#i DO have six!!! six is plenty for a playlist

[f1goat]

more than friends ; lando norris + part twelve

In which your best friend is going to help you to gain more sexual experience and say goodbye to your insecurities, but he's quick to discover that he never wants to share you and your new experiences with others - the only problem being, him having to confess his feelings.

masterlist - playlist

fem!y/n x lando norris

warnings: smut with a plot. minors dni! probably grammar or spelling errors due to english not being my first language.

requested: yes, based on this request: something with a driver sister that’s still a virgin & lando (her bestfriend) suggests to teach her things

part one / part two / part three / part four / part five / part six / part seven / part eight / part nine / part ten / part eleven

“Fuck.” Lando can’t hold back this time. The word leave his mouth before he can think about it. He wants to intervene, but he knows he can’t. If it was up to him, he would drag you away and fuck you until you can’t even spell Pierre anymore, but that’s not something he can do. At least, not anymore. He fucked it up. 

Oscar sends him a pitiful look, but doesn’t say anything. His teammate knows that something has changed between Lando and you, but he doesn’t know what. Oscar wishes he knew, he feels like he needs to help the two of you before everything is broken. He keeps looking at Lando, waiting for him to snap and to say something, but nothing happens. All of Lando his focus is on you - and on Pierre who’s dancing with you. 

Lando sighs. He wants to cry. If he thinks about what happened long enough, then maybe he’ll cry for real. He feels the gaze of Oscar his eyes burning on his back. Maybe he should talk with his teammate. Maybe Oscar can help? He doubts it, but there are no other options. Maybe Oscar is his last hope. When he turns himself to Oscar, the boy is already waiting for him to speak up. 

“I think I lost her,” Lando stammers. He has never said words like this before, never have words felt this painful to say out loud, it breaks him down even further. 

“What happened?” Oscar asks. 

“I fucked it up,” Lando sighs. 

+++

“Lan?” “Yeah?”

“I uh, I was wondering how this will continue between us?” You ask a bit careful, “I mean are we going to continue to have sex or are we going back to how things where? It feels like you’ve learned me quite a lot and I don’t know what will happen now, you know?” The words are coming out like a mess, you can only hope that Lando understands what you mean. Maybe this is your coward way of asking Lando if he wants to make things different. 

Lando doesn’t know what to say. He realizes that this is the moment to come clean about his feelings for you, but he doesn’t. “Uh, we can continue like this?” He suggests at first. 

“But what will happen then?” You ask, “How will it affect our friendship?”

“The same as now, right?” Lando doesn’t know where you’re going with the questions. 

“But we can’t always stay friends who fuck, right?” You question. An annoyed feeling creeps up. Why doesn’t Lando understand your deeper meaning? 

“There are plenty people who do so, it’s called friends with benefits,” Lando informs you. He almost slaps himself for telling it so casual, why isn’t he confessing about his feelings? Why can’t he find the right words and tell you? 

“I know what that is,” you sigh, “but do you want that for us? What will happen if you meet another girl? Or if you’re done with me? I mean it feels like some sort of endless situation which will only slow us down at one point. What if our friendship gets in the way?”

Lando tries to follow all the questions, but he doesn’t know if every one of them actually got into his mind. It feels like it’s all too much. What are you saying? Why are you talking about him with another girl? Does that mean you want to search for a boyfriend yourself? In some weird way he convinces himself that it must mean that you want a boyfriend - someone else then him. 

“You can just say so if you want a boyfriend and want to stop this with me,” he eventually snickers to you. 

You show Lando a confused look. “That’s not what I’m saying?” You react surprised.

“No, but it is what you actually mean with your words, isn’t it?” Lando continues. He feels himself getting frustrated. Why did he even have hope that things would end different? Suddenly he’s glad that he didn’t confess his feelings, you would have turned him down anyway. 

“Lan, that’s bullshit,” you reply a bit annoyed, “I’m just saying that this is an hopeless situation. I need some clearance.” 

“Okay, here is your clarity,” Lando spits the words out, “We’re not fucking anymore, we’re just friends and you can find yourself some boyfriend to fuck with.” His voice gets louder with every word he says. What he doesn’t notice until it’s too late, is the way you look at him. Tears are rolling over your cheeks. 

“If that’s what you want,” you softly mutter, “then that’s fine.”

Lando doesn’t think before he talks. He speaks up with only angry and frustrated feelings inside of him to do the thinking right now. “Apparently it’s what you want,” he states angrily. 

“I uh, I need some time for myself,” you softly say, barely being able to hold back your cries. “I’ll see you later in the club.”

With those words you walk away from Lando. He watches you leave. It almost feels like some stupid movie scene. Lando watches how you walk away from him, dressed in a beautiful dress - that was already starring in his plans for when the two of you came back to the hotel room tonight. He feels a small tear rolling down on his cheek. Why did you leave? No, he can’t ask himself a question as stupid as that. You left because he accused you of the most stupid shit, just because he was too afraid to tell you about his feelings. Again. Fuck, he should have told you. He thinks about running after you, but when he opens the door he notices that you’re already gone. 

He wonders how you’re going to the club, since you told him that you’d see him there. How are you going to get there in a strange country where you don’t know anyone expect a few drivers? Lando sighs. He starts to worry about you. Hurriedly he changes his outfit and makes himself ready to also head to the club. He needs to make things right. 

+++

“Fuck man,” Oscar sighs, “That’s so fucking stupid.”

“I know,” Lando confesses, “I don’t know what I was thinking.. Fuck. How am I going to fix this?”

Oscar doesn’t respond at first. It gives Lando the time to take another look at you again. You’re still dancing with Pierre. The Alpine driver is almost pressed against your body, Lando feels himself getting angry. Why him? You have been with Pierre since Lando saw you again. The looks you send him when he tried to approach you said enough. You’re not in the mood to talk with him. 

“Just confess mate,” Oscar eventually says, “You can’t make things worse right? Just explain everything to her.” 

“But.”

“No buts,” Oscar interrupts, “just be honest with her.” 

Lando sighs. He can’t look away from you. He notices the way Pierre moves his head to get closer to your neck so he can press his lips against it. Lando hopes his marks are still somewhere on your body. Fuck, that seems really territorial, but he can’t blame himself for thinking like this. 

“Lando, go to her,” Oscar states again, “Staring and acting like some mad caveman won’t help you.” 

He sees Pierre moving again. This time holding you closely in front of himself. It looks like he wants to kiss you. Is he going to try to kiss you? Fuck. Lando wants to do many things. Walk away and stop watching so he can’t see it happen or walking as fast as he can towards you and pull you away from Pierre. When he continues to watch, he notices that you finally seek eye contact with him. Then he notices your look. Are you asking him for help? It seems like you’re really uncomfortable. Or is he just imagining things to make this better for himself? 

Lando stops thinking. He almost sprints towards you and Pierre, leaving Oscar by himself while doing so. When he’s standing in front of you, he still doesn’t think about his next movements. Lando grabs your wrist, pulls you towards himself and tries to walk away with you. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” You ask him. 

“Mate fuck off,” Pierre sneers, “you’ve had your chance.” 

“Lando, you can’t just drag me away from Pierre. It doesn’t work like that!” You yell annoyed. A small part in you hopes that Lando does drag you away from Pierre. After all, the only reason you’re dancing this close with Pierre is to cause a reaction by Lando. But you don’t know what will happen after.

“Watch me,” Lando grunts. Easily he lifts you up and puts you halfway on his shoulder. Holding you close he starts to walk away from Pierre. “Can’t just drag you away,” he mutters annoyed, “As if I’m going to look at him with my girl any longer.” He puts his hand on your ass, making sure no one can see anything from underneath your dress. The small gesture makes you smile.

When he passes Oscar, he notices the way his teammate is almost laughing out loud. “Fucking caveman,” Oscar is quick to tell him before Lando continues walking with you on his shoulder. “Just confess!” Oscar yells when Lando walks away from him. 

