#first time i ever heard of wicked was on TV

[beatrice1979a]

Wicked - Ugly Betty (2007)

Eden Espinosa (Elphaba), Megan Hilty (Glinda) & Kristopher Cusick (Fiyero). Also cameo of actress Marlo Thomas (That Girl)

Popular - I am not that girl - Defying Gravity

[crazylittlejester]

What kind of movies/shows do you think the modern boys would like? I personally think Sky would LOVE Studio Ghibli and War and Wild would enjoy movie musicals

OOOH!!

You’re absolutely right Sky would love Studio Ghibli, and he’d like those older animated disney movies like Cinderella and winnie the pooh. He’d also love those plotless lifetime and hallmark movies, because it’s really just people walking around and its always the same five actors doing the same 2 plots over and over again and he’d love making fun of them and ‘predicting’ what comes next akdmdkd. I think he and Sun would like watching the christmas themed ones together. Also you can pry his nature documentaries out of his cold dead hands

WARRIORS DRAGGED TWILIGHT TO SEE WICKED WITH HIM, BAWLED HIS EYES OUT, AND THEN MADE HIM GO SEE IT WITH HIM AGAIN. He’s a theater kid in theory, he’s not the worlds most talented singer (if you ask Twi he’d say War can’t sing at all and that him “screaming to lady gaga” is “the most horrific sound ive ever heard in my life, War, you’re gonna make my ears bleed”) but he has the passion and borderline obnoxious energy, he just never had the time to do musicals in school. War also really likes dramas and reality tv. When he’s really sad he’ll throw on something like Dance Moms and then just scream at the tv or sit there in absolute shock because how in the name of the gods did this air

Twilight LOVES weird mystery/thriller shows, which is hilarious coming from the guy who at age 11 was so scared of muppets most wanted he broke down sobbing when his dad stuck a picture of kermit the frog on the fridge (and also several other locations in the house) and now has a lifelong fear of the muppets (though its simmered down to more of an anxiety now, he can watch the muppets but he WILL jump if he unexpectedly sees kermit). He’s a big film guy, he really appreciates looking at how frames and scenes were shot and how that adds into storytelling, he doesn’t have a genre he sticks to he’s just biased towards mystery stuff. He loves Knives Out, and does genuinely think the first Twilight movie is a cinematic masterpiece (hence the nickname, ‘Twilight’), and he appreciates a good movie musical as well

this was a fun question to answer!! thanks for asking it :)

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 38 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, VIOLENCE, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

38. the honorable thing

“Jonathan.” 

“Winston.” 

This is the first the hotelier has seen the former assassin leave his room for any kind of sustenance–how telling, that his first stop would be the bar. The older man lowers his voice, leaning in. “Not that it’s any of my business…but did you give that lovely young lady an engagement ring on false pretenses?”

John sighs, looking down into his bourbon. “Not because I don’t want to marry her, Winston.”

“Naturally.” 

John growls low in his throat. “I’m just trying to do the honorable thing.” 

“Presenting a lady with a ring without intending to actually marry her is certainly honorable.” 

“You don’t understand.” 

“Enlighten me. Or better yet, enlighten her. If your aim is to fool the Camorra, a believable fiancée she does not make.”

John resists the urge to bang his head on the polished oak bar.

“Or, don’t,” muses Winston. “I’ll finally be able to rent out the rooms next to yours. You have gotten more noise complaints with that woman in the past week than in the entirety of your time staying with us in previous years.”

John does hang his head in his hands at that.

“Winston…”

If Winston didn’t know any better…he would have almost thought the notorious assassin was embarrassed. 

“Just fix it, Jonathan. Otherwise, I promise you’ll regret it…” 

As Winston walks away John calls after him, “Do you ever get tired of being right all the time, old man?”

Winston chuckles, raises a hand in acknowledgement, and goes to greet another patron. 

***

You took the ring off for your training session with Mariko. When you returned to the room hours later, it was gone from the bathroom counter–and your first reaction was relief. 

John says nothing about it, when he returns from wherever he’s been. You decide not to either. Maybe the cleaning staff helped themselves. 

Good riddance and Enjoy. You’re tired of agonizing about it, and you want things to go back to the way they were before. 

He kisses you hello on the cheek, seemingly in a better mood than he has been all week. “Let’s have dinner downstairs tonight,” he proposes. This is news to you. You’ve heard tell of the legendary restaurant of The Continental, and of course the room service has been excellent, but it’s just not the same as dining in.

“Are you sure?” you ask, intrigued but suddenly wary. 

“Yes, if sounds good to you?” 

“I…would love that,” you admit, suddenly excited. It will mean getting dressed up–the opportunity to see John in one of his evening suits will make the fuss all worth it. Watching him get dressed here has become one of your favorite pastimes; it’s way better than anything on TV. 

***

Dinner is everything you’d hoped for and more. The food is out of this world, and better yet, John is sweet to you, tucking you in the shelter under his arm in the booth and speaking softly in your ear between courses. It reminds you a little of that beautiful dinner you had in Venice, before everything…changed. 

He looks handsome as the very devil in all black in the low light of the dining room, the reflection of the candle on the table in his dark irises glinting like hellfire. You cannot look away, be he god or devil or something in between, so utterly lost you are to this man. 

The wine is very good too, which is only part of the reason you clutch at his arm afterwards, trying not to trip over your new Louboutins and beaded Valentino gown. The sleeves are long, better to hide your bruises from training, but the high slit in your skirt is rather daring, and helpful for movement. He says he wants to show you something, which makes you giggle knowingly, but he doesn’t lead you back up to the room. You take a side corridor, finding it lets out to a narrow dark balcony on the fourth floor. You are in shadow, and you can watch the street below nearly unobserved. The skyscrapers beyond are lit up like birthday cakes. Maybe the city isn’t totally your speed, but it is interesting–for a little while. 

You are more than ready to return to your mountain, if ever you can. 

But for now, you are happy with the view, and the warmth of John’s arm around you–until he produces that damned little black box again. “Oh, John…” 

“Wait, y/n.” 

You sigh. “I’ll wear it when they come, ok? If…they ever fucking show up.” 

“I want you to wear it tonight.”

“Ugh.” 

You turn to go, suddenly exasperated and exhausted, until he pulls you back against the hard line of his body, claiming your mouth in a fiercely probing kiss. With his forehead pressed to yours he says through gritted teeth, “I’m asking you to marry me, y/n.” 

Maybe you can blame the wine, but it’s only then that you realize he’s serious. Your fingertips turn to claws, digging into the arms of his suit jacket. The flesh is so solid underneath. This is not a dream. 

This is not a drill. 

“John?” 

If you’re misreading this situation–again–you will lose your fucking mind. 

“I love you with every bit of my black, broken heart, y/n. I know I don’t deserve you, but I will spend every second we’re together trying to make up for what I did to you. Will you marry me?” 

You don’t answer him immediately, standing on tiptoe to press your lips to his. He’s the one who draws back first, searching your face desperately for the answer to his heartfelt question. 

“Yes! Yes, you dummy.” He nips you a little for that, but soon it turns into another long and sultry kiss, your arms flung around his neck, your bare back pressed into the wrought-iron railing under the fury of his ardor. 

Later, with his arms around you in a tight embrace, he grumbles, “I’m sorry I made this so painful.” 

You laugh a little, at yourself, and him. “How else would we go about anything, John?”

“Very funny.” You kiss his ear, snuggling into the bend of his neck again. The warm, spiced scent of his cologne and his skin is nearly as maddening as his kisses.

“Can we go upstairs now? I have something I want to show you.” He chuckles darkly at this, sucking at the skin of your neck, winning a shudder and your clit singing out with approval. 

“What a coincidence, my love.”

You decide you’ll never tire of hearing that. 

***

You cannot stop kissing. 

You are practically joined at the lips from your little enclave of a balcony, through the halls, and the elevator, and the whole walk to your room. Once you make it through the doorway John presses you up against the door as soon as it’s closed, his hand finding its way through the slit in your dress to cup your ass. 

You’d be a liar, if you said you hadn’t thought of that, when you’d selected it earlier. 

You do not rip each other’s clothes off though, like in some bosom-buster romance. You both are seeming to savor this closeness together, making out like teenagers, grinding against each other through your nice clothes. You moan as John takes mercy on you, sliding one of his muscled thighs between your legs, smiling against your mouth. 

“Wicked man.” 

“You love it.” 

“I love you. And–I’m going–to ruin your nice suit.” 

“Please do.”

What is the American version of noblesse-oblige?

You are so pent up that you nearly cum like that, riding his leg with his lips on your neck, sucking the tender flesh like he means to devour you. 

You see scarves in your future. Lots of them.  

But then he is moving you across the room, practically picking you up with an arm around your waist, guiding you down onto the couch. 

“I messed up again,” he muses, kneeling before you. “I was supposed to get down on my knees for you. Want a redo?” You laugh breathily as he pulls the scrap of silk that passes for panties down your thighs, his lips gravitating to the inside of your knee. He nips you lightly, making you jump. 

“I think…this more than makes up for it,” you sigh, as he kisses up the soft flesh of your inner thigh. The ring on your left hand glints in the low light as you run your fingers through his raven hair. The slit in the skirt wins again, making it so easy to sweep the fine fabric aside, leaving you spread bare before him. The hunger in his dark eyes lights your world on fire, and when his tongue touches your clit you think you might see God, or at least, your own version of heaven. 

The world is golden-edged, and maybe it’s stupid–but in that moment you feel like nothing bad can touch either of you.  

[goldenamaranthe-blog]

Hazband 2: Band AU

Buckle Up, Buttercups. This is gonna be looooooooooong.

-"Insider Bands" playing on VH666 streaming services on a computer monitor / TV screen sitting on the desk against the far wall-

Charlie: (laying on her belly on her bed and chewing her nails like a cartoon goat chews through a field of grass as she watches the TV)

Riff Rascal: Alright, dudes, dudettes, non-duders, and rock-aholics! That was Simple Plain's newest single "Why Are We Kids?!". Coming up next, our guy, our big shredder, our big bad-

????: Dammit, Riff!!!! Just get on with it!!!

Riff Rascal: Yo, sorry, boss lady! Coming up next, we have our expert in all things metal and shredding, Axel Steelgrave, conducting a super secret, super exclusive interview with one of Hell's latest and greatest! Stay tuned!

Charlie: (whines and plasters her face into the comforter) Fuck! I really messed up! I shouldn't have released that album, guys! What if Vaggie doesn't like girls outside of the metal scene?! Then I'm just the creepy, stalker, pop diva who messages her on Sinstagram every once and a while! And likes all of her posts! And comments on each picture! And-

Razzle: (trying to finish polishing Charlie's hooves after a full pedicure and hoof care) Baap?

Charlie: So? It was only ever mentioned once in a tabloid that she was once in a poly ship with a man and woman before. Nothing set in stone. Who listens to tabloids anyway? She said she was a lesbian in her last interview with Angel Metal Monthly.

Dazzle: (brings up a wide array of nail polishes) BaaaAaaAp?

