wraps his arms around you, covering your head as he pulls you closer, making sure nothing happens to you. 

Once the firing stops, you lift your head off his shoulder. 

“Do you know the way out of here?” He whispers. 

“We won’t make it without being seen. Why are you here alone?” 

“I remembered you told me this place has a really weird back entrance, so it takes a few minutes to get in here. If we stall him long enough, then maybe we can make it out of this alive while Lassie and Jules do their thing.” He stops talking and becomes quiet. “I have an idea.” 

“You are not going to try and make a conversation with him. Are you?” 

“It’s called a distraction.” 

“A terrible one, at that.” 

“I could do it.” 

You glance over his shoulder. 

“He’s right behind me, isn’t he?” 

You gulp, nodding. Your former coworker, Greg, grabs your arm, yanking you away from your friend. 

“Hey. Hey! Let her go.” 

Greg shakes his head, “no, I don’t think I will.” He forces you into the nearest chair. 

“You don’t need to need to manhandle Beans like that.” 

“It’s her fault.” 

“What’s her fault?” 

“Ruining my plan and you, the psychic coming around wasn’t any help either.” 

“It sounds like you have a problem with me and not-” 

He waves the gun around in Shawn’s face. “You stay over there. She stays here.” 

You tense up at the feeling of the metal on the back of your head. 

He nods. “I’m staying over here. You don’t need to keep waving the gun around.” 

“Santa Barbara PD, drop your weapon,” Carlton says, keeping his attention on Greg. 

“I don’t think I will.” 

“You sure you want to do that?” 

“Why not? I’ve got a hostage right here,” he steps to the side, letting the officer get a view of your back. 

“Let the civilians go so we can talk.” 

“No,” he clicks the trigger of the gun. 

You close your eyes, trying not to shake as you hear everything going on behind you. 

“No,” Shawn takes a step closer, and everyone’s focus turns onto him. “Remember it was me. I’m the psychic, I know why you did it. He wasn’t giving you the proper respect, right? And he should have, you’re the one who made sure everything ran smoothly around here especially when he would take his sporadic trips. You did everything he should have done and he- he-” 

“He was gonna fire me and give my job to Janet, but she put it in her two weeks’ notice after that and then she,” he spits in your direction. “Was the next one.” 

“And, you believe she would have taken your job without hesitation?” 

Greg nods. 

Shawn nods before he starts to chuckle. “And that’s when you need to listen or pay attention to all employees because she’s a very kind woman who would never do that and I’m lucky to know... that took a minor detour, I’ll admit but it just proves that she isn’t what you created in your mind.” 

“Are you done?” Carlton asks. 

“Hmm? Oh, yeah.” 

That’s all the detective needed to hear as he takes another step forward. “Let her go.” 

“I don’t think I will.” 

“Greg.” 

“What are you doing?” Shawn whispers. 

“Do you know why our boss would take sudden trips?” 

“Yeah. He’s a greedy bastard who wants to blow away his money.” 

“No, his wife is sick, and she’s been in a home that specializes with her condition. She has her good days and her bad days, so when it’s not looking good, he rushes over there in case it’s going to be his last time with her.” 

“Really?” He jerks your arm. “How do you know?” 

“He told me because I found him crying in the storage closet when it was my turn to close the shop a few months ago. He trusted you, that’s why he was confident with you being in charge.” 

He lowers his hand. 

Shawn sees the way you’re eyeing your coworker and shakes his head. 

Greg drops his gun. 

You take this as your opportunity to run away from him before anything else could happen. 

Shawn pushes you behind him. 

Juliet and Lassiter do their thing, arresting him just as Gus rushes in, holding a broom as his weapon of choice. 

“Nice timing, Guster,” Carlton tells him as he passes by to put the, now, arrested man in the nearest squad car, which of course happens to be Buzz’s. 

“Is he gone?” 

“Yes, Gus. He’s gone, you can stop now.” 

The frightened man takes notice of the scene and slowly sets the broom down before sniffing as he wipes his nose. “I knew that; I was just testing you.” 

“No, you weren’t,” you chime in. 

“I’m gonna let that slide for right now.” 

“You’re so nice, Gus.” You groan, holding your side. “I think it’s time for me to get checked out.” 

Two paramedics run in, asking which of three needs to be checked out. 

All three of you answer, informing the gentleman that it’s you. Once they make sure you’re all good, they give you one last recommendation to get a full check up at the hospital to make sure you’re all good and don’t have any underlying injuries they may not have caught. 