You really don’t know what to think right now. Yes, you did want a reaction from Lando. Yes, you did want to annoy him until he would finally snap. But did you want it to end up like this? You don’t know if you’re honest. Not that you expected such a big reaction from Lando. He literally put you onto his shoulders to take you away with him. That seems a bit much, right? When Lando reaches his rental car, he opens the passenger door and puts you down on the ground again. It’s obvious that he wants you to take place in the car, but you don’t. 

“Y/N,” Lando groans, “I swear to god, go sit in the fucking car.” 

“Why?” You ask him. 

“Because we’re going to talk.”

“We did talk,” you sigh, “and you made yourself perfectly clear. We’re not fucking anymore so I can find myself a boyfriend, since that’s what I want according to you.”

“Correction, I’m going to fuck away this terrible attitude of yours and then we’re going to talk.”

You don’t say anything. Maybe because this is kinda what you wanted? Who can blame you. Lando is fucking hot when he’s mad. Quietly you step in to the car.

The car ride is in an awkward silence. Lando his hand lays on your thigh. It feels like he’s marking you as his with the simple move, but you don’t know who he expects to reach since it’s just to two of you. His eyes are switching between you and the road. You’re also looking at him. At first you tried not to since you’re mad at him, but when you gave him a small look you couldn’t stop anymore. 

The harsh conversation between the two of you isn’t longer then a couple hours ago, but you can see it’s impact on Lando. Or maybe it’s the impact from watching at Pierre and you? At first you never knew when Lando cried or how to spot the signs that he was about to. But after being his friend for so many years, you now know. Lando looks like a mess. Your mess. 

It feels weird when you enter Lando and yours hotel room again. Both of you don’t know what to say. It makes you annoyed when Lando keeps pacing around and doesn’t say anything. And doesn’t fuck you. 

“I thought you were going to do something?” You ask him, “Or do I need to get myself back to Pierre to get fucked?” You don’t know where you found those words and how they end up leaving your mouth, but at least Lando isn’t pacing around anymore. 

He feels like he lost all of his sanity right now. Lando rushes towards you and harshly lifts you up again, only to throw you onto the bed. He turns you so you’re laying on your stomach and pulls you closer to himself. Within seconds your dress is pulled up and Lando his bottoms are hanging around his legs. He tugs on your thongs until they fall apart. Satisfied he looks at your snapped string. 

Before you can say anything about it, Lando makes sure that your ass is lifted in the air. Without any sort of warning or foreplay he lets his dick enter you. It causes you to let out a loud scream, “Fuck Lando!” He doubts for a bit about himself and his actions, but when you follow that scream with multiple moans, his doubts are quick to disappear. He fucks you without thinking about being soft, nice or anything like that. It’s animalistic. He has lost all his patience and can only focus on fucking you as hard as he can manage. 

“Fucking slut,” he grunts when he hears a loud moan from you. 

“Your slut, sir,” you say softly. You almost don’t dare to say it. When you feel Lando his pace decreasing, you feel ashamed of your words.

“What did you just say?” Lando asks you. He’s barely fucking you anymore, rarely he moves his dick in and out of you. He needs to make sure that he heard you right. 

“Your slut, sir,” you tell him again.

“Fuck,” Lando mutters, “Only mine?” 

“Yes,” you agree with him.

“Not Pierre’s?” Lando continues to ask.

“No,” you quickly state, “Wanted you to snap.”

Lando lets out a low chuckle after hearing your words. You wanted him to snap? He doesn’t know what you mean with that, but he does know you just said that Pierre’s not even close to him. He pulls back a bit, letting his dick leave your body. It causes you to let out a soft whine. Lando turns you around and looks at you. You already look fucked out. 

“Baby girl,” Lando mutters softly, “You’re the actual worst.” Lando stays silent for a couple seconds before speaking up again. “Should punish you for those actions,” he says. 

“What’s stopping you?” You ask Lando. 

“You,” Lando chuckles. 

You show Lando a confused look. What does he mean with that? Lando takes place to you next on the bed. Softly he grabs your waist and pulls you on his lap. Careful he presses a few kisses against your neck and shoulders. He moves his hands on your body. Kneading your tits and softly pulling on your nipples. It causes you to let out multiple soft moans and whines. You want - no need, more of him. 

“Lan,” you softly speak up. 

“I know, I know,” Lando replies, “but be patient baby.”

“Aren’t you mad anymore?” You ask confused. You still don’t get why Lando is all calmed down after your confession of using Pierre to make him snap. Could it be that he feels more calm now he knows that you only think about him?

“What did you mean with making me snap?” Lando asks you. 

“What you just did,” you explain, “fucking me like you own me. Snapping at Pierre and me, dragging me away only to show me and everyone else that you think I belong to you. Showing how you actually feel. Just waiting for you to tell me.”

You know you’re passing the safe way back now. With everything you just said, Lando can probably fill in the blanks himself. It should be pretty obvious now how you feel about him. You can only hope that you got Lando his feelings right as well. You’re putting a lot of fate in Oscar right now. In the mean time you move yourself, getting off Lando his lap and taking a seat next to him on the bed.

After your earlier discussion with Lando, you left and got to Oscar his hotel room. Together with him you made up this plan. Oscar was sure that only a bit of dancing with Pierre would make Lando snap within minutes. It took a bit longer, but eventually Oscar was right. Now he only has to be right about Lando his feelings for you…

“You want that?” Lando asks you confused. 

You only show him a small nod. 

“You really wanted me to act like this?” Lando continues to ask, he still can’t believe it. When you nod again, Lando doesn’t stop with his questions. “You actually wanted me to act like some sort of jealous caveman?” 

“I didn’t expect you to put me onto your shoulder,” you confess, “but I wanted you to show me that I belong to you.”

“Why?” Lando asks confused, “I really don’t get it babygirl. Like, I don’t even understand why I’m acting like this and I actually feel ashamed for it - but you, you like it? You want this?”

“It gives me hope,” you tell Lando. 

“Hope?” He asks confused.

“Hope that you like me back.”

Lando doesn’t know if he hears you correct. Did you actually say that it gives you the hope that he likes you back? Likes you back? That means that you like him, right? Lando really can’t wrap his head around everything that’s happening right now. He thought you would be mad at him. Mad for the way he acted earlier today and for what he said. Mad for the way he acted in the club. But you are glad that he acted this way and you’re telling him that you like him? Is this even real? Isn’t he still standing in the club, looking at Pierre dancing with you and imagining this to make it feel better? He can’t even help himself and softly pinches some skin on his arm. 

“I’ve said too much,” you say when Lando keeps quiet, “The hint is clear Lan. Sorry for the way I acted. Sorry for falling for you, I hope we still can be friends?” 

Just when Lando thought he was finally processing everything you just said, you’re saying stuff like this. He thinks about telling you how much he likes you too, but eventually he lets his actions speak for himself. Softly he grabs your shoulders and pulls you back on his lap again. This time you’re turned the way he can properly face you. Lando softly puts his finger underneath your chin and lifts your face up a bit. Then he presses his lips against yours. He kisses you the most loving way he can. 

When Lando puts his lips onto yours, you wonder if this means what you think it does. Is this Lando his way of showing you that he does like you back? 

You show Lando a small grin when he pulls back and looks at you. “I never want to be friends with you again,” Lando mutters with a cheeky smile. If he wasn’t smiling like crazy, you would have stressed right now. “I really need you to be my girlfriend babygirl,” Lando continues, “and I really need everyone to know that you’re mine so they will finally stop flirting with you.” 

“You want me to be your girlfriend?” You ask Lando with a happy expression. 

“I need you to be my girlfriend,” he states. 

“Okay boyfriend,” you reply. 

“But now I really want to feel your cunt around my dick again,” Lando tells you cheekily. You let out a soft laugh. You position yourself a bit different, then you line up Lando his boner with your entrance and slowly let him enter you again. 