Charlie: Yes! She messages me back almost immediately after every message I send her, but that doesn't mean the's interested in me. She hasn't been online in a week! (rolls over and flops onto her back, covering her eyes with her arm) Not since Katie Killjoy did that whole news segment on my new single music video and album.

Dazzle: (painting Charlie's hooves in a deep red hue called "Wicked Sinister") Baaaaaaap. BaaaAAaaap. Baap. (clicks his hoof in a way that's supposed to look like a sassy finger snap and blows heated air over the paint)

Razzle: Baap! (scowls) Baaap. Baaa. Baap!

Charlie: Thanks, Razzle. No, Dazzle. I really don't think this is some kind of rebound. I really started liking her during the Battle of the Bands gig over at the Jackpot Hotel and Casino. She was the first person who didn't openly laugh at me being there even though I was the only pop singer there.

-VH666 blares back with a heavy metal guitar riff-

Axel Steelgrave: Hey, good evening, everyone. How's it going? Tonight, we have a very special guest. (camera pans out to show Vaggie sitting next to Axel in an interview chair) Lead singer, guitarist, and rocking girl, Vaggie the Steel Vagina from Fallen Angels.

Charlie: WHAT?!?!?!?!?! (crocodile death rolls around in her excitement and falls out of bed, completely wrapped in a burrito, and worm crawls over to the TV) RAZZLE!!! DAZZLE!!! TURN IT UP!!!

Razzle: (salutes) Baap! (grabs the remote and turns up the volume)

Dazzle: (sad bleats as he looks at the mess of nail polish everywhere) baaaaaap.....

Vaggie: (trying not to snarl at the name) It's just Vaggie, Axel.

Axel Steelgrave: Oh, sure. Sure. Well, thank you so much for taking the time to come and see us. Not gonna lie. We were shocked to hear that you were coming out with a new single so quickly.

Charlie: (plasters her face to the screen) New Single?!?!?!?!?!

Vaggie: (blushes slightly) Well, I figured after hearing the Princess's new album and call-out, I should work on a reply.

Angel: (from behind the camera man) You wouldn't have had ta write and record a whole new song and music video if you just sent 'er a video of you jacking it all week! I've never heard dat vibrator work so hard in its life! I swear I smelled smoke last night!

Charlie: (squeals, gasps, and shrieks all at once and falls backwards)

Vaggie: (jumps up from her seat) Angel! What the Fuck?!

Axel Steelgrave: Well, well, well, I guess that answers my next question. I take it this new single is going to be good news for the Princess?

Vaggie: (still steaming as she sits back down and tries to compose herself) I know you have the video on hand. Why not play it and let the fans see for themselves?

Axel Steelgrave: I couldn't have said it better myself. (to the camera) With that being said, let's take a look at a sneak peek of Fallen Angel's new single: "Dear, Charlie - For Somewhere Better".

-Video cuts to some random point in the music video where Vaggie is standing in black leather skirt that has the leather ripped into strips in a hoola-skirt style, black halter tank top, thigh high leather heeled boots, and black fingerless gloves, holding and shredding a guitar. Angel is a pink, fabulous gay disaster on drums while one set of hands works a keyboard.-

Vaggie: (singing) We'll ignite. Still dreaming wide awake. On the hunt for "Somewhen brighter". Pull me close now, and I'll dream until my dying day. Till we create a new "Somewhere better". The promise of a life. Like a thousand suns inside my broken heart. I can see through your eyes. And embrace the flame that guides me through the night.

-Video Cuts back to the interview-

Axel Steelgrave: (freaking out excitedly) Wow! That's quite the statement! Good on you, Steel Vagina!

Vaggie: Vaggie.

Axel Steelgrave: Before we end this exclusive, is there anything you want to say to the Princess in case she's watching?

Vaggie: (Face falls briefly as her eye widens and a blush colors her face) Oh.... (shakes her head to compose herself, looks into the camera, and makes a telephone gesture) Call me~

Axel Steelgrave: (laughing) Alright! You heard it here first, folks. "Dear, Charlie" will be available on HellTunes tonight at midnight. Thank you all so much for tuning in. And, as always, stay rocking.

Charlie: (finally managing to unravel the blanket and sitting on the floor with a bright red blush) C-Call.... Her.... She wants me to call her... (jumps up and down like a teenager in a bad "not another teen movie" while holding Razzle and Dazzle's hooves) SHE WANTS ME TO CALL HER!!!! (pauses) How?! I don't have her number!

-DING!-

Charlie: (dives for her phone on the floor and opens a new Sinstagram message)

FallenAngelVaggie: Hope you got a chance to watch "Insider Bands" tonight. Talk to you later? Maybe over coffee? XXX-XXX-XXXX

Charlie: (takes a deep breath) SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

Vaggie: (leaning against the wall of the VH666 studio, holding her phone against her chest, and taking a long drag of a cigarette)

Angel: Hey! I thought you were quitting! (yoinks the cigarette and plops it between his lips)

Vaggie: Dammit, Angel! I said I'd be done once my case is empty! (digs in her pocket and pulls out an angelic steel cigarette case) It still has four left! I haven't even lit up in nearly six months!

Angel: I know! Proud of you for that. That interview rile you up that much that you gotta wreck six months of hard work?

Vaggie: Ugh! (slams her back into the wall) You think Charlie got the message?

-squeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!

Angel: (looks up at the sky towards the Morningstar Mansion where it looks like fireworks are going off on one of the balconies) Oh, I think she got it~

[itsthesinbin]

Ooooh could you do a continuation or the likes for that one Ice King x Reader?

https://www.tumblr.com/itsthesinbin/728472237009780736/okay-but-how-do-ice-king-and-reader-meet-did

By the sounds of it the two knew each other before :>

i did a sort of continuation here, but i am MORE than glad to do more of this lil au. this got. a lot longer than i thought it would. but maybe they Did know each other. just a little.

Ice King (Adventure Time)

Dating the Ice King was... odd, to say the least. He was hard to be with at first. He was clingy. He was manic. He could be a little aggressive- not dangerous, just cranky- if you ended up ignoring him for too long; too long being subjective to his needs that day. He was unbelievably frustrating.

But at the same time... he was, strangely, the nicest guy you've ever dated. He'd get cranky, but once he saw you weren't leaving him he didn't push you. He was clingy, but it was because he was lonely. He was manic, but you knew it wasn't his fault. He brought you gifts ranging from flowers to gems to even making ice sculptures in your likeness. It was flattering.

He had made a little ice elevator to get you into the castle easier, when you visited. And by Glob he was always delighted to see you. Every time he heard the elevator chugging its' way up the mountain, you could hear him.

"Gunther they're coming- is there anything in my beard?" he'd ask, followed by a little "wenk". You'd come up just in time to see the little penguin pecking something out of his master's beard. Then Gunther would waddle over to you, making Ice King screech in surprise and try to rub whatever food was in his beard out. You bit back a snort as you picked up your favorite little guy.

"You look fine, IK, calm down," you laughed. He grumbled, flustered and fixing his crown. You grinned as you set the penguin down. You gave him a hug in greeting, and as always he was a little tense before returning it tightly.

"So, what'd you wanna show me?" He had asked you to come over cause he found something "wicked sweet". That seemed to click the lightbulb on.

"Oh yeah! C'mon, sweet thang," he laughed as he yoinked you up like you weight nothing. You yelled in surprise, holding onto him as he flew through the castle. You couldn't help but laugh as well, enjoying the short flight.

"This is my "the past" room- you are the ONLY person aside from Gunther I've let in here," he explained as he set you down. You looked around at all the old stuff in awe, recognizing a lot of it immediately from your time period. You heard him fiddle with some things as you picked through the items.

The old suit jacket he'd give you to wear when you were cold- which you immediately put on as per usual. Some old books- a few of which were written by a Simon.... Petrikov. That sounded familiar...

Then it clicked. You used to live just down the street from him. You used to attend the same book club together, before he stopped coming due to his research. You remember him showing off a book he had gotten published to the group before he stopped joining as often. You'd make him food and check in on him, when Betty couldn't.

"Where is that damn thing?" you heard Ice King mutter. You looked at the jacket you were wearing, turning the book over. A picture of Simon, wearing the exact same jacket.

While your boyfriend was busy, you sifted through the junk pile. Newspaper clippings covered in mad scrawling that spelled out pleas for help and forgiveness. Multiple pictures of Simon and letters written by him to various people. A picture of a young, but now familiar, girl with writing on the back. You stared at another newspaper clipping, a ball of ice in your stomach unrelated to the cold of the ice kingdom. Simon stood next to a sickeningly familiar crown that sat upon a cushion, smiling as wide as can be at his discovery.

A familiar jingle jolted you out of your thoughts and you dropped the article. You whipped around to see Ice King standing next to a cracked tv that was now playing Cheers. He waved his hands in a "tada" motion.

"I got a bunch of old junk from WAAAAY back in the day, so I thought you'd like a little marathon! I can go make popcorn," he offered with a grin. Your mouth hung open as your eyes darted from him to the old tv show. You tried to speak, but all that came out was a soft sobbing noise as realization set in. Immediately, his face fell.

"Oh- What, do you not like this show? I can, uh... I'm sure I got something-!" You cut him off by nearly tackling him in a hug. You held him so tight, knuckles turning white as you gripped the fabric of his robe. Your knees felt weak, giving out and making him drop to the floor with you.

"M... Man, if I knew you liked the show this much, I'd have done this sooner," he tried to joke, not really understanding why you were crying. Thankfully, he just held you and scooted around so you both could see the tv. Not that you really watched it, being too busy reeling from your newfound knowledge.

Gunther, sweet as can be, brought in popcorn and plopped his little self in your lap. You could use the extra comfort. You felt Ice King's hand run up and down your back, and new he was taking glances at you to see if you were alright. For his sake, you pretended to watch the show and forced down some popcorn. He seemed to relax a little, thinking you were fine. You were anything but. However...

What could you even do?

[tidalwaveofcolor]

Aaron Minyard's Math Troubles

Aaron Minyard would rather be anywhere else in the world than where he was right now. 

His situation was quite simple. Aaron hated math with a burning passion. For some reason, no matter how hard Aaron tried, he could never truly understand the concepts. Besides, most of his study time was taken up by his biology and chemistry classes. He hardly had any time left over to review his notes from calculus. Sure his grade in calculus wasn't anything special but one subpar math grade wouldn’t mess up all of his other hard work. 

Or so he thought.

Honestly Aaron had been so busy with his other coursework that he had completely forgotten about his upcoming calculus midterm. At first he panicked, tearing through his backpack and trying to make sense of his hastily scribbled notes before giving up and checking to see if the professor had posted any of their powerpoints online. No luck. So, he turned to youtube, watching and rewatching videos on concepts he had never heard of. He even asked Nicky to help but only got a sheepish smile and a small sorry. 

So yes, Aaron Minyard would rather be anywhere else in the world than where he was right now. Standing in front of Neil Jostens dorm room trying to swallow his pride and ask for help. 