You wave them off, “yeah, yeah,” your words fine out slurred before you pass out. 

The whole way there, everyone was worried about you, Shawn more than the others. 

-

Henry walks into the room, placing a hand on his boy’s shoulder. “When was the last time you left the room?” 

“Not once.” 

“You need to eat something, Shawn.” 

The psychic doesn’t say anything else. 

“You know, you need to eat something if you want to confess to her.” 

“Confess what?” 

“I raised you better than to play dumb, Shawn.” 

The younger man gets up out of his seat. “Fine, so maybe I do know what you’re talking about but why would I-” 

“Shawn.” 

“No, no. Don’t distract me.” 

“Shawn.” 

“Why are you-” 

“Shawn.” 

“What?” 

Henry sighs and spins his son around, leaving his boy to get the girl. 

“Oh, you’re up.” 

“I am.” 

He grabs the water by your bed and holds for you. 

“I can drink water on my own.” 

He nods, slowly placing the cup in your hands. 

“How are you?” 

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” 

You set the cup down onto the table. “You could but, you’re antsy and an antsy Shawn isn’t a good Shawn.” 

“Funny.” 

“Usually, you’d have some witty comeback when I say things like that, what’s going on in your head?” 

“You could have died.” 

“But I didn’t.” 

“But you could have.” 

“I didn’t though.” 

“But… you could have and- and-” 

You slowly push yourself up, reaching out for his hand, bringing him closer. 

He’s careful as he sits down beside you. 

“What would have happened, if it did happen? Can you find it in you to explain that bit to me?” 

“You mean, other than the fact that the woman I’ve been in love with since we were kids would be dead, not much.” 

“Wha-” Your jaw drops. 

“I wouldn’t have been able to come up with a clever plan and pretend like I didn’t know how it happened even though you know when I’m lying.” 

“So, what you’re saying is you like me and you want to ask me out?” You ask, a sly smile dancing across your lips. 

“Maybe.” 

“Good.” 

“That’s it?” 

“Yep.” 

“I feel like there’s something else you have planned.” 

“Yeah, you’re gonna go find my doctor, ask when I can leave so then you can take me out on our date and fall asleep on my couch.” 

This is the first time he’s smile since this morning, and it feels great. “Don’t move.” 

“I won’t.” 

Woody rushes in with a black bag. 

You raise a brow. “Did you really think I was dead?” 

“Wha- oh this,” he points to the bag. “No, no. I was just- I thought I needed to be prepared.” 

“Get out.” 

“I’m the one who brought the flowers.” He points with a weak smile.  

“Thank you, they’re beautiful but get out.” 

“Yep, got it.” Woody manages to move out of the way before he could bump into Shawn and your doctor and continues to run out of the building. 

-

You and Shawn had a wonderful time getting dinner (with Gus driving so you could pick up the food) and dropping you guys off at your place (after being told he wasn’t invited). 

“If I’m not a part of this date, why did I drive you two to go pick up jerk chicken?” 

Shawn shrugs, “sorry, buddy.” 

You jab your elbow into his side, “I don’t know. I’m sorry, he used you. How about tomorrow we all go out and get breakfast before we head over to the station?” 

“Thank you, I think that would be a great idea.” Gus doesn’t move from his spot. 

“Do you want to take some for the road?” 

“This is why I like you.” 

“You’ve liked me being around since we met, I used to pretend you weren’t involved in whatever it was he,” you point to Shawn. “Was doing so you wouldn’t get suspended.” 

“And that’s exactly why I’m happy he’s partially your problem now.” He takes his napkin wrapped portions and waves you two off before he leaves. 

“Can we go upstairs now? It’s getting cold.” 

“Quite whining and maybe you’ll get a blanket.” 

-

He leans against the doorway as he waits for you to pull out your keys. “Is there anyway, I could persuade you?” 

The doorknob clicks, you open the door and smile at him. “No.” 

“I think you’re lying.” 

“Your psychic abilities tell you that?” 

“Maybe.” 

You roll your eyes and step inside. “Come on, I’m hungry and I’m not afraid to take the food from you.” 

“But then you’d have a starving man in your home, rummaging through your fridge searching for a pineapple.” 

“I’m not afraid to take that risk.” 

“Rude.” 

You chuckle, “hurry up and get over here. We can watch a movie.” 

“I’m getting us some drinks. I can’t die of thirst after fulfilling my need of food.” 

“Okay.” 

“And here is your drink,” he sets them down on the coffee table. “And your food.” 