+++

The following morning Lando patiently waits for you to wake up as well. He hasn’t slept as good as last night in a couple months. He feels ten times better then before. It’s mostly a relieved feeling now that the two of you finally confessed. When you open your eyes slowly, you notice that Lando is already awake and staring at you. 

“Good morning girlfriend,” Lando whispers when you look at him. 

You show him a small smile. “Good morning boyfriend,” you reply.

Lando presses a soft kiss against your lips. “I can get used to this,” he tells you. 

“You better do,” you laugh, “It’s not like I’m going to let go of you anytime soon.”

“I love you,” Lando sighs relieved. “Oh that’s probably a bit soon to say,” he adds quickly after realizing what he just said. 

“I love you too Lan,” you tell him, “and I think you could have said it way sooner.” 

Lando grins. He pulls you close towards himself and hugs you. “I could fall asleep all over again, but we have a flight to catch.”

Later that afternoon when the two of you are sitting in the plane, Lando has been quite busy on his phone. You look curious at him, wondering what he’s doing. Before you can ask him, Lando speaks up. “I’m going to hard launch us,” he states, “Okay?”.

“Okay.”

a/n;

that was it everyoneee :') hope y'all liked this story

i do want to write further, but for this moment i have no inspiration about what i'm going to write now (expect that it's about lando ofc). so any idea is welcome ! thanks for all the likes, comments & reblogs

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[anorlondo00]

MarAce One Piece Fic - The Apartment Above the Auto Shop

Edward Newgate had a terrible habit of hiring fatherless, trouble-making punks in need of direction to work at his auto parts garage.

Recently, he’s hired a 20 year old who’s currently on parol and struggling to raise his 12 year old brother on his own.

When Marco (29) moves back to his home city, he’s hesitant to trust the new hire, who’s living rent free above Pop’s auto shop.

Sunday night. 

“Hold on,” Marco navigated over the maze of suitcases and half folded clothes on the floor of his apartment, “You’re not charging him rent? Who even is this kid?”

“I knew his father, years ago.” In the incredibly rare circumstance that Whitebeard had to lie to Marco, he would do so, effortlessly. “An old friend of mine. The kids’ had a hard life, he’s raising a twelve year old on his own— ”

“Sorry, there’s two of them?”

Marco had to hold his cellphone an inch off his ear while Whitebeard laughed, “The little ones’ in school, the older one works hard enough to earn their rent! Relax, Marco. Ace is a sweetheart.”

“This is the one you let steal food out of your fridge for half the summer?”

“That’s the one!” Whitebeard replied, “He doesn’t do that anymore.”

Edward Newgate had a terrible habit of hiring fatherless, trouble-making punks in need of direction to work at his auto parts garage. He’d been teaching scrappy kids how to keep their heads down and put their hands to work for the better part of the last twenty years. Now, he’s accumulated a crew of mechanics that he considers family. 

Marco was one of the first front desk employees Whitebeard hired and his most talked about success story. As of the end of this school year, Marco had officially earned his medical degree. He was a doctor. A very proud one at that. 

“When should we be expecting you for dinner?”

“We?” 

“Sure.” Newgate’s voice filled with warmth, “I’ve been teaching Ace how to cook. He’s pretty decent, now, I can actually keep it down!” Again, Marco kept his phone off his ear for the laughter that followed. “We eat at—”

“Six and not a minute later. I remember.” Marco attempted to rub the feeling of burnout from under his eyes. A home cooked meal sounded nice if it weren’t for the addition of a twelve year old and his fresh-out-of-prison older brother. “I’ve got an entire apartment to unpack so, I’ll have to see you Tuesday.”

“Everyone’s excited to have you back.”

Marco smirked at the campus outside his window, a view he was more than ready to say goodbye to. “I’m pretty excited myself.” 

“Drive safely, alright? And, don’t keep us waiting too long.”

Marco had a week before orientation. One week to unpack, re acclimate, and check on the shop before his entire life was signed away to the emergency room.

 His home was in a densely populated, urban oasis just outside a much larger city. Nothing like the wide empty fields and quant college town his medical school was at the center of. It’d take him four hours of driving to get back to the chaos of pissed drivers and electric bikes zipping through tight lanes of traffic.

No place like home. 

Tuesday Afternoon.

Whitebeard’s Auto Parts and Mechanic was printed in beautiful white penmanship across the top of an old brick building. It stood proudly on a corner off the city's main boulevard. 

Just as Marco remembered, the two, truck sized garage doors were wide open, giving the mechanics plenty of room and fresh air. 

Marco walked through the garage like he’d never left and was more than pleased to see how little things had changed. It could only be Thatch’s playlist blasting that music. Izou’s artwork, while updated was unmistakably his, decorating the brick walls. And, Teetch’s old chevy in the same damn parking spot outside. 

“No… fucking… way.” A voice came out  from under the hood of a truck. The man had a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and red hair gelled back out of his face. “Is that Marco?!” Thatch got to him first. Which was a little terrifying, considering the man was about six feet too big to be hugging someone with a tackle. “Marco!!”

The blond scrambled to stay on his feet, “Okay! Alright—Hi Thatchy— ” 

“Marco’s home, you guys! Holy shit, I can’t believe it! Look at you!” 

The mechanics under cars and occupied in the adjacent office all came to have a look. The prodigal son had returned and Whitebeard’s shop erupted in celebration. Marco had to abandon his backpack on the floor, there were just too many hugs that needed to be given. Izou came sauntering out of the front office, looking beautifully overdressed as always. His gold and silver bracelets rang as he wrapped his arms around Marco’s shoulders. 

“Thatch, do you even realize you’re talking to a medical professional now?” Izou smiled widely, “Congratulations, Doctor.”

“Thanks, Izou.”

“I saw your graduation pictures. Pops has them hung up in his office, you’ll have to take a look.” 

“He’s blushing!” Thatch delivered a solid punch into Marco’s arm. “How cute. Yes, we’re all very very proud. You’re gonna hook me up with a medical marijuana card, right?”

“Thatch, you gotta stop telling people that.” 

“Right, right—” His best friend smiled, “I missed you, man!”

“I missed you too.” 

“Where the hell is Marco?!” Whitebeard’s gravely deep voice could shake the walls. The old man emerged from his office and while his question sounded hostile enough to make a normal person run for their damn lives, it overwhelmed Marco with nostalgia and a sense of home. “Lets see him— What the hell is wrong with you, boy? Moving so far away from me?!”

Marco smilied, “I came back! That doesn’t count for something?”

“Yeah it’s the only thing keeping my foot out of yer ass!” Newgate hugged him. His mentor smelled like cigarettes, booze and motor oil. While age had been shrinking him for years now, Newgate was still built like one hell of a beast; he made most grown men feel short. 

“Hi Pops.”

“Hi yourself!” Newgate dropped a heavy hand against his back. “Have you eaten yet? We’re having lunch. Thatch, get over here, it’s time for your damn break.”

Thatch grabbed onto Marco’s arm and pulled him towards the back door with all the enthusiasm of a little kid. “I’ll make us something. Pops! Did Ace pick up groceries for you yesterday?”

“Yeah.” Newgate retrieved Marco’s forgotten backpack and gestured for Izou to follow them. “Have a look in the kitchen, Thatch, it’s stocked up.”

There was plenty his mechanics liked to do for the old man but grocery shopping wasn’t one of them last Marco remembered. 

Whitebeard lived by himself, out of a small home directly behind the auto parts garage. As they crossed from one location to another, Whitebeard's uneven, slow gate seemed so much more severe than how it had been a few months back. As the four of them filed into the kitchen, Marco couldn’t help his curiosity. “The boys have been taking good care of you, then?”

“Oh spare me.” Newgate retrieved a fist full of beers from the fridge and set them on the counter, “Like I need to be taken care of.”