Andrew answered the door after Aaron knocked twice. His eyes flashed slightly with surprise before he schooled his expression and regarded Aaron with a bored look. It took almost everything in Aaron to not turn around right then and there. But, instead he cleared his throat before speaking.“I need to talk to Neil.” 

Now the surprise in Andrew’s eyes was back. “Why?” he asked, regarding Aaron with some kind of emotion other than his usual bored indifference.

Aaron clenched his hand into a fist, fingernails digging into the soft skin of his palm. “I need,” he paused here, trying to figure out what his next words should be, “assistance, on my math work.” Aaron nodded to himself, satisfied. 

At that Andrew relaxed and started to look ever so slightly amused. He opened the door further before walking into the living space of his shared dorm and plopped down in one of the beanbags in front of the TV. “The junkie’s at his desk in the bedroom, try to not yell at each other will ya?”

Aaron, who was still standing just outside the door, hesitated slightly before following his twins direction. With no further ceremony, Aaron knocked on the door leading into Neil’s bedroom. 

“You’re good to come in.” Neil’s voice sounded from behind the door. “Why would you even knock Andr-” Neil continued as he turned towards Aaron who had just opened the door. Freezing Neil narrowed his eyes at Aaron, “What the hell are you doing here Minyard.” Neil’s mouth twisted into a grimace, almost like the sight of Aaron caused him physical pain. 

“Don’t look so disgusted, Andrew and I have the same face asshole.” Aaron refuted as he approached the desk that Neil was sitting at. “And I need you to teach me how to do math.” Aaron offered his test study guide and course silabus to Neil before he could make another smartass comment. 

“Well that's such a nice way to ask for something.” Neil grumbled, snatching both of the documents from Aaron's hands. “Limits, derivatives, and integrals.” He hummed as he thumbed through the review sheet. “This all looks pretty easy, are you sure you need my help?” Neil questioned raising his eyebrow at Aaron. 

Aaron grimaced at the word help. “I have a midterm tomorrow and if I fail I might have to retake the class.”He made eye contact with Neil, trying to make him understand how dire his situation was. 

“So basically,” Neil drawled, “you forgot about your test and now you're whining to me because you don’t know what to do.” Neil finished summarizing, a wicked grin growing on his lips at the thought of having something to hold over Aaron’s head. 

“Yes.” Aaron mumbled through gritted teeth, already regretting even considering asking Neil for help. At this point, failing his midterm might be a better option.

“Fine,” Neil sighed. “Grab Andrew or Kevins chair and sit here.” He gestured vaguely to the area to the right of him. “We won’t have time for all these concepts so you’ll just have to pick the ones you feel the least confident in.” Neil started grabbing out some pencils and paper. “I’ll show you how to do the first few problems and then you’ll do the rest.” He paused again, and smiled almost benevolently at Aaron. “I’ll even make you some practice problems and grade the ones you do.” 

Aaron once again questioned his decisions that led him to this point.

From there, Neil and Aaron settled into a tense routine. Aaron would complete as many problems as he could before handing the paper over to Neil. Neil would then grade his work critiquing Aaron’s work the whole time.

“Your notations all off, It’s not that fucking hard to write plus C after your integrals.” Neil hissed at him like he was scolding a child. “If you can’t even remember that, I don't know why I bothered to help you.” 

“It’s not my fault we can’t all be math freaks like you.” Aaron shot back, venom dripping from his every word. 

They would continue like that back and forth before inevitably quieting down again to do the next problem. Then one of them would make a rude or snide comment and the cycle would repeat all over again. 

“Why the fuck would you put plus C on this problem it’s not an indefinite integral.” It was Neil who started the fight this time. “Did you not listen to anything I told you five fucking minutes ago?”

Aaron scoffed mentally curing Neil and his temper, “Five minutes ago you told me to add it asshole.” 

Neil rolled his eyes, “Yes but that was a completely different problem.” He pushed the problem in question closer to Aaron so he could look at it again. “You see the difference?” 

As much as Aaron was loathed to admit it, Neil was a good teacher. He was thorough in his critique but did well at explaining topics in a way that Aaron could understand. Though, Aaron doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to forget how Neil yelled at him for his, as Neil put it, notation so bad that a sixth grader could have written it better.

Aaron left Neil’s dorm four hours later with his papers in hand and feeling of utter exhaustion. He couldn’t find it in himself to study anymore and instead opted to sleep before his exam. 

The next day, Aaron sat in front of his midterm paper and said a quick prayer before opening his test. He walked out of the exam hall two hours later feeling just as exhausted as he had the night before. 

Neil would never let Aaron live that night down especially after learning he got an 86%. And Aaron would never admit that Neil became his go-to math tutor.

[glindafication]

WICKED ON THE WEST END!!!

I went to see a matinee performance of Wicked on the west end today, meaning I can now add Alexia Khadime and Lucy St. Louis to the list of incredible women who have altered my life and ruined my mascara (slight exaggeration but it sounds good) through their portrayal of my favourite gay witches.

Also: I missed NOMTW and had to watch the Wizard and I and half of what is this feeling on a shitty TV feed because of transport issues- Fuck TFL

Here is a collection of thoughts/ observations from the performance:

-I haven't seen the musical live since 2019 and I forgot just how amazing it is live in general. If you ever get the chance to see the show in person it is WELL worth it. The lights, the music, the costumes, all so incredible. Particularly when the lights came on for the emerald city at the start of one short day. I don't know what it was but it was just so amazing. Also the costumes look so much better when you can actually see them in front of you. The little twinkles in every single one of Glinda's costumes that you just can't see on camera and then it gets even better in act two. (side note, there are DEFINITELY holographic sequins on the bubble dress and they're gorgeous)

-One thing I remember from seeing the show when I was 11 is that the Oz head was so UNGODLY LOUD. Every time it came on stage after I heard it speak for the first time I covered my ears until it was gone. Idk if my noise tolerance has gotten better or if the Oz head has actually gotten quieter, but it wasn't nearly as bad this time. Like, I remember when he called the guards, the 'Yes, your Ozness' was actually louder than the head itself

-I always thought that the popular dress didn't have a matching purse the way the shiz and one short day costumes do but maybe it does??? She was definitely holding a bag during the scene when she was getting ready with Pfannee and Shenshen and I'm pretty sure it was a unique one. But then she only had it for that tiny scene so idk

-The bubble wand does seem to be different on the West End to the one on Broadway. It's more like... 3 dimensional? If that makes sense. It kind of projects outwards around the centre in more of an orb rather than the bits all sticking out in more of a disc like on Broadway

-There are a few minor changes to the script on the West End. Mostly just English-ifying it slightly. The only things I noticed were Glinda saying 'we all went to uni together' instead of 'school', Madame Morrible said 'sorcery tutorial' rather than 'seminar' and Glinda said 'thanks awfully' to Fiyero rather than 'thanks plenty' in thank goodness

-Lucy St Louis is VERY GOOD at that thing where you make it sound like ur about to cry (idk if there's a word for it) and her Glinda made me very sad at all the points where it's supposed to- I almost cried during thank goodness, for good and the finale. Also she held 'Because' for quite a while and she went very high with it- sounded absolutely gorgeous

-On the topic of the singing, both actresses were just so amazing. No good deed and for good were standouts but they sounded incredible for the whole show

-I was pretty sure that when I saw Wicked for the first time in 2019 (6 years ago yesterday, in fact) that during march of the witch hunters, when Morrible and Glinda are talking/arguing/whatever that interaction would be called, I saw Morrible grab Glinda by the wrist and fully yank her hand off the railing. I remembered being quite shocked by it in the theatre because something about it just seemed so violent. I wasn't sure if I was misremebering it because I hadn't seen any other Morribles do it but I think it might actually just be another West End thing. When I saw it today, not only did this happen, but it was actually worse than I remember it being. Morrible held onto her wrist for some time, and then moved her hand back and forth to forcibly make her wave to the witch hunters. Then she practically threw her hand back down. So, yeah, 11 year old me was right about that and it was actually more messed up than I remember it being. (I know this isn't that violent but it is kind of alarming to watch, like something about it is just so unsettling)

[davosmymaster]

The Saddest Part of Me

TAGS AND WARNINGS - +18, Minors DNI, no smut (yet) but mentions of sex/sexual themes, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, mention of past abusive/violent relationship, canon-typical violence, breaking-up, Jake is the fist of Khonshu, Marc and Steven don’t have the suit anymore, post-MoonKnight, my non-native English is a warning itself, no beta

PAIRINGS - Jake Lockley x fem!reader ; Marc Spector x fem!reader ; Steven Grant x fem!reader

WORD COUNT - 4.6k

SUMMARY - Tired of Jake’s missions turning deadly, Steven and Marc ask you for help. It backfires.

A/N - This started as first person pov, dont know exactly why but i liked it and went with it. Then it changed after one of the pauses and I was too tired to change it (also i like it as it is) so I didn’t. Don’t read if you are easily triggered. Credits to whoever made the gif. Part two will be up when it’s up.

THE SADDEST PART OF ME

 Toni Morrison once wrote that "love is never any better than the lover". And as if that wasn't a horrible enough claim on its own, she followed with "wicked people love wickedly, violent people love violently, weak people love weakly, stupid people love stupidly."

 I found myself called to those lines and, trapped by the words of a book that had me crying for most of it, I discovered I was more moved by that sentence than I had been for the rest of the novel. Trapped as I was, my mind rushed to find meaning beyond the words. I remembered past flings and failed relationships, abusive exes, and even friendships that hadn't worked. Finally, at last, my eye caught the shape of one of my boyfriends watching a cricket game on tv; as if I hadn't been aware that he was there, as if it was the first time I saw him. Truly, saw him.

 Steven noticed, of course he did. He was always hyperaware of his surroundings and, unlike Marc, he didn't know how to be subtle about it. He leaned back on the sofa, almost melting against it, and looked in my direction with the most relaxed expression he had in weeks. There was one cute smile on his lips; eyes gleaming with comfort after a long week of work. He was finally spending time with his girlfriend, and the time felt valuable for both of us even if each was doing our own thing.

 He must have seen something on my face, something buried and hurt perhaps, something I'm still not very sure of what it was; but something regardless, because his eyes switched off their glow as if someone had thrown a handful of sand over them. His smile trembled slightly, without him ever finding out, as if his body was understanding something he was not. A presage.

 "You feeling alright, love?" he asked.

 Even though I heard him loud and clear, felt his worry as my own in the way he looked at me; my brain did not seem to register. My mind was long gone, far away from there. I was looking at Steven but I had no problem with him. I was looking at his body. No, I was not, either. I was looking at the shell that contained the three men I was in love with. And I just happened to be looking at Steven because he was there —the wrong place at the wrong time— but who I was really looking for in those eyes, the person that deserved to be there at that moment, it wasn't Steven. It wasn't Marc, either.

 It was Jake.

 We'd just had the most terrible month in our relationship. Even though I'd like to say it only concerned Jake and I, it truly did not. Marc and Steven had their role in the problem too, even if it was well-intentioned in the end. Our argument seemed to be over, at least for now. But neither of us had apologized nor had we found a peaceful way out of our trouble.