You practically snatch the food from him. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

“I mean… for everything that’s happened.” 

He settles on the couch beside you, turning for you to see his soft smile. “I know.” 

You shake your head. “You’re so cocky.” 

“Only for you.” 

“I feel like I should be ending things here.” 

“But you’re not. You love me too much.” 

“Shush and watch the movie.” 

He smiles to himself, knowing he’s made you all flustered.

[hughungrybear]

Me while watching Last Twilight Ep. 10

I still don't like Day for being so darned aggressive with Night. It is clearly undeserved and stems from Day's belief that he should be the only "good" son in the family. Also learning that Jimmy apparently impromptu the line "I wish there is a rainbow (Rung)" when Mhok and Day are on the Last Twilight mountain is making me feel things 🥹🥹🥹

1. Oh Mum. You really should stop trying to control Day like that. He is blind, but he is a grown-ass man. Let Day live (and love) gods dammit. Also, what good can come out of making Mhok quit like that, huh?

2. I'll be angry at Mum on your behalf, Day. Yeah, I understand she is scared for you, but life is full of risks. Unless she wants you to go back hiding in your room again <after 5 seconds> Oh, look. Big Brother Night advocating for his beloved Nong and trying to convince Mum to start seeing reason. Unfortunately, Mum is being an effing cvnt. And also being weirdly jealous of Mhok and Day's relationship.

3. Oh my gawd. She hired the crying applicant from first episode to replace Mhok as a caretaker. Goes to show that Mum has some serious flaw in her judgment.

4. Oh, Rung's car is back. Also, is this what you want, Mum? Mhok and Day acting like they are in some kind of Romeo and Juliet play??? The fvck 🤬

5. Yeah, Mum is not homophobic. She's just your average rich snob. Which is just as worse, if you ask me. Also, trying to take away Day's agency (by taking away his phone and changing the Wi-Fi password) must be the cvnt-iest thing Mum has done so far.

6. Big brother Night comes through by sneaking in a new phone for Day. Mum is also cvnt to Night, I see. Again, WTF.

7. I want to cry on Night's behalf. Night deserves all the love, respect, and happiness in the world. 😭😭😭😭 Good for Day for finally forgiving Night (even though Night was practically blameless the night of the accident).

8. Mhok working to be a restaurant cook is like (figuratively) raising a middle finger to Day's mum. As it should. 😅

9. Night already knows Mhok is working at Porjai's restaurant. I wonder who told him <ahem, ahem>. Looks like the NightPorjai agenda is alive and well 😂😂😂 Also, I accidentally let out a loud squeal when Night said "this is my girl" to Porjai (even telling the doctor that she's pregnant with his child). Man, that was smooooth. Like butter 😅😅😅. If only Porjai didn't misinterpret Night calling the woman doctor his "girl" lol

10. A date in a library? Then an art gallery? Mhok is clearly a man after my own heart 😍😍😍

11. Aon and Day being the purest bros in this series. Also, it helps that Aon is a bit unhinged. Just look at him dance lol On the other hand, TIL that colours have different smells. Always thought they all smell like turpentine 😅😅😅

12. All of a sudden, Mum remembers to spend time with her sons. Again, my heart breaks for Night. He looks like an outsider in his own family. Gods damn, mum. You are failing both your sons. How in ever loving fvck did you managed to fvck your relationship with your sons this much??? Thank heavens Day is there to support his big bro.

13. Aww. Mhok was waiting. But at least, Day managed to deliver. Even if it's a bit too late (and the restaurant is already closed). But look at Mhok abusing his new cook privileges 😂😂😂

14. For a moment, I thought we crossed Cooking Crush universe with the pot holder 😅😅😅.

Why do I feel tense and apprehensive regarding Day's surgery? I know P'Aof never delivers a sad ending. Please, don't let this be the first time that he changes his mind 😭😭😭

[broadwaydivastournament]