“We try.” Izou supplied, “But, you know how he is. It’s nice having someone living in your old apartment again. Ace is usually around if he needs anything.” 

There were old metal steps that lead out of the warehouse of Newgate’s shop. On the second floor there was a dusty little apartment Marco lived out of for nearly ten years before leaving for medical school. “I can’t imagine someone else being in there.”

“Yeah, you definitely decorated better.” Izou got a laugh out of the room. “You haven't met Ace yet, have you? You’ll like him.” 

“What will I like about him most, the ankle monitor?”

Surprisingly, it was Thatch that gave him a quick slap to the shoulder. “You seriously need to be nice to him, dude”

“I do?”

“Marco, I’ll strangle you with my own two hands.”

“Alright alright, damn.” Marco cracked open the bottle of beer he was given. Marco knew damn well he had no place to be judgemental. It was Pops he worried about. “So where is this new golden child then?”

“A check-in with his parole officer.” Whitebeard said more seriously, “He’ll probably pick up Luffy from school on his way back this afternoon.”

“Luffy’s the younger brother?”

Thatch, who had gotten to work seasoning chicken breast, sang over his shoulder, “And possibly the cutest little kid in the world~” 

“Next time we’re all together, I’m sure they’d let you look around your old apartment again.” Izou chimed, “If you're dying to go up there and reminisce.”

Marco smirked, “A little. It’s been such a long time.” 

Marco would have to wait a bit longer before he met Whitebeard's new pride and joy. He inhaled Thatch’s cooking— which he missed far more than he would ever admit— finished a second beer and a dozen more stories about the hospitals he rotated through. 

Marco left that afternoon with a box of leftovers and the promise that he’d bring his car in for an oil change before the week was over. 

Tuesday morning.

Marco would remember the auto shop’s schedule until the day he died and Tuesday mornings were always dead. One, maybe two mechanics would run the whole place until the afternoon. Considering Pop’s would rather keel over and die before accepting money from him, Marco preferred his car be as little an inconvenience for the shop as possible. 

Marco could feel the heat stick to his skin the second he left his apartment. Considering summer was nearly over, there was no reason for it to be this damn hot outside. 

AC. He needed to ask them to take a look at his AC while he was at it.

Like he’d done for the past 15 years of his life, Marco pulled his 2012 Subaru directly into the empty garage of Pop’s auto shop. He would have made an immediate comment on the pop-punk garbage blasting in the speakers if it weren’t for the loud string of curses he heard coming out of the front office to greet him. 

“What the fuck are you doing?! Hey asshole!” The young man wore a mechanic’s jumpsuit with  the top half of it hanging loose around his hips. Sweat stuck his jet black hair to the sides of his face and neck. “You can’t just roll your car into the garage!” He threw his arms out to gesture to the rest of the shop, “You gotta check in, I need information from you and shit.” 

Marco climbed out of the driver's seat and leaned over the top of his door. “Whitebeard knows I’m dropping off for an oil change today.”

“I don’t give a shit. You see all the equipment to run over in your cute little Subaru? Park in the lot next time like everyone else.” He propped up the hood of Marco’s car. 

It’s not like he was wrong, it was just the sheer hostility that was unexpected. Marco couldn’t help the chuckling that bubbled up in his throat. “Okay. If it helps, I sincerely apologize.” 

In his adult life, Marco considered himself picky who he found attractive. He wasn’t one to leer at little waisted, broad shouldered, young men with freckles and shaggy haircuts. But, here he was leering while he was getting yelled at. 

“When was your last oil change Mr. Subaru Outback?”

“I’m overdue,” Marco admitted, “Sixteen hundred miles ago?”

“Yikes.” He cleaned the dipstick from Marco’s car with a rag that was within reach. “You’re friends with Pops and he let you go this long without an oil change?”

“I’ve been in school.”

“So, you’re a smart guy?” 

“I’d like to think so.”

The raven haired man took a few steps closer to Marco. The half a foot height difference between them didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest. He tapped the tip of the dipstick against Marco’s chest and challenged him with a smirk. “Five thousand to seven thousand miles would be my recommendation, Smart guy.”

Punk . 

“Got it.”

“Are you going to wait around or pick it up?”

Marco couldn’t help himself, “Does it take you so long to change the oil that I should leave?”

The mechanic’s eyes snapped up from the car to Marco. “Twenty minutes, Dick.” 

“Then, I’ll wait.” 

He pulled a clipboard off its hook on the wall. He crossed one ankle over the other, clicked the back of his pen against his hip and began filling in what would eventually be a receipt. While he waited. Marco finally noticed the ankle monitor, blinking a little green light just above Ace’s boot and peeking out from under the right leg of his jumpsuit.

This was Ace? Gorgeous face, insufferable shit starter? Right up Pops’s ally.

As if on cue, Whitebeard’s old truck came rolling into the parking lot behind them. The old man climbed out of it slowly and made his way into the garage holding an ice coffee in each hand. “Marco!”

“Marco!?” Ace echoed, his nose crunched up into a sneer. 

Whitebeard put one of the coffee cups in Ace’s hand, who took it despite the fact that he looked completely stunned. Marco had never seen the wheels in someone’s head turn so visibly. 

“I told you about him, Ace. Don’t look so surprised.” Newgate plucked the clipboard out of his hands and held it at arms length while he read it. “…And you were going to over charge him… If he was paying, which he won’t be. It's sixty eight for an oil and filter change, you wrote eighty six.”

“Sounds like me.”

“Yeah, sounds like you.” Whitebeard smacked his arm with the clipboard. “This is Marco, my first protégé. He’s been upstate for medical school, just moved back this week. He used to live in your apartment.”

“You’re kidding.” Ace said between sips of his coffee. He extended his hand out to Marco and Marco shook it. “Fuckin— my bad man. I thought you were just some asshole.”

“Is it an eighteen dollar surcharge for assholes?”

“Minimum—”

“Wrong.” Whitebeard said as he turned away from them. “I have to make a few calls. Give Marco’s car a thorough once over. Whatever he needs and do not accept a fucking dime from him.”

The kid might have been a lost cause for numbers and customer service but at least he knew what he was doing under a car. Ace kicked over one of the old scooters that had probably been around since before Marco’s time. He laid back on it and rolled beneath the Subaru with the kind of grace only muscle memory could provide. 

Marco watched his boots while he worked. “So, how long have you been here? Considering you don’t know the price of an oil change.”

“Can you say that a little louder? I want Pops to hear you making fun of the dyslexic kid.” Marco heard the flow of old oil as Ace removed the drain plug, “Two years— I don’t know. I worked for Pops for probably…  four—five months. I got put away for six months and he hired me back when I got out. I’ve been here since.” 

“What’d they get you for?”

“Arson. Burned the last shop I worked at to the ground.”  Ace rolled himself out from under the car in time to get a look at Marco’s deeply troubled face. He flashed the tips of his K9s while he smirked. “I’m kidding. It wasn't anything interesting, I promise.” He pulled himself to his feet and moved onto addressing the old filter that’d been rotting in Marco’s Subaru for the past seventeen hundred miles. “Since we’re on the subject of asking personal questions, are you responsible for the vomit green paint in my kitchen?”

“Your kitchen?”

“Yeah, and the tiny little couch with bricks for cushions. You graduated medical school and thought that couch was okay? I couldn’t even sell that fucking thing, Marco.”

“The space you’re filling is hardly big enough to be called a living room.” Marco hummed, “It was the only couch that fit.”

No one could match the level of sheer animation in Ace’s repulsed expression, “If I knew my doctor thought it was reasonable to buy that couch, I’d find a new doctor.” 

It was difficult, deciding whether Ace was the most annoying person he’d ever met or a half decent comedian. He’d never seen anyone enjoy bickering so much. “If I keep listening to you complain, you’ll take a look at my AC while you’re over there, right?”

Ace clicked his tongue, “What’s wrong with your AC?”