 No. Not at all.

 It was over because we had both decided we loved each other more than the problem hurt us. Now we were ignoring both the problem still unresolved and the gap his lies had created between us.

 Yes, Jake had lied to me. Repeteadly and over a long period of time. Problem was he didn't regret it at all. My mind had been trying not to think more about the matter, ignoring it, living happily in naivety. In my coping mechanism I was blind to the elephant in the room: Jake didn't regret his actions at all. He didn't regret killing those people and he sure as hell didn't regret lying to me about it.

 That meant only one thing: he would kill again. That is, if he hadn't already.

 As if he could read my mind Steven's frown deepened. He got closer, his hand closing the space that separated us. His thumb very slowly touched my cheek. It was so slow, so gentle, as if he was frightened himself of my stupor. Or even scared of me.

 The slowness did not restrain my soul from shooting back into my body. The jump it caused could only be described as the sensation of falling from an imaginary abyss just as you are about to fall asleep.

 It was right then when I realized Jake wasn't hidden there, in those eyes. It was just Steven. Only sweet and sincere Steven.

 "You alright?" he asked, a worried chuckle dancing on his lips. "I lost you for a moment there, uh. In the land of the dreaming?"

 I smiled, even if I couldn't quite remember how.

 "Yeah, yeah... Sorry I scared you," I said, but still took his hands and put them away from me. All I could think about was those hands unfortunately being a part of Jake. Those pretty hands that belonged to Steven and Marc too, but which had been smeared with thick blood clotting around the nails. All I could see was them holding the gun Jake had been so reluctant to throw away, the small pocket knife he always wore as a key chain.

 "Can I ask you something..." I said then, my words so fast my mind had barely registered them, my tone so devoid of life it sounded as if I was going to ask him to kill me. Maybe I was. "...Steven?"

 I pronounced his name trying to breathe a bit of life into the sentence, but I could already tell by the way his breathing was caught in his lungs that he did not believe my facade for one split second.

 He took my hand in his, the heat warming them but freezing my body at the same time. Those hands...

 "Of course! Of course you can. Bloody hell, why do you even ask it like that?"

 I smiled and, with my thumb, I massaged the deep frown between his eyebrows. He relaxed the muscles there, suddenly aware of his expression.

 Half of me did it for him, because I was starting to feel guilty for worrying him. Half of me did it because my hands felt trapped under his.

 Steven relaxed, smiling once again. Partially relieved.

 "Are Marc or Jake listening?"

 Steven seemed confused at the question at first. He fixed his eyes on my own, but at the same time very far away from there. Then he looked around: at the tv, at any nearby mirrors, even his mug and the tea in it.

 "No, they aren't," he said. "But I can look for them, wake them up, if you want me to."

 "No, no. I just wanted to talk to you for a second."

 Steven tilted his head to one side slightly, confused.

 "Oh, oh. Sure, love."

 That's when my turn of taking his hands in mine came. It was the only way in which I could feel safe in both my question and his answer, in the truth of them, actually. I had never once before questioned Steven. I had blind faith in him, I always had. But as I said, what should have stayed as a Jake and me problem, had somehow tainted Steven and Marc too. Up until this point I had firmly believed I distinguished every single one of them from the others, and treated them accordingly; but now my body was showing me that, in fact, a part of me saw all of them as the same man.

 "If Jake hurt anyone again, you would tell me right away. Right?"

 His eyes shot open. From where I was seating in front of him I could almost hear his heartbeats.

 "Of course! Of course I would. Marc would too. We did it before, right?"

 "Eventually, yeah. After hiding it for months," the tinge of disgust in my voice did not go unnoticed.

 His hands were now trembling.

 "We didn't know what to do! At first we didn't even notice it was something that would affect us. Then I told them. And neither of them listened. We did tell you about Khonshu and we thought it was... implied. But Jake never wanted to kill...!"

 "Okay, okay. Steven. Steven look at me," I said, as he kept talking and talking in a panicked state. "Look at me, okay? You said sorry. Marc, you and I talked about this. It's okay. You said sorry. You're forgiven."

 He stopped talking, pressed his cheek against my hand when I tried to comfort him. He nodded as if trying to absorb my words. But his pupils still jumped slightly, here and there. Restless, unsafe.

 "I would tell you," he finally said with a tiny voice. His eyes welled with tears. "I promise. I promise I would. Please don't go."

 He made me cry too. Almost jumping over him, I hugged him, pretty much estranged him with my arms. I clung to the sweater he was wearing as if holding on for dear life. Steven followed with no less force. He crushed me against his chest, breathing hard into my hair, silently crying. With hands wide open over my whole back, it felt as if he was both trying to memorize the feeling of me in his arms and, holding me in place so I wouldn't abandon him.

 "Why do I feel like you're gonna leave?" he whispered.

 Steven had very little power of the matter, and that fact terrified him beyond reason. He couldn't stop Jake from killing again. He couldn't bear the thought of seeing your disgusted, disappointed, crying face again. But if there was something he could not even think about, that was you breaking up with them, leaving them, hating them. He could not conceive the world without you being the first thing he saw in the morning. He could not go back to be and feel as lonely as he did before. He couldn't.

 Being in this impossible situation, anxiety rising up to the clouds, the only comforting thought he could get was that, if he behaved, if he was good, despite what Jake could do, if he was good and behaved like you wanted him to, then you wouldn't abandon him. You might abandon Jake for being a murderer, but if he proved himself... then you wouldnt —couldn't— leave him.

 In his mind, he is ten years old and doing the dishes at two in the morning so mom will kiss him goodnight.

 Stupid people love stupidly

 Regaining someone's trust is not an easy task, everyone says that, but no one talks about how complicated it is to regain intimacy with the other person.

 It's not about sexual intimacy. That's easy, perhaps too easy. And Jake makes it even easier; he knows what buttons to push, where and when to touch you so you're left wanting more, pursuing him yourself against your own judgement. It's the other intimacy that is difficult to get back, the type in which you start talking about life and don't finish until dawn. It's about the cuddles, the feeling of being comfortable around each other, planning stuff to do together because you don't want to —not even think about— doing it with anyone else. Before Marc and Steven told you what Jake had done, asking you to help him stop, it wasn't uncommon for you and Jake to dance around the kitchen while cooking; both slow and quick Latin songs playing through the speakers. He loved to dance bachata, you loved to see him happy.

 Now your home is silent, the closeness complicated. The kitchen doesn't smell like spices anymore, and even the flat seems to have become darker. Maybe London has become darker, maybe the entire world has shunned the sun.

 Jake promises one day that he will never do it again. He waits for you to be in bed and slides under the covers. For a long time, he says nothing; he's still hesitating. Jake isn't sure he can keep this promise he is about to make. After all, he doesn't kill people because he likes it; he does it because they are necessary.

 Eventually, when he feels your breathing evening out, he knows if he doesn't do it you will never trust him again. And so he does it; unsure and scared, but is anyone ever not unsure and scared? he asks himself.

 You hug him tight then. It's the closest he's felt to you in a month. He's missed you more than he dares to admit. So he buries his hands in you, in your hair, your back, your shoulders, the back of your thighs. He doesn't want to let go. All he wants is for time to stop. If he could choose where to live for the rest of his life, he would live in the exact spot between your jaw and neck that his nose is caressing just now. He would die there, too.

 You're the only good thing in his life. Everyone knows that.

 Suddenly a month has passed, a more than reasonable amount of time for you to start letting your guard down. Jake has been so patient and careful that you start to feel like a fool for creating this awkward space between the two of you; although the truth is, it's not your fault.

 There are only fifteen days to your anniversary, or at least the start of it, as each of the boys takes an entire day to celebrate it with you. That makes your anniversary a weekend-long thing. With your anniversary so close, you feel an overwhelming sensation of hopelessness. And in the midst of your nostalgia for what you were, and loathing what you've become, you ask Jake to forget anything ever happened. He complies.

 The following is your day off, but Jake has work in the evening. Still, that doesn't stop him from scheduling a date. He takes you out for brunch to the most beautiful restaurant you've ever seen. You are seated on the inner patio. There is a fountain there, and the decoration is Bukowski books on small shelves and flowering vines on the walls.

 You sit on a pallet drilled into the wall. It has beautiful rainbow-coloured cushions to sit on. Jake takes the chair in front of you, but he's too far away for your liking. Instead, you take his arm and ask him to sit a bit closer. Jake takes the seat next to you, not even his flat cap concealing the happiness glowing in his eyes. As he sits down, as if by a reflex, he puts one of his hands on your thigh. He caresses your knee for a few seconds before taking the menu and placing it in front of you to decide what you both will be having, together.

 Two hours later both of you are taking a walk in Hyde Park. It's January, but the sun is shining over your heads anyway. Jake has never been one to be affectionate in public, but now he has his arm around your shoulders as you walk. Your face hurts from laughing and smiling. This is exactly what you missed, just what you needed. It all gets worse when, just before you leave, a squirrel chases Jake across the parking lot.

 Jake drives you home, he drives slowly through London because he doesn't want to let you go. He doesn't want today to end. He stops the car at the beginning of the street because there's a street market today and he can't get through. He stops the car there, double-parked because it is impossible to park anywhere else in the city. He gets out of his limousine at the same time you do. With a quick, determined step he circles the limousine, and you wonder what the hell he's doing. Then, he takes your face in his hands and kisses you. His lips brush yours, it's barely a caress until it's not. All you feel is him, his love, his warmth, the fabric of his driving gloves on your cheeks.

 "Thank you," he whispers.

 It feels like an I love you, so you take it that way.

 Unfortunately, the honeymoon phase lasted just one more day.

 He had no other choice, he wouldn't have ever risked another fight with you if he had the option not to. In fact, it was an accident. The fault wasn't entirely his. Yet Jake was so scared that you could see what he had done in his eyes, through his soul, that he drove to the other end of London and fell asleep in the back of the limo, on the plain floor.

 Steven had panicked so much that his consciousness disconnected. He was nowhere to be found. Marc, on the other hand, was going through all five stages of grief. He had gone from calling him every single insult in the English language to denying that Jake had done anything. By the time Jake decided to get back home, Marc was in full depression stage. Thinking of the worst.

 Even if he wanted to shut down the way his alters were doing, he couldn't. Jake cared for the others to an obsessive extent. All his life, he had taken the hard punches. He had killed so the others wouldn't have to, he had taken his mother's beatings with not a single tear shed, he took insults and humilliations; he took Elias' calls begging Marc to come back home when he ran away, he took the hardest parts of military training and most life-or-death situations that followed.

 He took Khonshu. He was still taking Khonshu.

 Marc and Steven had enough of the god, but someone had to do the work anyways. After all, the pigeon had only freed the other two. And if Moon Knight and Mr Knight wouldn't fight, then Jake Lockley would have to do. Someone had to protect the travellers of the night, that's what Khonshu had said when Jake asked him to free him as well.

 He was still debating what to do, whether to keep it from you or not, when Steven made the decision for him.

 "Jake," he spoke, appearing out of nowhere. "If you don't tell her yourself, I will."