Broadway Divas Tournament: Round 2A

Jayne Houdyshell (1953) "JAYNE HOUDYSHELL (Eulalie Mackecknie Shinn). Broadway: King Lear; A Doll's House, Part 2 (2017 Tony nomination); The Humans (2016 Tony Award); Fish in the Dark; Dead Accounts; Romeo and Juliet; Follies (2012 Tony nomination); The Importance of Being Earnest; Bye Bye Birdie; Wicked; Well (2006 Tony nomination and Theatre World Award). Off-Broadway: Lincoln Center Theater: The New Century; Playwrights Horizons: The Pain and the Itch; The Public Theater: Well; Roundabout Theatre Company: The Language Archive; MCC: Relevance; Manhattan Theatre Club: The Receptionist; Shakespeare in the Park: Much Ado About Nothing. Jayne has received two Drama Desk Awards, two Obies, and the Lily Award. Regional credits include classical and modern plays at Yale Repertory Theatre, MacCarter Theatre, Actors Theatre of Louisville, Arena Stage, Alabama Shakespeare Festival and many others. Film: The Humans, Little Women, The Chaperone, Everybody's Fine, Changing Lanes, Garden State. Television: "Only Murders in the Building," "The Good Fight," "Evil," "Law & Order: SVU," "Elementary," "Blue Bloods."" - Playbill bio from The Music Man, February 2022

Stephanie J. Block (1972) "STEPHANIE J. BLOCK (The Baker's Wife) Broadway: The Cher Show (Tony, Drama Desk, Outer Critics Circle Award winner), Falsettos (Tony, Drama Desk, Outer Critics Circle nominations), The Mystery of Edwin Drood (Tony, Drama Desk nominations), Anything Goes, 9 to 5: The Musical (Drama Desk nomination), The Pirate Queen, The Boy from Oz, Wicked. Off-Broadway: Brigadoon (Encores); Little Miss Sunshine (Drama Desk nomination); By the Way, Meet Vera Stark (Drama Desk nomination). Film and television: "iMorcecai," "Bluff City Law," Rise, "Madam Secretary," "Orange is the New Black," "Homeland," "It Could Be Worse," "Stephanie J. Block Live From Lincoln Center" for Great Performances on PBS. She currently co-hosts and co-produces "Stages Podcast" with Marylee Fairbanks and can be accessed wherever you get your podcasts. Twitter and Instagram: @stephaniejblock." - Playbill bio from Into the Woods, September 2022.

NEW PROPAGANDA AND MEDIA UNDER CUT: ALL POLLS HERE

"Despite her beating out Jan Maxwell, my beloved, I feel no lingering bitterness because Jayne Houdyshell is one of those divine character actresses who elevates every project she's in. Her Music Man nomination came as a wild surprise, but looking back, it just makes sense. She was exactly what we needed post-reopening."

"Once again, I am asking which of you is going to be contributing to the Send DroughtofApathy to London this Summer to See SJB in Kiss Me, Kate Fund? They released a little promo for it, and damn she looks good. Why is everyone going to the West End to do their shows? Do them here so I can see them, dammit. Who needs the West End and their strange tastes anyway?"

[piratefalls]

The more I watch it, the more I REALLY want to write a Psych AU where Alex is Shawn and Henry is Juliet and most specifically throw them in the episode “An Evening with Mr. Yang” where instead of Alex’s (Shawn’s) mom getting kidnapped somehow Henry does and Alex has to really throw himself into his ~psychic abilities~ because they were finally gonna go on a date dammit kidnapping was not part of the plan.

[iceeericeee]

⛓️ ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔦𝔫 𝔐𝔞𝔦𝔩 ⛓️

I bring motivation! Post the working titles of 10 WIPs (optional) and write three new sentences for each

10???? Out of all the many I already have? Only 10?? /lh

Aight let’s do this

1. Escape (the Pina Colada Oneshot) [Bistro Huddy]

Whatever. Cheap communion wine she ‘borrowed’ from the local church wasn’t enough for tonight. Ray needed something strong yet still sweet, along with a physical and familiar presence. And she knew just the place.

2. Discovery [Ghosts CBS]

It didn’t take long before the others also noticed the cadaver. There was a collective mix of disgusted and distressed noises at the grisly sight. Jordan didn’t blame them, he himself couldn’t stand the sight of his own dead body.

3. A Pinch of Lassie [Psych]

“Jules, when am I not being suspicious? Genuine question.” And with that, he pulled the last blind down. After double checking the door was indeed locked, he turned back to the head of the conference table.

4. Third Cousins [Ghosts CBS x Psych]

Off in the left corner was a lone singular tab meant for the Woodstone BnB, practically buried under the dozens of other tabs opened. Each tab led to a different news article, all of them front pagers with a picture of the same guy in various poses. The dates on them varied, from as far back as 2006 and as recent as 2014.

5. Tomie x Psych

“Say, Woody…”

“Yeah Shawn?” The coroner continued digging through the abdomen, clearly having some trouble finding the scalpel he’d dropped.