“You tell me Mr. Mechanic. It doesn’t run cold.”

Ace released a long, mournful sigh, “Poor little Subaru. Falling apart at the seams.”

“It’s not that old.”

“Really? Because, Rush’s greatest hits on CD would suggest otherwise.” Ace chuckled, reading off the open black CD case tossed on the passenger's seat. “Don't get me wrong, I like classic rock. AC/DC, The Beatles, and Queen, are all on this playlist—”

“I can’t stand AC/DC.” 

Ace’s jaw fell open. Clearly, he had a love for theatrics because the way he set down the oil filter looked choreographed for a dramatic stage play. Ace turned his shoulders slowly to face Marco, the very epitome of heartbreak and betrayal warping his expression. Ace swallowed, “Tell me you’re kidding.”

“I’m kidding. I just wanted to see how wound up you’d get.” Marco's relaxed demeanor finally cracked. He started laughing the minute Ace became self aware. 

“Oh—you can go fuck yourself!” His pretty bronze skin flushed with warmth. “I’m glad you’re fucking with me becahse I’d never let you leave this garage alive if you ment that. Don’t scare me like that. Shit!”

“You’re saying you’d kill me if I didn’t like AC/DC.”

“Marco, I don’t make the rules of the Garage, I simply abide by them.”

His laughter snapped off the second he heard his name. “Marco.”  Whitbeard’s voice cut through their conversation suddenly enough to make him jump. Newgate had taken to standing in the doorframe off his office, arms folded over his chest. There was a pause before he stated very simply, “C’mere a minute.”

The younger men exchanged glances before Marco excused himself. 

He was let into the office first, then Newgate followed and shut the door behind them. The unmoving, fierce look in the old man’s eyes reminded Marco of the old days at the shop. Whitebeard was infamous for shaking down customers who refused to pay, or thugs who thought it’d be a good idea to steal motorcycle parts from the garage. Marco cocked an eyebrow, “Everything okay?”

“Listen— I’m only going to say this once.“ Newgate crossed the office towards his desk in heavy footsteps. He rubbed at the deep elevens between his eyes. “Don’t get involved with Ace.”

“Hm?” Marco’s confusion only grew, “I…beg your pardon?”

“Whatever it is you’re doing...” Newgate waved his hand in the general direction of the garage, “None of that. Don’t flirt with him, don’t distract him, don’t confuse him.”

Marco couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Flirting? He was pretty sure he hadn’t tried to flirt in the past four years of his life. He let out a breathy laugh and looked over his shoulder like Whitebeard had to be talking to someone else. “…You’re not being serious.”

“I’m serious. He’s got too much on his plate right now and frankly, he’s too young for you.”

“Wow.” Marco had to repeat Newgate’s words in his head a few times to fully digest it. He scoffed. Ace was a hyperactive, one volume only, shit starter. The very idea that someone interpreted their conversation as flirtatious had to be a joke. “First of all—” He could feel his face heating up, “I’m not sure what kind of sleazy character you think I am. Secondly, you honestly think my type is the guy with a tattoo of his name spelled wrong?”

Whitebeard leveled Marco with an unamused glare. Clearly, the idea that he may have  misinterpreted things, hadn’t crossed his mind. “Listen, I gave Teach the same lecture.”

“Teach? I’m on the same level as Teach?” Marco clicked his tongue in disgust, “Well, you can rest easy. I promise you— I guarantee you, I have zero interest. Not my type.” Marco propped a hand on his hip, “But truthfully, I’m a little insulted you think you can dictate who I flirt with anyway.” 

“Oh, don’t misunderstand me, Marco. I haven't ordered you around in the past ten years. You’re an adult. The people you date should be none of my business.” Whitebeard's reply was very matter-of-fact. Marco had thought he heard the threat from his tone disappear completely before it all came rushing back. Whitebeard leaned in, his voice fell an octave and Marco swore he saw death themselves behind the old man’s eyes, “Unless it’s my kid you’re talking to. So, I’m telling you right now Marco, knock it off.”

If you liked this, there’s more on AO3 ;)

Thanks for reading!

[arcane-vagabond]

Fool's Fare: Chapter Five

Fool's Fare: Chapter Five

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Captain Jake "Hangman" Seresin had come close to swinging from the gallows more times than he would care to admit. He's stolen, cheated, even killed. The worst thing he's ever done? Broken the heart of a woman. Having broken the heart of the woman whom Davy Jones himself had fallen for six years ago, Jake is now cursed to live as something not dead, but not alive. He's doomed to live a half-life for the rest of his existence unless he manages to obtain the treasure Davy Jones deems most valuable. The problem? He has no idea what it is, and he only had seven years to obtain it.

Trigger Warning: Language, Big brother Bradley, Secrets, Feelings of betrayal, Abandonment issues from the reader, Reader says something she'll regret later, Allusions to prostitution and violent men, Magic, Curses, Supernatural is real, Reader cries, Feelings of helplessness, Pirate!Jake. I think that's it, but let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: 4k

Series Masterlist || Moodboards || Playlist

“What do you mean you still haven’t eaten?”

Bradley winced at your tone, running a hand through his brown locks as he eyed you wearily. You had meant to drag him to the physician at the last port you had docked at, but the excitement from the day prior had wiped the issue completely from your brain. Who knew falling overboard could do that to a person?

Now here you were a week later, and it had finally dawned on you that you hadn’t seen your brother eat much more than an apple here and there. You had kept quiet the past two days, silently observing him, and here you sat in the galley, Bradley to your right with Mickey and Nat sat across from you. The rest of the crew milled about, and it wouldn’t be long before Bob and Reuben joined your little group for breakfast.

“It’s not that serious, Guppy,” he murmured, casting a weary look at the two sitting across from you. “I feel fine.”

“Bradley, you aren’t eating,” you scowled, turning your own gaze to your new friends. “Tell him he needs to go see a physician.”

The two shared a look before Mickey shook his head, putting his hands up in surrender while Nat sighed.

“Yeah, I’m definitely not getting in the middle of a sibling squabble,” she drawled, taking a bite of her apple. You rolled your eyes, turning back to look at the brunette beside you.

“As soon as we dock, I’m going to go find a physician,” you told him, pressing your lips into a firm line as you stared him down. Your father had always said that you get your temper and attitude from your mother.

“It’s like a miniature you running around everywhere, Pen!” He’d laugh, throwing his head back as you gave him the best scowl your six year old self could come up with. Your mother would roll her eyes, biting back a smile as she watched you glare at the older man.

“She’s going to strike fear into the heart of everyone who crosses her, mark my words!” He grinned, reaching out to gather you in his arms.

“Don’t give me that look,” you scowled as Bradley gave you a dubious look. “I mean it! We’re finding a physician the next time we dock.”

“Alright, fine,” he grumbled, moving to stand, holding up his hand when you made to say something else. “By all means, go find a physician, Guppy. In the meantime, I’m going to go get some work done on deck before we dock.”

“Javy said we should make landfall within the hour,” Nat provided, watching as the brunette rounded the table towards the stairs. You watched after him, chewing on your bottom lip in worry. Were you really in the wrong for worrying after him so? Surely not. Bradley had always been stubborn, ever since the two of you were children. If anything, he wasn’t worrying nearly enough about his current condition.

“He’s going to be okay, you know,” Nat said, reaching out to hold your hand in hers. She offered you a gentle smile as she squeezed it lightly. “Maybe you should give him some time?”

“I’ve given him plenty of time,” you mumbled, glaring half-heartedly at the stairs where Bradley had just disappeared. “He needs to see a physician if he’s not eating. It could be illness.”

“He seems fine to me,” Mickey offered with a shrug. “A physician would be a waste of time, anyway.”

“Why’s that?” You asked, brow furrowing at his words. Nat shot him a pointed look, and Mickey straightened up as if just realizing what it was that he said.