 He grabbed the steering wheel tight. He saw red for a split second, then focused on the road ahead.

 "What?" he almost barked.

 "You heard me."

 "Si será hijueputa- Who do you think you are?"

 Steven said nothing else despite Jake's attempts to provoke him. His silence only made him even more nervous. He insulted him for twenty minutes, called him things he didn't really mean, until eventually, he stopped.

 "Okay, Steven, have it your way," he said. "Just give me some time to think how."

 "You have an hour."

 The image Jake formed on his mind was nowhere close to the moments following his confession. Yet it was somehow even worse. The smile from your face vanished quickly into a thin line, your eye became dull, absorbed by something far away from there. Whatever you were thinking, whatever images were playing inside your brain, he just hoped it wasn't him covered in blood.

 Your sight was lost somewhere on the small dots that covered the kitchen table, round wounds in the wood like gunshots. Your index flew to one of them, rubbing your fingertips against it for a few seconds, then giving up and lifting your head to look at him again. Crossing your arms over your chest as if you were cold.

 "What do you expect me to do now?" you asked. If death had a voice, Jake was certain it would sound like yours. "You promis-."

 "I know," he said. He inhaled oxygen, but seemed to exhale despair. He moved quickly from where he was standing at the other end of the table. With a squeak he took the chair right next to you and sat down. "I don't expect you to forgive me, but I had to-"

 "You had to." you spat. "Was someone pointing a gun to your head?"

 "Actually, yeah..." he responded, lips pressed as not to laugh. He forgot to mention he was also caught by the throat, until the other guy pulled the trigger and Jake moved his attacker's head in the trajectory of the bullet. "But I don't think that changes anything, does it?"

 He saw what he thought was doubt in your eyes. Although he could have easily have mistaken it for the misery drowning your pupils. Deep down —perhaps not so deep— Jake couldn't understand why you cared so much for these people. Sure, he didn't like to have other people's blood on his hands, but at the end of the day many of them deserved to be dead. Jake wasn't getting why there was so much fuss about the matter. All he cared about was you, though. And if you cared, that made the matter grow in importance. He didn't care about hurting his enemies the same way he didn't care if he found a wallet on the street and didn't return it; sure, it wasn't ideal, but it was their loss, not his.

 He took your hand the same way you had once done with Steven. He tried to comfort you somehow. Jake wasn't good with words. In fact, he didn't think he were any good with anything except his job, his work for Khonshu, and fucking your brains out. He had never had the need to protec anyone who didn't already live in his body; but he cared about you too much, and didn't want you to suffer.

 Then, you took your eyes out of his fingers warming your cold ones. With the same expression and voice but dry eyes, you spoke

 "I think we need to break up."

 Jake blinked a few times, nodded, too; but his mind had not caught up on the words. He looked at your eyes again, confused by your pitied expression.

 Then he chuckled, lips tightly closed.

 "What?"

 "I said..." a shaky breath came out of your mouth. "I said I... we need to break up."

 Jake felt his chest and throat close up, the bile still rising to his mouth somehow. He coughed once, when he felt the acid burning its path, then rose up from the chair, swallowed. When he got to the window, he realized he was shaking. A hand tugged from the roots of his hair.

 "��Qué dijiste?" he asked, turning around to look at you. He looked at his reflexion in a mirror right next to his face, found his own face, not a trace of the others, but asked them anyway. "¿Qué dijo la pendejita esta?"

 Rage was quickly starting to burn up in his veins. Slowly, as not to scare him further, you walked closer.

 "I'm sorry, Jake," you told him, now your own eyes welling with tears. His arms wanted to take you, hold you, tell you everything is going to be fine; but you were only crying because you were hurting him. And you know it. And you know it. And he hates it.

 "Don't fucking-" he said, although he doesn't even know where the sentence is going. His body was not reacting to his command, not even breathing properly. He doesn't understand why his mouth tastes bitter, or why you're trying to hurt him saying that.

 He touched his face because there was something there bothering him. Dust, maybe a particle of something, an eyelash stuck in his eye, whatever. But when he touches it, his finger are wet.

 Oh, a tear.

 Before your body could make contact with his he held both your arms to stop you, his fingers curled around your forearms, your eyes filled with tears only half shed.

 "You can't," he said, then chuckled again like a madman. "You could never."

 He was so sure, too sure, there was not an ounce of doubt in his mind. He seemed so certain that his back straightened, his breathing evened out. He seemed calmed and it confused you. Were you driving him mad?

 "You can't," he repeated, halfway to a chuckle again. "You could never break up with the others, you love them way too much."

 His claim broke your own heart. The only reason Jake had for believing you would stay with him through thick and thin, was because he believed you wanted the others too much. The pieces of your heart crashed, splinters flew away, you could no longer feel it beating. You ached for him, but that didn't change anything.

 "Jake I'm not breaking up with the others," you said, and regretted there was not a kinder way of doing it. "I'm breaking up with you."

 He thought he heard a relieved breath then, and he lost it, completely lost it. It could have been the air coming in through the partially opened window, it could have been the tv still on, or even the kettle still complaining as the water cooled off. But he lost it all the same, not even knowing if the sound had come from Steven and Marc in the headspace or something entirely different. He took the mirror next to him and punched it, hard. The splinters covered his knuckles, blood rushed through the wounds to the to the rhythm of his heart.

 Violent people love violently.

 "Putos cabrones," he insulted them, but his tone was softer that he meant, breathy even.

 "Jake, baby... don't."

 He let you touch him this time. You kept still crying and he hated it. As his concern for you grew, so did his hatred. Your cold hands held both his cheeks, your lips pressed against his forehead just once. The blood staining his white shirt, his whole uniform. He had never gotten it ripped or even stained in a fight, and he was partially embarrassed that the first time he got it stained was because of his own blood, his own wounds.

 You kept saying things, words that he supposed should sound comforting. But he was not listening, not at all.

 "Why are you doing this to me?" he whispered, then his knees gave up under him. "I trusted you. I trusted you."

 "I can't." you told him, begging him to understand. "I had a relationship before, one where he would tell me he was going to change, promise me, and then go back to treating me the same, and I forgave him. And he would do the same thing to me again. And I forgave him. I can't go through that again, baby. Not again. Not with you."

 Jake wanted to scream. He wanted to ask you why you could be patient with others but had not the same patience for him. But he didn't. He stayed silent. He knew such a question would hurt you. Countless times had he hold you while you cried for your past, for how others had mistreated you. The thought that he had done the same was burying him alive. He wanted to melt, pass through the wooden planks on the floor, fall until he reached the barren land, then be swallowed by dirt itself; become nothing.

 He wiped the tears from his face, leaving a bloody trail wherever his fingers touched. You blinked in front of him a few times, shaky lips he wanted to kiss saying goodbye gave him, instead, a bit of hope.

 "Violence is easy, Jake, it's the easy path," you told him. "I can't- I won't be with another violent man. If you show me you can change, I promise you'll have me forever."

 He nodded. He had a mission now.

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[lillywillow]

Queen of His Heart

Summary: Bucky unexpectedly meets one of his idols

Written for: @the-slumberparty

Words: 1948

Square Filled: G1- Meet Cute

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Actress!Reader

Warnings: Bucky dressed as a Frank Frazetta barbarian (Come on, you know this is a warning)

A/N: Set in a modern AU. I had way too much fun creating this fictional fantasy series XD

Bucky didn’t fit the stereotype of a nerd. He was tall and beefy with long hair. Most people are surprised when they find out about his special interests. Bucky loved D&D, fantasy novels, cosplaying and LARPing. His favourite book was his copy of The Hobbit which he had since he was a boy. Another favourite of his was a series called Maidens of Wrath.

…

There was so much about this series that Bucky loved. He loved the strong female characters, from the wicked Sister Nimsay; high priestess of the Order of Bulgraith to the kind hearted Isra who ran a local tavern that the characters frequented. His favourite character by far was Queen Ranlova. She was the eldest of seven siblings in this matriarchal society. While five of her sisters each ruled a kingdom of their own and her brother was a royal advisor, it was the duty of Queen Ranlova to keep the peace between the kingdoms. She didn’t always get along with her siblings but she could be kind and just while also being a fierce warrior. Bucky also enjoyed the relationship between Ranlova and the barbarian prince Yarreth. The prince admired the queen without pathetically pining over her while at the same time, respecting her boundaries. Not once was Yarreth disrespectful towards Ranlova should she turn him down.

When Bucky first heard that they were making a TV series out of the books, he was excited, yet reserved. For example, The Lord of the Rings movies were absolute perfection (even if they did leave out his favourite scene; the Tom Bombadil one). The Hobbit Trilogy was okay but the Rings of Power series was abysmal in his opinion. Bucky counted down the days until the moment until the show aired and when it did, he was pleasantly surprised. It was everything he could have ever hoped for. They got all the details right and he especially loved the way the actress playing Queen Ranlova portrayed her. The series used a lesser-known actors, only casting the big names for certain characters. After the first episode, Bucky was hooked.

…

Bucky was excited about the upcoming fantasy convention. This year, the cast of Maidens of Wrath would be guest stars on the panel. He had his Prince Yarreth cosplay all ready to go and tried to think of any questions he might want to ask them. Now all he had to do was earn a little extra money so he could go.

Bucky was working his usual shift at the café. It was the same people with the same conversations and the same orders all over again. The only thing that was getting him through the day was the thought of going home to re-watch the latest released episode of Maidens of Wrath before heading to his shift at the restaurant. While working, he came across a new customer. He didn’t really see her face as she kept the cap of her baseball hat low and wore sunglasses. Something about this woman seemed familiar to him but he didn’t say anything. He would just have to keep an eye on her.

The whole time this mysterious woman was at the café, she didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. She just sat and drank her coffee like anyone else would do at a café. When Bucky went to clear up her space when she was finished, he noticed that she left something behind. Picking it up, it was a copy of the newest Maidens of Wrath novel: Metal Machine. This hadn’t even been released in the US yet. Whoever this woman was, clearly had special connections and Bucky knew if he had left something like this behind, he’d want it back. Bucky ran out the door with the book in his hand.

“Excuse me! Miss!” he called.

Bucky tried going after her but she was too fast. He wanted to go after her but felt like he’d look like a total creep chasing some poor woman down the street. Bucky thought if she was a fan like he was, she would come back to the café to pick it back up when she noticed it was missing. Until then he would take good care of the book.

…

Bucky had the next day off but informed all his coworkers what had happened and asked them to call him immediately if the woman came back for the book. Unable to help himself he started reading Maidens of Wrath: Metal Machine but forced himself to stop when he got to the neatly placed bookmark. As much as he wanted to devour the whole thing (and he easily could in a single night) he decided it would be a courtesy not to do so. If he went any further, he might accidently spoil something for someone in his excitement and he didn’t want to be that guy. This way, he might be able to discuss everything that had happened so far in MoW; Metal Machine with this woman. That is, if she would be open to it. Bucky was so engrossed in his reading that he nearly jumped out of his skin when his phone alerted him of an incoming message.