“I’m uh, pretty sure she didn’t have that hand when we found her on the beach…”

6. Would You Still Love Me If We Were Seahorses? [Psych]

Juliet couldn’t help the grin. God, she forgot just how much Shawn’s goofball side could be endearing. He was especially so in moments like this.

7. Shawn’s Island [Psych]

“Dammit,” he grumbled. From here he could see that Shawn was very obviously not wearing a vest like him. So that meant… ugh, he had to save the idiot from drowning. Great.

8. The Giant Pom-Poms In the Sky [Psych]

The two quietly watched the fireworks going off in the distance. It was beautiful, really. The many colors sparkling against the pitch black backdrop of the sky, shimmering as they faded and allowed more to come after.

9. You Need To Leave. Now. [Psych]

There were a couple more cages like the ones downstairs, and scratch marks near the tall window across the room. But added to the chaos were bodies. Squirrels, rats, birds, and human bodies, all mutilated practically beyond recognition.

10. She’s His Best Man [Psych]

Juliet tugged a bit at the hem of her suit. It was just slightly uncomfortable, which was understandable considering the adjustments had been made last-minute to fit her frame. But it was at least keeping her warm. She couldn’t imagine how cold she would’ve been if she’d stuck with her original outfit.

[margridarnauds]

If I may ask another, Romeo et Juliette?

A musical that I have a very, very complex relationship with.

It was one of my first French musicals -- not one of my favorites (I have ALWAYS been an Atia and Chouet girl), but one of my first. Good music, Aimer was one of my eternal, lovestruck romantic songs from my teen years, the OTP song to end all OTP songs; Verona was one of my favorite musical songs (once an Escalus fucker, always an Escalus fucker), I loved C'est le Jour (being used to historical lit and period dramas means I have....no reaction to first cousin marriages, so I shipped Tybalt/Juliet, sorry lads.)

There used to be a dedicated French musicals fandom on here, so I was talking with people who were more invested in it than I was, me and a friend once listened to the London cast together and memed it to death. And when that community imploded, I joined the RetJ fandom more specifically after a couple of years. And...I did enjoy it. I was mainly in my own little corner, but I was talking about it, I was creating content for it. I didn't agree with everything, especially the way that Japanese productions were routinely dismissed, and I thought that people could be very harsh on individual productions in a way that wasn't particularly fun, but...I did enjoy the experience. I did enjoy working with other people, especially since, as a Toho fan and ESPECIALLY as an Escalus fan (and as someone who really cares about the women more than Mercutio), I was very locked in my own little corner with a few other people.

I fell in love with the musical. And with Shakespeare's original. I still think that this is My Adaptation of Romeo and Juliet, because it is really wonderfully faithful while modernizing it without being grimdark or cynical (yes, even the Hungarian.)

And...I refuse to go into details, because I have no intention of dredging up old ghosts, but it ended. Badly. I evacuated myself from the communities I was part of, leaving them to someone who hated me because I didn't want to split the fandom. I wanted to leave quietly, discretely, while potentially keeping some bonds. They used it as an excuse to spread their smear campaign to my old circles, something that I only found out about over a year later. No one bothered to tell me. I noticed that people were pulling away, some people have even blocked me on here, or else quietly unfollowed me, but I didn't know why and I tried to convince myself it was paranoia. I reached out to someone and they assured me that nothing had been said about me. Something I later learned was untrue. I won't accuse that person of lying, because I don't have a timeline, and I understand wanting to keep the peace, but my reputation and my mental stability were NOT acceptable collateral damage. I was suicidal, dammit, and I'm not just mad at the people who started the smear campaign, but the people who didn't bother to listen to me when I needed them the most.

And...I would say I'm not bitter about it, but actually, I am. Of COURSE I'm bitter about it. Even if I wasn't the most active member, I was there for years. I deserved better. And it has profoundly impacted the way that I still carry myself in a fandom context, because some part of me is always looking behind my shoulder. (I. Have never been able to join the BG3 fandom in the way I'd have liked to for a number of reasons, including my ongoing fear caused by this incident.)

...but, by the same token, I did rebuild myself, bit by bit, with Takarazuka musicals, including the Zuka RetJ. I wrote RetJ fanfic for myself and, without having a fandom to worry about appeasing, I wrote what I wanted -- some of my longest fics of the last three years have been Benvolio/Escalus fics that I almost CERTAINLY wouldn't have published when I had the dead weight attached.

So -- gorgeous musical, the Toho production will eternally have a place in my heart. I'm very happy that I can look at it without shaking now.