“Oh, I just mean,” he trailed off, looking at Nat for help. All she offered was an unimpressed glare as he fumbled for how to continue.

“I just mean,” he stammered, “that physicians never really know what they’re doing, right? I mean, they’ll prescribe plants and leeches and-”

“Mickey?” Nat interrupted, raising an eyebrow and resting her chin on her fist.

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“Oh thank God,” Mickey mumbled, looking away and catching sight of Bob and Reuben making their way towards your table. Bob sat down next to you, bumping your shoulder with his in greeting as Mickey and Nat made room for Reuben on the other side.

“What are we talking about?” Bob asked, taking a bite of his oats.

“I’m going to go and find a physician for Bradley once we dock,” you told him. He paused, stiffening next to you for a moment before continuing with his food.

“What?” You asked, a tinge of annoyance evident in your town. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just chewing before swallowing.

“Is a physician really what he needs?” He asked carefully, glancing up at your friends on the other side of the table. You rolled your eyes fixing the bespectacled man with an annoyed look.

“Is there some sailor superstition about physicians being bad luck that I don’t know about?” You questioned, glancing around the table. Everyone refused to meet your eyes, and you felt another twinge of aggravation in your chest.

“No,” Bob replied, shaking his head, spoon clacking against the side of his bowl as he moved the oats around. “It’s just that they’re costly, you know? I’d hate for you to waste all that money only for there to be nothing wrong with him.”

“He’s not eating,” you replied dryly. “I think that’s plenty of cause to go and see a physician. I’ll deal with the cost when we get there.”

Shouting could be heard from on deck, and all of you glanced up at the sudden outcry.

“Sounds like we’ve reached land,” Reuben commented, focusing back on his plate.

“Perfect timing,” you chirped, already moving to stand. You cast a final smile to your friends, giving a small wave as you made your way towards the stairs. “I’ll see you all up there!”

It was still a few hours before anyone was allowed to leave the ship, Jake and Javy making sure that everyone had been inspected for signs of illness per the harbormaster’s orders. You kept silent about Bradley’s lack of appetite, certain that if it were contagious, then the others would be showing signs as well. Once the ship had been cleared and deemed healthy, you all set about preparing the ship to settle.

It was the late afternoon by the time you finished your tasks, and you set about trying to pin down Bradley.

“Have you seen him?” You asked Nat as you hung in the doorway to your shared cabin, having ran from the galley to the private quarters. She glanced up at you in the mirror, a quizzical look on her face as you fought to catch your breath.

“Who?”

“Bradley, of course,” you chuckled, straightening up and stepping further into the room. “Who else would I be talking about?”

She hummed noncommittally, turning her focus back towards her bun.

“I haven’t seen him,” she responded finally. “But I haven’t seen the others either. Perhaps they’ve already gone ahead and gone out?”

Your lips pulled into a frown as you realized that, save for Bob just moments before, you hadn’t seen Mickey or Reuben either.

“He wouldn’t,” you growled, earning another look from the woman in front of you. Your jaw dropped in indignation. “That rat!”

“He’s your brother,” she shrugged, once again turning back to the mirror. You let out another growl, turning to stomp your way back onto the deck. The oaf you called a brother would have to come back to the ship at some point, and it was then that you would corner him.

Meanwhile, your boots stomped across the deck and towards the gangway, mind bound and determined to find a physician at this small port. The docks were already crowded in the late afternoon, and you found yourself having to push through throngs of people just to get into the streets themselves. You weren’t sure where you should be looking, but you were sure that a port town of this size had to have some kind of physician. All around you, merchants of all kind hollered to the passing travelers, some selling food, others selling trinkets.

“Fine wares for your misses, sir!”

“Fish for sale!”

“How’s about a shilling for an hour of your pleasure, mister?”

You shied away from the last one, not wishing to be caught up in that business. People did what they needed to survive, but you were weary of the men who tended to hang around those parts.

“Interested in apples, miss?”

You turned to find an older woman staring directly at you, knobbed fingers outstretched to offer you a bright, red apple. She was missing a few teeth, that you could see as she smiled up at you, her silver hair falling out of her bun in wisps.

“They’re just a three for a shilling,” she continued, waving it up at you. “Tha’s quite the bargain.”

“No,” you shook your head. “No, thank you. Would you happen to know where I can find a physician?”

“A physician?” She parroted, her arm dropping back to her side as she studied you. “Doesn’t look like anythin’s wrong with you.”

“It’s not for me,” you corrected her. “It’s for my brother. I think he might be sick since he hasn’t been eating.”

“Not eatin’, you say?” She hummed thoughtfully. “Was a boy back when I was a girl meself who stopped eatin’ one day, there was. Was fit as a fiddle and then just dropped dead one day, the poor lad.”

“Yes, well,” you swallowed thickly, feeling ice run up your spine at her words, “I’d like to keep that from happening to my brother, if you don’t mind. So, do you know of any physicians here in town?”

“Oh, aye, aye,” she nodded, her wayward strands of hair flying all over the place. “Physician’s just a few streets over, love. A fine man he is, too. Helped me sister when she was puking buckets a few years back. Set her right as rain he did.”

“You said he’s a few streets down?” You prodded.

“Aye, just three streets down and to the right from here. There’s a big ole sign out front, you can’t miss it,” she said, waving in the general direction of where you needed to head. You followed the gesture, looking back and nodding.

“Thank you,” you smiled, turning and making your way through the crowd once more. It took you all of fifteen minutes to find the building the old woman was talking about, a bright blue sign with the word “physician” painted in white letters hanging above the streets as you approached. Worming your way through, you finally managed to trudge your way through the door, slamming it closed behind you with a wince at the loud sound in the unusually quiet room.

It was your standard physician’s office, the wood floors creaking as you wandered further into the dimly lit room. The walls behind the counter were filled to the brim with different herbs and potions meant for treating different ailments. It wasn’t long before an older man walked out from the backroom, peering at you curiously from over the rim of his glasses.

“Might I help you with something, young lady?” he inquired, rubbing his hands clean with a cloth towel.

“Yes, actually,” you smiled, crossing the rest of the distance to stand just in front of him, only the counter separating the two of you. “I came because of my brother. He hasn’t been eating the last few weeks, and it has me worried.”

“Hasn’t been eating, hm?” He hummed, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Does he have any other symptoms?”

“Now that you mention it, no,” you frowned, suddenly finding it odd that the only thing physically wrong with Bradley was his apparent lack of an appetite. “He sleeps just fine, and he looks healthy as he usually does.”

“No fever?” He continued.

“No, nothing like that,” you assured him.

“Vomiting?”

You shook your head, earning another hum from the older man.

“And, uh,” he smiled, a gesture you were sure was meant to be comforting, “what is it your brother does for a living?”

“He’s a sailor.”

“A sailor,” he nodded, cocking his head to the side. “And why isn’t he here with you now?”

“He thinks he doesn’t need a physician,” you scowled, crossing your arms. “He was supposed to come with me, but snuck off before I could grab him.”

The physician chuckled at that, tossing the cloth onto the counter as he leaned against it.

“Well, unfortunately, there’s not much I can do about his situation without seeing him in person, miss. How long is he in town for?”

“We’re here for at least another day,” you told him, earning another nod.

“Bring him by tomorrow,” he instructed. “I’ll take a look at him before you two leave town.”

“Thank you,” you sighed, relief washing over you in waves. “I really appreciate this, you have no idea.”

“I’ll keep the shop open until sundown. After that, I make no promises.”

“We’ll be here!” You assured him, turning to leave, weary of the setting sun shining through the window. You waved at him from over your shoulder, offering one last smile as you exited the shop.