Nat: She’s here ;)

Bucky grinned at the message and immediately rushed to the café.

…

As soon as he arrived, Bucky looked around for this mystery woman. He spotted her sitting at the same corner booth she was yesterday, looking around nervously. Smiling, Bucky headed over to her and presented the book to her.

“I believe this belongs to you,” he stated, handing the book back.

The woman smiled and carefully tucked the item away in her bag.

“Thank you so much.”

“Anytime. You’re so lucky to get an advanced copy of Maidens of Wrath. You must have some pretty special connections,” Bucky rambled.

“You could say that,” the woman replied, lowering her sunglasses a little.

Bucky could have fainted right then and there. It was really her. Y/N L/N, the actress who played Queen Ranlova on the show. He realised his mouth was hanging open and quickly closed it, taking a seat across from her.

“I take it you’re a fan of the series,” she continued, pushing her sunglasses back up.

“Yes, ma’am. I love the way you bring Ranlova to life. You were a perfect choice for the role,” Bucky gushed.

“Well, thank you,” Y/N smiled, looking a little flustered.

Bucky started a conversation with her and it wasn’t long before it felt like they were old friends. He came to find that Y/N had a few acting roles before Maidens of Wrath so she wasn’t too well known yet but with the series boom in popularity, it was becoming her biggest one yet. She was really easy to talk to with a kind of country girl air about her. Bucky bonded with her over their mutual love of the fantasy series. Y/N’s favourite volume was book two: Crimson Glory whereas Bucky’s favourite was book five: Midnight Moon. Eventually Y/N’s phone pinged, indicating a message which informed her she needed to go.

“Will I see you at the convention?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he smiled.

Bucky couldn’t wait.

…

Finally, the day of the convention arrived. Bucky proudly examined his cosplay that he had worked so hard on. He wore a faux fur loin cloth, faux leather boots, and a gold circlet on his head. Over his left arm, Bucky had slipped a sleeve that looked like armour that had a strap to cross over his chest. Feeling good about himself, Bucky picked up his warrior axe walked out of his room for breakfast.

Bucky’s roommates Sam and Steve gawked at him as he sat down at the table.

“What?” he grumpily asked.

“Nothing… just didn’t realise Conan the Barbarian was joining us for breakfast,” Sam grinned.

Bucky grumbled under his breath.

“Leave him alone, Sam. He’s been really excited about for this,” Steve chided.

“Fine, fine,” Sam huffed. “You sure you want to leave the house like that though?”

“What’s wrong with my cosplay?” Bucky questioned, suddenly feeling doubts.

“Nothing at all… but if you get flocked by hordes of thirsty woman, that’s all on you,” Sam shrugged.

Bucky finished his breakfast in a hurry because 1. Sam was annoying and 2. He was excited to see Y/N again, grabbed his backpack (which kind of ruined the image a little but needed it nonetheless) and left for the convention.

…

By the time Bucky got there, the event was in full swing. There were cosplayers everywhere, vendors selling their goods and various demonstrations being held. Bucky was in geek heaven. He looked at the various displays people had, deciding what he may really want before buying anything, had his photo taken by many other attendees and somehow ended up in a group shot with other Yarreth cosplayers. Bucky was having the time of his life.

Finally, it came time for the event he was waiting for. A large crowd of people flooded into one of the buildings for it. Normally, Bucky hated crowds but for something like this, he would make due. When the Maidens of Wrath cast members walked out, they went wild. After they had taken their places, people asked their questions. Some were insightful, some were a little dumb while others were downright insulting. Bucky really wanted to throttle the ones who were disrespectful to the female cast members.

After the Q&A session, they aired a brand-new episode for the public to see. It was everything Bucky could hope for. They got every scene from the book right. Once the viewing was over, the cast went on to do pictures and signings. Bucky patiently waited in the line to meet Y/N. He would have been in that line anyway, even if he hadn’t had meet her a few days before. As he moved closer, he could hear her talking to the other convention goers, complementing them on their cosplays and giving words of encouragement. Finally, it was his turn at the front of the line.

“Hi, I don’t know if you remember me,” he began but she cut him off.

“Bucky, from the diner! Of course, I remember you! Your Yarreth cosplay is fantastic!” she beamed.

Bucky smiled brightly. She remembered him.

“I really enjoyed meeting you and I can’t thank you enough for returning my book.”

“You’re welcome. I’m glad I could help,” Bucky smiled.

Y/N sighed a photo, flipped it over and scribbled a message.

“Let’s take a picture together,” she encouraged.

Bucky got into a warrior stance and Y/N also posed.

“I hope to see you again,” she smiled, handing him the autograph and the photo.

Bucky walked off with his items so other people could take their turn. He couldn’t stop smiling as he read the message on the autograph.

Bucky, I normally don’t do this sort of thing but I really enjoyed talking to you the other day and had a lot of fun. I can’t wait to hear from you.

Love, Y/N

With the message, she had written her phone number. Who knows? Maybe one day they could have the same kind of relationship of Queen Ranlova and Prince Yarreth did. It was the kind of fantasy romance one could only dream of.

[eirian-houpe]

Dies Irae - Chapter 1

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold Characters: Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Mad Hatter | Jefferson, Evil Queen | Regina Mills, Wicked Witch of the West | Zelena, Red Riding Hood | Ruby, Grumpy | Leroy, Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Grace | Paige (Once Upon a Time) Additional Tags: AU, Angst, Violence, archeology, psychic questing, Religion, spirituality, Magic, Supernatural - Freeform, Romance, Smut Summary:

A strange man confronts Doctor Belle French after one of her lectures, and claims to need her help. He also claims to know that she is troubled, and can offer her protection. When events transpire that lead Belle to take up that offer, a desperate search begins to find a series of ancient artifacts, and Belle and her friends - both old and new - face increasing danger as they try to secure the artifacts for the powers of good before they can fall into very wrong hands, and possibly threaten every living thing in Storybrooke and beyond!

Chapter One: Ēvincere

Etymology of the English word evince (v.) c. 1600, "disprove, confute," from French évincer "disprove, confute," from Latin evincere "conquer, overcome subdue, vanquish, prevail over; elicit by argument, prove," from assimilated form of ex "out" (see ex-) + vincere "to overcome" (from nasalized form of PIE root *weik- (3) "to fight, conquer"). Meaning "show clearly" is late 18c. Not clearly distinguished from its doublet, evict, until 18c. Related: Evinced; evinces; evincing; evincible.

"And I cannot stress hard enough…”

He didn’t move.  While all around him in the lecture hall, those gathered in unspoken conspiracy seemed to squirm and shift uncomfortably in their places on the long, hard wooden benches, he remained immobile.

“…that if you are coming into archeology with dreams of… fame and fortune; of glory even, then you have been sadly misinformed.”

He sighed - perhaps the first sign of life since he entered the hall - and moved his hands with slow, measured precision, to turn to collar of his black, woolen trench coat up as if to defend against a unwelcome draft. He’d heard this before, several times, and as she continued, almost syllable for syllable, matched her litany.

“Treasure comes in many forms,” he muttered as she spoke, “and it isn’t always - is rarely as a matter of fact - gold or precious artifacts.” He recitation was lifeless and without the passionate inflection with which she spoke.

“But is something more precious still…” She gave a pause then, and in his line of sight, the watcher could separate those that had been caught in her spell, and those that were merely along for the ride. The former leaned, slightly, toward the front of the lecture hall, where the diminutive Doctor Belle French held court, and finished with all the mysteriousness it seemed that she could muster, “Knowledge.”

If she might have continued, he would never know, as the bell signaling the end of the alloted time sounded, and the ever impatient students began stuffing backpacks and tote bags with notebooks and textbooks; wooden boxes full of sharpened pencils and depleted ink pens, and hurried to rise and leave.

Still, he sat immobile, one booted foot up on the desk-like shelf in front of him, the other splayed slight to the side, toward the aisle.  Others along his row shifted impatiently; pointedly waiting for him to take his foot down at least, so they could sidle, inconvenienced, past this apparent miscreant. He didn’t move. He didn’t even respond to the irritated murmuring; never once took his eyes off French as she too began packing away the lecture notes into folders, then the folders into piles on a table already replete with books and other papers.

“Are you gonna move y’foot, mate?”

Apparently, the patience of the nearby attendees had worn thin, or at least their courage had thickened, one or the other.

“Go around,” he said, his voice low and full of gravel, as well as gravitas. It was all he said, and neither did he make any attempt to remove his foot from blocking the way. 

After another moment of immobility, and with the press of other students behind him, the one that had spoken tried again, more threatening this time as he grumbled, “I said move yer foot.”

With the grace of a highly trained dancer, and turning as he did indeed move his foot to stand, he turned to face the student, towering over the younger man as he said quietly, and with patience that somehow held a deadly quality, “And I said, go. Around.”

The student opened his mouth to make a third protest, but as he shifted slightly, something seemed to change the younger man’s mind and, muttering something not quite audible, but he was certain was unlikely to be very complementary, did indeed turn, and pushing the other students ahead of him, moved and exited the row from the other side.

The students were already forgotten though, and he turned his attention back to Doctor French. She was slowly clearing the table in front of the podium of all the books and papers littered there, packing them away in her already overstuffed messenger bag, paying absolutely no heed to the room around her, nor - he guessed - the energies in it. 

When he felt the moment was right, just as the light descended enough to case a beam across the lecture hall and illuminate the dust that had yet to settle, he spoke.

“It isn’t true, you know?” he said. Though his voice was still soft he pitched it so that the acoustics of the hall carried it clearly to the professor. She started slightly, then looked up at him, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the light that concealed him.

“I beg your pardon?” she shot back, her voice terse, a challenge.

“Granted,” he said, and began to slowly descend the steps that flanked the tiers of seats.

“No, that’s not—” she began, slightly flustered, before annoyance got the better of her and she demanded, “I’m sorry - who are you?”

Once he reached the floor, he strode across to her, his trench coat almost billowing, cloak-like behind him, and once close enough held out a hand in her direction.

“My name is Jefferson,” he told her, “And I need your help to do something that I can’t.”

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

Belle blinked, then with a slight scoff, and ignoring his still outstretched hand said, “Well you have a very strange way of showing it!” Then she returned to packing her bag.

“In return,” he continued, apparently unmoved by her response, “I may be able to assist you.”

“I don’t need your help,” she snapped. The tone in his voice made the small hairs on the nape of her neck stand on end. Had he been watching her?

“There are powers in this world, Doctor French, who have no regard for the living, nor respect for the dead. I suspect you know the type, if not the very ones of whom I speak.”

She looked up at that, fixing her eyes first on his face, undeniably handsome, but clearly more than a little haunted behind the seriousness of his expression, and then traveling the length of the sombre-clad figure that stood before her, seeming to know more about her than a stranger should.

She couldn’t help but notice the small pin that graced his otherwise unadorned lapel: an equal armed, red cross, their width narrower at the center than they were at the ends, set against a white background that was stark against the black of his coat.

“Now you listen, Mister Je—.”

“Just Jefferson,” he corrected.

“I don’t know who you are, or where you came from,” she tried for indignation, but even to her own ears, the tone spoke more of fear, “or even why you’re here, but—”

“I told you,” he said, his voice soft, “I need your help.”

She frowned, and couldn’t muster an answer, just stood and shook her head.

He raised his long forgotten, outstretched hand to her again, and as if by magic, though she was certain it was slight of hand, he produced a velum business card and held it out to her, clasped between his index and middle finger.

“There’s a man, his name is Mister Gold,” he said. “If you have cause to change your mind, all you have to do is go to him. It’s very important you tell him what’s been going on. He can protect you, but you must tell him exactly what’s been happening. He’ll know what to do.”

He nodded then, just once, to the business card he still held, and hesitantly, she reached for it, and glancing down at it, saw the words that graced the center of the otherwise unadorned card.

“Gold - Antiquarian,” it said, and then in relief around the edges, words that she had to turn the card one way and then the other in order to read. Latin words.

Non nobis Domine, non nobis, sed nomini tuo da gloriam.

When she looked up, Jefferson was already gone.

[winterweary]

Barbatos 🌂

Okay so forgive me because all I could think of when I saw this was how much Barbatos probably enjoys the musical Singin' in the Rain. I feel like he secretly (not so secretly?) is a huge broadway/live theater fan. He certainly has memorized the main dance number.

So I'm using this as an excuse to do an entirely indulgent Bros + Extras HC post:

What is their favorite musical?

Lucifer: Les Misérables. Happy endings where? He appreciates the nuanced plot and relates to all the bullshit the leads have to deal with. He gets teary at the end but will never let a soul see. Except perhaps you. Perhaps.

Mammon: Newsies. A bunch of scrappy up start business boys coming together to demand some extra coin for their hard work? What’s not to like? I mean, if you asked him he’d deny enjoying musicals at all, but we’ve all heard him singing the lyrics under his breath.

Leviathan: Six. History but turned into an idol concert? His dream. For a period he got way into learning everything there was to know about Henry VIII’s six wives and he and Satan were insufferable, spouting facts to anyone who would listen.

Satan: Phantom of the Opera. A classic, and for a reason. He admires the impact it had on contemporary theater and he claims to relate to the Phantom…but you know better. Once he admitted to you that his real favorite was Wicked, and you suspect he sees himself in Elphaba more than he may be ready to admit.

Asmodeus: Chicago, of course. Razzle Dazzle? When You’re Good to Mama? CELL BLOCK TANGO? This is the most Asmo-coded musical to ever grace the stage. You know he’s just WAITING for the excuse to force his brothers to dress up and perform with him. He'd be satisfied if you'd settle for a private performance as well.

Beelzebub: Beel has a hard time with live theater, because it’s a long time to sit without any concessions to get him through. Watching a performance on TV or as a movie though he’s happy with. His personal favorite is Peter Pan. He likes the Lost Boys the best, a group of brothers all happy together (and Wendy too of course). Also, he knows it doesn't count...but that food scene in Hook? Nice.

Belphegor: Heathers. What can he say, he likes the bitchiness. Also he always thought J.D kinda had a point. He likes to imagine that he and Veronica blow up the school and run away together to live happily ever after in a sort of a twisted Bonnie and Clyde way. Anyway, how about those uniforms? Any chance of you wearing one of those sometime ha ha…?

Diavolo: The Lion King. Oh man oh man Diavolo loves The Lion King. Does he frequently tease Barbatos (and sometimes Lucifer) about being his Zazu? Absolutely. Was Nala his first not-so-secret crush? Oh yes. Does he wish he had a dad like Mufasa? …Well, let’s not worry about that. Diavolo loves every minute of the play, but he openly weeps at the end when Simba takes his place as king.

Barbatos: Singin’ in the Rain. The classic aesthetic, themes of struggling with adjustment in a changing world, a triumphant ending...it's a bit of an escapism pleasure for Barbatos. Not to mention, he's happy for any excuse to dress up and go out on the town with you on his arm.

Solomon: Moulin Rouge. Solomon is a romantic at heart, but he’s a romantic who knows that all too often, romances are tragedies wearing a mask. He enjoys indulging in the sweetness of the love story, the hopeful crescendo, before the fall into the reality of loss. He finds it depressing in a comforting way, like an old friend waving hello from across the street. As time with you goes on however, he finds it’s becoming harder to watch through to the end…Perhaps Beauty and the Beast is more to his new tastes?

Simeon: Waitress. Simeon, like Lucifer and Solomon, enjoys the bittersweetness. He likes that it doesn’t shy away from the messiness of human connection. As an angel, it’s fascinating, like a fruit he can never know the flavor of. However, unlike the other men, Simeon likes a happy ending, and the ending of Waitress makes him choke up for different reasons. If Luke asks, however, his favorite is Matilda.

Luke: Annie. Little kids being rascals and naughty with the sweetness of a tender adoption story? It makes him feel warm and fuzzy (and mischievous) every time. Knows all the words to every song though he won’t admit it in front of Mammon.

[theclearblue]

MORE QUESTIONS because more fun

feel free to skip any you dont wanna answer btw

Has there ever been a media that you really liked, but then went downhill, but you see a lot of potential in/would wanna rethink it/rewrite it yourself?

Favourite instrument sound in music?

What's the last song you heard/song stuck in your head right now?

Do you like video/board games, if so do you have a favourite? What's the oldest one you remember playing?

Media I really liked that went downhill?

So many lmao. I would say Voltron and Game of Thrones tv show are the two big ones for me. Voltron especially hurt cause I was there since the beginning pretty much and was SUCH a big fan of the first few seasons, I think I could easily rewrite some of those later seasons to be better. Also on the lower key side but Attack on T/itan as well. Like most of it is fine I don't mind the ending like a lot of people do, but season 4 truly presents the most clumsy and poorly executed historical allegories I have ever seen in my life with the Eldians in Marley. I wouldn't say I dislike the series entirely bc of it but it definitely soured my feelings towards it and I end up not talking abt it really at all even though at one point I was really obsessed lol.

Fave Instrument sound in music?

I do have a soft spot for trumpet bc that's what I played for a long time <3 But a good French Horn or a clarinet specifically for jazz is sooooo great too.

Last song you heard/stuck in your head?

Been listening to the Wicked soundtrack again so been listening to a lot of What Is This Feeling (happy pride to those two lesbians fr) and For Good as well

Do you like video/board games/favorite/oldest one u remember playing?

LOVE video and board games! I don't really talk about it much here but it is my other big hobby/obsession lol. Fave video game is probably Hollow Knight or Hades or Super Mario Galaxy or the entire Zelda series really (by amount of hours though I've played over 1400 hours of Overwatch 💀). Fave card/board game would be Love Letter/Betrayal at House on the Hill. Oldest board game I remember is probably Sorry lol and oldest video game is probably Mario Kart Double Dash on the GameCube <3

[darkmaga-returns]

By guest author Ryan Howard.

On a recent episode of the Old Glory Club’s Pony Express Radio, host and OGC President RedHawk and company talked about the James Bond franchise which stirred up quite the conversation among the panelists. The idea of an OGC Stream focused on James Bond was very appealing to me, and it made me think about the importance of Bond in my life. I would consider myself to be a superfan of the franchise. I own the movies and have seen all but one of them (No Time to Die) multiple times. My fandom did not stop with the films, though, as I read the Ian Fleming novels, played the video games, and even played a few sessions of the James Bond 007 role-playing game published by Victory Games in 1983. Bond has been ever-present throughout my life, but what stands out to me most about the franchise is how I was first exposed to it.

The first time I heard the name James Bond was probably 2001–02 when I was five years old. I was putting on a suit for the very first time, and my father said to me: “You look cool, son. Just like James Bond.”

My father then took me over to the family computer and did a Google search for James Bond pictures so that he could show me what he was talking about. Immediately, he pulled up pictures of then-current Bond Pierce Brosnan as well as those of the Bonds of his childhood, Sean Connery and Roger Moore. My father explained to me that James Bond was a secret agent, 007 of the British Secret Intelligence Service. He carried a gun under his jacket in a shoulder holster, he had an array of gadgets to help him on his missions, and he fought diabolical madmen with odd gimmicks like a mouth full of metal teeth, a bowler hat that decapitates people, or a golden gun assembled from a pen, lighter, and cigarette case. Just a few short years later, my father deemed me old enough to watch my first Bond movie on TV. He and I turned on AMC for one of their innumerable Bond marathons and watched Goldfinger, which he taped so that I could finish it the next day (as the film ran past my bedtime). Goldfinger was unlike anything I had ever seen before. The Aston Martin DB5 was surely just as cool as the Batmobile. The Walther PPK became an iconic weapon in my imagination, complete with suppressor for covert work. The beautiful women, the wicked Auric Goldfinger, the brutish mute Oddjob, and, of course, the swaggering, self-assured masculinity of Sean Connery all came to life in my imagination. Bond had me for life.

[smoshsfavoritepizzaplace]

for the favorites of the year:

smosh video: we had some GEMS this year but my top 3 are smosh vs aliens, dream phone, and the most recent moose master (my favorite genre of smosh is games video that gets a little out of hand)

song/album: love direction by the dip! they’re a kinda smaller band but I love putting people on to them!

movie: WICKED! i’m unapologetically a theatre kid and it was the first broadway musical I ever got to see, so that was cool!

tv show: definitely agatha all along!

The games videos that are off the rails are always the best. I love when they’re chaotic, the more chill ones are good too, but the more crazy the better imo. I’ve never heard of the dip, I think this is my first time. I decided to listen to the song just now and it was pretty good. I liked the beat and it kinda sounds familiar like a song I’ve heard before but I’m not sure. I am self admittedly one of those annoying people who don’t like musicals, so I don’t think I’ll ever watch wicked, but never say never. With all the hype and how popular it is (pun intended) I’ll MAYBE give it a chance, but we’ll have to see about that

[sehtoast]

Kindred (ftm!Homelander x ftm!OC Smut)

18+

1.6k

AU Where Ben and Homelander are not intimate until later in season 3. Just some indulgent couch-breakdown Homelander t4t smut.

OC: Benjamin Colyer (The Boys-verse Spider-Man)

Warnings: Oral sex, Homelander's bottom dysphoria manifesting in calling himself inadequate.

The fates always had a wicked way with him, did they not? Kicking him when he was down, throwing curve balls left and right for him to adjust to. 

We have a situation– Yeah. Yeah, now, please.

It was the shaking of her voice that bothered him the most. 

Like he'd done something wrong. 

As though she wasn't the one who barged in unannounced. 

He rolls his already teary eyes. 

On my way, he heard faintly, the voice on the other end of the phone all too familiar to his already aching heart. 

But he couldn't move a muscle. All he could do was sit there with the remote, rewinding and resetting the video of his speech. 

"I'm stronger! I'm better!" 

Waiting for that familiar voice to barge in as well.

He'd broken decorum. He lashed out– let the mask slip. What would become of him in the court of public opinion? 

He hears her tell the new arrival that he needs to deliver the news. He can hear the unsettled shudder in her tone as she dances around the truth of what has her so frazzled. 