“Bradley,” you huffed, arms crossed and eyes narrowed at the taller brunette. The two of you were currently in another argument about going to the physician, your window before the shop closed rapidly waning as the sun sank lower and lower towards the horizon. You had tried to stay awake the night before, waiting for Bradley on deck before falling asleep on one of the dozen barrels scattered about. You had inexplicably woken up in your bed that morning, still dressed in the clothes from the day before. When you had entered the galley, he was still absent, the rest of your little friend group remaining tight lipped about where he might be. The rest of your day was spent meal prepping and taking inventory with Bob until finally, the man had run out of chores for you two to do. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was keeping you busy on purpose.

You had sat perched in the same spot as the night before, eyes trained on the gangway until a familiar head of brown hair peeked over the deck. He spotted you right away, freezing in his tracks before making a beeline for the stairs leading below deck. You were hot on his heels, your temper surfacing as you finally cornered him.

“Guppy,” he replied cooly, refusing to meet your eye as he scanned the galley for help.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” you accused him, earning a scoff.

“Have not.”

“Have to.”

“Have not.”

“You have to, and don’t even try to deny it again,” you snapped, poking him in the chest. “We have precious little time to get to the physician before he closes up shop for the day. He was kind enough to keep it open as long as he is, now let’s go.”

“I’m not going,” he muttered. You froze, balking at his tone.

“What?”

“I’m not going, Guppy,” he repeated, still not meeting your gaze, golden eyes locked on something just past your shoulder. You let out a humorless chuckle, shaking your head in exasperation.

“Bradley-”

“I’m not going, and that’s final,” he growled. “Drop it.”

You stared at him for a long moment, your anger and sadness welling up all at once inside of you.

“You really want to leave me alone, don’t you?” You whispered. Bradley’s eyes snapped to you, still firm, but now with an edge of uncertainty to them. “First it was Papa, then Mama. I only had you, and now you’re determined to leave me too. You’d rather see me alone than go see the stupid physician, is that it?”

His face dropped into a look of horror, regret swirling in his eyes as he reached for you. “Guppy-”

You took a step back, feeling the hot, angry tears sting at your eyes. You fixed him with your meanest glare, cursing yourself when you felt your bottom lip begin to tremble.

“If you want to die so bad,” you sniffled, “then by all means, go ahead. Just leave me out of it.”

And with that, you turned on your heals and practically sprinted towards the stairs, the eyes of the rest of the crew fixed on you the entire way. You were vaguely aware of Bob’s concerned face peering at you from the kitchen, Mickey and Reuben seated not too far away. You passed Nat, ignoring her outstretched hands as you thundered past her and Javy up the stairs. The wind sent a chill down your heated face, only made worse when the tears finally began to fall. The sun was just above the horizon now, the sky painted in an array of pinks and oranges as it beckoned the night.

“Rough time?”

You jumped, spinning around to find Jake leaning against the railing on the far side of the ship. His golden blonde hair shimmered in the evening light. The sun kissed the horizon just passed his shoulder, creating a halo that glowed around him. If you didn’t already know him, you’d think he was an angel. He stares at you as if he could see into the very depths of your soul, his olive green eyes never wavering.

“What do you care?” You snapped, furiously rubbing at your eyes to rid them of any tears. Jake watched you intently, as if knowing that you would continue. “Bradley’s not eating.”

“Of course he’s not,” Jake replied, no hint of malice or sarcasm in his voice. Just a simple statement, but it made you tense up nonetheless.

“He hasn’t eaten in weeks,” you clarified, unsure if maybe he misunderstood you. He nodded, face unchanging.

“I know.”

“You know?” You asked incredulously. “You know, and you’ve done nothing about it?”

“There’s nothing to be done about it,” he shrugged, and you felt your whole body stiffen in anger.

“He needs a physician,” you snapped, fists clenched so hard at your sides, you thought you might draw blood with how your nails dug into your palms.

“A physician can’t cure what’s wrong with him, darlin’,” he drawled, as if explaining something so obvious. Your jaw ticked in annoyance.

“And what, pray tell, is wrong with my brother, captain?” You spat, the title earning a twitch from the blond’s lips.

“Do you believe in Davy Jones, Guppy?” he asked. That was unexpected. The change in conversation had your head jerking back, confusion stifling the anger momentarily.

“I believe he’s a scary story that parents tell their children to scare them into being good,” you responded, thinking back to the stories your own father would tell you. “He’s not real.”

Jake gave a humorless chuckle, closing his eyes and letting out a deep sigh. He ran a hand through his golden locks, looking out over the side of the ship and to the sea. The sound of the gulls and the creak of the ship as it rocked in the waves were the only things to be heard before he spoke. “I can assure you, he’s real.”

“Stop teasing,” you snapped, crossing your arms and fixing him with a glare. He gave you a wry smile, a look of sadness barely discernable in his eyes as they swept over you.

“If only it were that,” he started. “I didn’t believe in curses until six years ago, if you can believe that.”

“And what happened six years ago to make you a believer?” you asked, rolling your eyes. You were in no mood to be mocked or played with, and this man was wasting your time with his nonsense. You glanced over his shoulder. If you could wrap this conversation up, perhaps you could somehow convince Bradley to go with you to get the care he needed.

Jake paused. “Six years ago, I met a woman. She was beautiful, sweet, caring. The kinds of things most men want in a woman.”

“And you don’t?” you questioned.

“Those are nice things to have,” he hummed thoughtfully, then he gave you a small smirk. “But I’ve always wanted a little more.”

You ignored the shiver that smirk sent through you. “So, I’m guessing you took this woman to bed?”

“I did,” Jake admitted, pursing his lips. “And then I left her. Only, I didn’t know that there was another man in love with her at the time.”

“And he beat you senseless?” You guessed, letting out a snort of derision.

“Haven’t you been paying attention, darlin’?” He chuckled. “That man was none other than Davy Jones himself. Risen from the deep to exact vengeance on little, old me.”

“Right,” you scoffed. Surely he couldn’t be expecting you to believe him? He was speaking of fairytales. “And what, pray tell, does this curse involve exactly?”

“I, and everyone in my crew, are destined to exist on this earth in limbo. Not alive, but not dead either. A half-life. We eat, but we are never full. Our food tasting like ash.” He stood up, walking slowly towards you as he continued talking. “We drink, but our thirst is never quenched. The finest wines leave our throat dry like the desert.”

He cupped your cheek, stroking it before resting his thumb on your bottom lip, and you willed yourself to stay focused on the conversation at hand, despite the warmth the seemingly innocent action sparked in you. “We can feel, but no touch leaves us satisfied. I and every other member of this crew have taken many women to bed, only to crave more and more as this insatiable need for contact drives us mad. I’ve not known relief from another person’s touch in over six years.”

“Must be lonely,” you said softly. A look of unadulterated despair ran across Jake’s face, and it was then that you knew in your heart that he was telling the truth. It was the look of a man with ghosts that followed him, taunting him into submission, and you sucked in a harsh breath as he stared at you. His eyes shone with unshed tears, his breaths coming in ragged for a moment before he was able to compose himself.

“It’s agony,” he admitted quietly, dropping his hand back to his side, almost reluctantly.

“Did Davy Jones give you a way to lift the curse?” you asked, a sense of urgency in your tone. If there was a way you could help Bradley and your new friends, you had to try.

Jake didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he sighed, “I have to find what he considers to be the greatest treasure of all.”

“And what is that?”

“He didn’t say,” Jake muttered, head hanging low.

Your brow furrowed. “But, how are you supposed to find it if you don’t even know what it is you’re looking for?”

“Isn’t that the point?” he snorted, a humorless smile etched onto his face as he looked back at you. A sense of dread filled you, and you did your best to push it to the side. Giving up was not an option, it never had been for you.

“Well, you have all the time in the world to find what it is you’re looking for,” you offered, giving him a soft smile. He shook his head, the wry smile finding a home on his face once more.

“Old Jonesy only gave me seven years to find it before the curse becomes permanent.”

“Seven years?” you exclaimed, ice drenching your bones. “But you said this happened six years ago!”

“I did,” he said softly, watching you put the pieces together.

“But, that means…” you trailed off, horror overtaking your senses. Jake nodded.