Just get in there, Ashley tells him. 

He tries to brace himself– to rise from the couch and throw, at the very least, his underwear on before his next visitor can come in and find shock in his difference.

His body doesn't move. 

Only his thumb, to press rewind again. 

"I am done being persecuted for my strength!" 

He hears a knock, not too harsh, before that voice calls out to him. 

"Hey, John?" The spider calls out to him. "Mind if I come in?" 

He's given the courtesy of a warning, this time. The bug always did give him more than others. His penthouse had no front door, and the vast majority of his visitors tended to just waltz in as though they owned the place. 

Not Benjamin. 

He doesn't reply– just pauses the video as though the silence could speak for him. 

He hears the padding of footsteps approaching him slowly. John's gut dropped in anticipation of another unpleasant reaction. 

"Oh," he hears. He doesn't look up. Doesn't want to. 

He doesn't want to see his best and only friend react to what he lacked. The dismay he felt from the last twenty-four hours stopped him from realizing Ben's voice carried no shock, no discomfort, no awe at his difference. 

"So, Ashley wanted me to come up and tell you about your numbers, but…" Ben trails off, walking over to the other side of the couch, his eyes never falling down to observe his lack save for the initial once over.  "Did- Did she actually give me a passcode locked tablet and expect..?" 

Ben scoffs a laugh and tosses it onto the couch nonchalantly. 

"Did you really expect her to use her brain?" He asks, a jest present but delivered without the proper inflection. 

"Do we ever?" 

It's the first a smile has cracked at his lips in nearly a day. 

The remote is coaxed from his hand, and the TV is shut off. 

"You shouldn't do that to yourself," the bug tells him. "Are you cold?" 

Was he cold? Was he, the fucking Homelander, cold? 

"Why? D'you want me to cover up?"

There's a question underneath his question. 

Do you need the anomaly put away?

The only thing, to this day, that ever stopped Homelander from jumping Benjamin's bones was the idea that his lack of… anatomy would dash any hopes of a positive response. 

It wouldn't be the first time someone had rejected his body– but it would certainly be the only time he couldn't pretend that he was unbothered.

The only time he found true value in another's opinion of himself. 

"No, I–" Ben breathed gently. "I want you to be comfortable." 

What part of my life has ever been comfortable, Homelander calls out from inside his mind. 

"Does my body make you uncomfortable?" He asks, a bitter inquisitiveness on his tongue.

The way Benjamin's brow flicks upward before he shakes his head no makes a smirk tug at John's lips. 

The hand that held the remote sought Ben's, his fingers lacing through the spider's gloved ones in a display of affection he was near petrified to show. 

He watches Benjamin bring his free hand to his mouth, biting the fingertips of his glove to remove it before bringing his bare hand down to rest against his. 

John begins to feel a hunger, the comfort of flesh calling to him loudly.

Sure, with his superpowered senses, he could smell the drips of his own arousal beginning to gather from the moment Benjamin arrived. But, at some point, he knew Benny could smell him too– so naked and exposed. 

The flare of the web-head's nostrils on a not-so-subtly deep breath gave it away. 

It makes him clench– makes his clit twitch in anticipation. 

"You'd be surprised…" Ben exhales, "at what you don't know about me." 

Oh, but he knew. He knew they were the same.

But, it was different when it was him compared to when it was Ben.  When it was Benjamin, it was a character trait.

When it was him, it was a shortcoming.

Just another inadequacy.

There had always been such carnal tension between them– unspoken and left to fester.  Every day it seemed to grow and grow, but every day John feared the web-head would find him lacking.

“What do you need from me, John?”  Ben murmured, his thumb stroking over John’s hand.

Entranced was certainly one word for how he felt as his free hand began to run the length of Benjamin’s arm, all the way to where the neckline of his suit met his throat.  He ran a finger along the seam, hooking the tip underneath to lightly pull…

“I…” he began, the words catching on a tight breath.  “N-Need you…”

Ben’s eyes floated down to his lips, lingering on them.

“Show me where,” the web-head whispered, offering his bare hand as though it were a tool to be used to John’s every whim.

Homelander pulled him forward by the collar, brushing their lips together– featherlight at first– finally, oh, god, finally sealing that long awaited contact.  As they kissed, John pressed Ben’s hand to his chest, shuddering at the way his little spider’s nails dragged softly through the smatterings of hair as he guided him lower, lower, and lower.

The first touch to his wetness had John keening into the kiss, a moan rumbling deep in his chest as Ben dragged his slick on two fingers to his clit, rubbing him with a pressure so perfect that it tingled down to his legs.

His hand overtop of Ben’s went to his wrist, gripping as he panted into the web-head’s mouth, a string of saliva connecting them when they separated.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous…” Ben breathed against him, finally sinking two fingers deep into John’s cunt, groaning at the way his walls clenched around him immediately.  “Thaaat’s it…”

Ben shifted, his fingers never leaving Homelander’s heat as he maneuvered to kneel before him.  

John choked on a breath when Benjamins’ tongue swiped his engorged clit before sucking it into his mouth, laving flat figures over the head as his fingers squelched on each thrust.

“B-Ben…” he whimpered, reaching down to tangle his fingers in the curtains of the web-head’s hair.

A moan rumbled against him, stimulating him further.

“You taste so good,” Ben murmured as he withdrew his fingers, licking them clean.  He looked to Homelander for a moment, pressing a kiss to the curve of his mound.  “Lay back and let me take care of you…”

It took a hand pressing him flat, but John complied.  He gasped at the way Ben gripped his hips and pulled him closer to the edge of the couch, leaving his pussy and rim on display– his legs resting overtop of Benny’s shoulders.

The web-head tensed his lips and dropped a glob of spit directly onto his clit, bringing a thumb up to rub his bud tantalizingly slow, leaning down to run his tongue between John’s folds, lapping up every drop of him.

Homelander had no idea when he started cresting to his peak– perhaps when Ben ran his tongue from his rim to his clit and sank his fingers in deep– but, fuck, he was close.

His body began to twitch with every crook of Benjamin’s digits against a spot that had his head thrown back in a whine, and he bucked against his spider’s mouth for any added friction he could find.

Suddenly, Benjamin was stood, leaning halfway over him to press a wet kiss to his lips, dragging Homelander’s own taste through his mouth with every swipe of his tongue.

“You’re doing so well,” Ben praised, a soaked thumb dragging along his cheekbone as his other hand’s digits kept their pace inside of him.  “I can feel every time you clench, y’know…” Ben slipped a third finger into him.  “Perfect…  So, so perfect…”

At the all consuming warmth of Ben taking his clit again, John threw his head back in bliss, his cunt throbbing and gushing against the web-head’s fingers as he thrust them in deep.  He called out his little spider’s name, howling it through tears that sizzled away from the heat in his eyes.

“Oh– oh fuck!”  He whimpered as Ben withdrew, his tongue taking the place of his fingers to lave him clean, his slurps ringing obscenely into the room.  Homelander pressed his fist to his mouth to keep from singing out further, to muffle the moans that spilled free from him.  “B-Benny!”

He panted heavily, eyelids leaden as Ben kissed a path from his clit to his neck, breaking away only to meet his lips.  His fingers fumbled around Benjamin’s super suit to seek entry.

As he and Benny lost themselves in each other, Homelander found himself almost a little grateful that Ashley was dumb enough to barge in unannounced.  If nothing else, that stupid open door policy brought him his little spider…

[asirensrage]

20 Questions for Writers

I was tagged by @chickensarentcheap!!! Thank you!!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

53

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

764,479

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Oh god. Divergent. Stranger Things. Supernatural. Shadow and Bone. MCU. I have written for HP but not in a long while. Spartacus. Leverage. Jack Reacher. John Wick. Teen Wolf. Criminal Minds. Walking Dead. Lord of the Rings. Star Trek (2013). Beauty and the Beast (2017). Lost Boys. Sons of Anarchy. Knives Out. Naruto. Jujutsu Kaisen. Demon Slayer. My Hero Academia. Blade. Tokyo Revengers. True Blood. Whar Wars. From Dusk Til Dawn (TV series). Special mentions for Buffy the Vampire Slayer and others that I used in my SPN crossover fic.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

On Ao3?

Tammy Thompson Takes on the Upside Down (Stranger Things) Kudos: 1,226

The Art of Seclusion (Divergent) Kudos: 829

there's a heaven above you (don't you cry) (The Lost Boys) Kudos: 534

Barred (Shadow and Bone) Kudos: 415

It's Always Darkest Before the (Second) Dawn (HP/Shadow and Bone Crossover) Kudos: 357

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes! Eventually I respond to all. It just takes me awhile before I do it in large batches lol

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Oh god. For ones that are completed and posted, it's The Art of Seclusion. I have others that...will not have "happy" endings but they aren't finished or shared yet.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I have no clue. I haven't finished many outside of oneshots or series. It might depend on the reader. We'll see ;)

8. Do you get hate on your fic?

Not usually but it has happened. I had one person leave a review on AoS being very angry about my lack of warnings and promoting toxic relationships. They had a legit point about the warnings as I hadn't updated them in years despite the fic getting worse lol. I thanked them for pointing it out, updated my warnings and on my next chapter made a point of reminding my readers that the relationship wasn't healthy and not something to aim for. Never heard back lol.

9. Do you write smut?

Do I? 😃 You know it.

10. Do you write crossovers?

Not often, but yes. Caught in the Crossfire is a crossover with characters from multiple worlds coming into the SPN universe. It's Always Darkest Before the (Second) Dawn is on hiatus but it's a crossover between HP and Shadow and Bone.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yes. Someone took Tammy Thompson Takes on the Upside Down and posted it as their own...only changing the name Tammy to Sammy 😂😂 I've also had fics being posted under my name on sites I didn't approve of. I had to contact the site directly to make them remove it.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes. Someone translated Famous Last Words into...Russian? It's on Ao3 too.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

Yes! I love working with ppl to write. I consider myself basically cowriting a bunch of fics with @vixenofcourse (even if sometimes she doesn't agree) because she gives me ideas for it. I cowrote Caught in the Crossfire with friends of mine, mainly the one who wrote all of Kelly's povs. (fun fact, she doesn't write fanfic on her own but she wrote that lol)

14. What‘s your all-time favourite ship?

Me with everyone I love 😂 No, i have no idea. My ocs and their pairings.

15. What’s the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

....

16. What’s your writing strengths?

No idea. Dialogue? Not sure what else... lol

17. What’s your writing weaknesses?

DESCRIPTIONS. I find them the hardest....and don't ask me about describing my characters...

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I don't speak any other language well enough for that. I don't mind it, but usually I just write in English and show they're speaking another language somehow. If I do write in another language, I try to have the translations clearly understood.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Digimon lollll

20. Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

ALL OF THEM! And all the ones I haven't posted! There are so many i could show you but they're not done and I agreed not to post new long fics if they're incomplete.

tagging: @ninjasawakenedmystar @nejires-hado @arrthurpendragon @elmunson @mabonetsamhain @kingsmakers @sxrvivc and anyone else interested.