“I have less than one year left to find the treasure.”

A/N: This one goes out to all my Fool's Fare girlies who have been waiting patiently for two months now for an update and haven't complained once! Y'all are the real MVPs. If you haven't heard, I'm redoing my tag lists, so please be sure to sign up for this new one! As always, reblogs and comments are appreciated and encouraged! And don't ever hesitate to pop into my inbox to talk about my fics or anything else! You can also find my works on AO3 under the username arcane_vagabond!

[sourholland]

WELCOME TO THE STYLE MASTERLIST

series based off of taylor swift’s song style

Summary → He’s the Quarterback of the Cincinnati Bengals, a worldwide heartthrob with an ego the size of Lake Erie—but does he have the heart to match it? You’re the Bengals newest cheerleader, desperate to prove how much you deserve your spot on the team. It doesn’t take much to catch the eye of Joe Burrow, however that isn’t necessarily a good thing when you’re told that any romantic relations between cheerleaders and players is strictly prohibited.

AN → Honestly this idea came to me pretty suddenly, it wasn’t very premeditated. I’m not sure anyone will be interested in reading it, this is me kinda testing the waters. I’m just going through a crazy sad breakup so I’m kinda just trying to get back into the things I love to do, writing being one of them. Also, I kinda just want to get my mind off stuff and who doesn’t love Joe Burrow haha. As always, let me know to be added to the tag list :)

Pairing(s) → Joe Burrow x Fem!Reader

Warnings → Strong Language, Alcohol Use, Mature Themes/NSFW Themes, Angst, Injury, Forbidden Love, More to Come

PLAYLIST

PART ONE - No Headlights

PART TWO - Good Girl

PART THREE - James Dean

PART FOUR - His Wild Eyes

PART FIVE - Taking Off His Coat

PART SIX - Tell You To Leave

Teaser →

After a rigorous auditioning process with over a thousand girls trying to earn their spot on the Bengal’s Cheerleading Squad, only forty made the cut. Most returners, some new like yourself. You’d watched girls break bones, continuing to audition on them to have a shot on the squad. Many left in tears, cut and sent home with hardly any reason why.

There was a little bit of metaphorical survivor’s guilt after you’d made the team, knowing this wasn’t your dream like it was for some others. This was only a season or two commitment for you while you finished up your last year of college. Then you’d become a teacher, something you’d had a passion for over the years. Cheerleading was more so a hobby, you’d danced all of your life and had cheered in high school. This wasn’t going to be your livelihood, nor did it offer you the funds to live off of for more than a short while.

There were plenty of rules to follow, many of which had you questioning if this was truly what you wanted. The handbook they’d given you was thick, although some of the girls had told you that they’d lessened up on the requirements over the years after a lawsuit had been filed. In the end, it wasn’t so bad. Tedious, but still a very surreal experience.

From about April to the middle of July, it was practice twice a week from 7:30 at night to about 11. There was a separate facility used to work and condition through the colder months, just following the Super Bowl. Once pre-season truly began, the whole team moved practice facilities. This put you in the same place as the Bengals practiced, giving you more field time than gym time to get acclimated. It was different, especially due to the fact that players and cheerleaders were placed at an arms length most of the time.

The afternoon of the first practice at the new stadium, you’d all been given the talk. This was basically your coaches and executives way of saying that if anyone found out that anyone off the squad had anything more than a friendly, professional relationship with one of the players—they’d be either cut or sanctioned. It was bad for the image of the team, making it bad for those in charge.

It shouldn’t have been a problem.

That first night practice in August was tough, you were coming off of a sprained ankle and the heat was blistering even at 8 at night. Amanda, your head coach, sent you inside to grab some ice from the athletic trainer to bring back out to the field. There was a stigma around the coaching and treatment of NFL cheerleaders, but you’d mostly had a decent experience so far. Your coaches did care that you were healthy and equipped to cheer.

Adorned in a slightly baggy Bengals T-shirt and spandex, you walked through the empty halls of the mostly deserted facility. The players had just ended their practice about an hour earlier, you watched them all exit into the locker room. That meant that mostly everyone had called it a night, heading home. The cheerleaders stayed late because practice was meant to be after work or class, it wasn’t a full-time job.

The door to the athletic trainers office was slightly ajar, the light on. Pushing it open slightly, you stepped in with furrowed eyebrows and a curious look. On the large medical table, ice in hand, sat Joe Borrow still in his practice jersey and shorts. The office was empty besides him, trainer nowhere to be seen.

He was a good looking guy, you’d give him that. Maybe it was the fact that he was 6’4 or maybe it was the fact that he was really fucking good at his sport. He looked up at you and gave a friendly grin, laying the ice on his knee.

“Emily said she was heading home about a half hour ago, her kid was sick or something so she had to pick him up from the babysitter,” Joe told you politely. “I came in just as she was like walking out, she just told me to lock up the office when I was done.”

Someone was clearly a rambler.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I was just going to grab some ice.”

He nodded and went silent while you walked over to the ice maker, taking the plastic scooper and putting some of it into a plastic bag. He was still looking at you, making it obvious as you saw him from your peripheral. Twisting the bag, you felt slightly awkward just standing there in silence.

“I’m Joe,” he spoke again.

“Y/N,” you turned back towards him. “It’s nice to meet you.”

He extended a hand towards you, smiling as you took it and shook it softly. When you broke from his grip, he remained looking at you. He was definitely one of those people who looked you right in the eyes through the entire conversation. You didn’t know if this made you particularly uncomfortable or slightly excited.

“You’re a cheerleader.”

“Was that a question?” You chuckled, “I think that’s pretty obvious.”

“No, no. I was kind of just thinking out loud.”

He was easily flustered, that much was obvious. He repositioned the bag of ice and looked back up at you with slightly pink cheeks. This made you want to crack a grin, feeling like you were talking to a boy for the first time ever or something.

“I should head back to practice,” you told him, watching him slowly nod in understanding.

“Yeah, of course,” Joe smiled. “It was nice meeting you, Y/N.”

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list :)

[rallamajoop]

Neil Newbon's Heisenberg Playlist

So I watched this great interview with Neil Newbon ‒ the VA and motion actor for Heisenberg, terrifically talented guy. With encouragement from the text chat, he shared a few of the tracks on the playlist he created for Heisenberg ‒ something he apparently likes to do for a lot of the characters he plays.

One track, called simply "John", was by a band called the Cold Stares (in Neil's words: hard fucking rock, very gritty, very dirty, with a country edge).

John won’t you dig that grave, John won’t you dig that grave, John won’t you dig that grave, Gonna bury you in that hole someday.      

On paper, it's a song about a man tracking down the grave digger (John) that his wife is having an affair with, but just taking the sound and that chorus line? Oh boy, can I hear it!

But the other song Neil singled out from his playlist? "I Can't Make You Love Me" by Bonnie Raitt.

'Cause I can't make you love me if you don't You can't make your heart feel something it won't Here in the dark, in these final hours I will lay down my heart and I'll feel the power But you won't, no you won't 'Cause I can't make you love me, if you don't      

And I mean... damn. I guess you could maybe find a way to spin it as about parental love (or lack thereof) between Heisenberg and Miranda, but that sure ain't where my mind went... XD

There's plenty more great stuff in that full interview ‒ a lot about how much he loves doing performance capture, as a medium where he gets to play so many different characters he'd never be cast as in live action. When cast as Heisenberg, he was apparently told only mid-Atlantic accent, which is a hell of a feature to emphasise.

He talks a bit about his work as Astarion from Baldur's Gate 3 too (because, y'know, it's not enough that this guy is Heisenberg, he's also the whole damn Internet's new elf-vampire-boyfriend too), as the game was already in early access by then, even if it was still years short of release. The full interview is a two-hour stream, but well worth a listen.

But the one last related detail I'd like to share here is one other track by the Cold Stares which I found in their discography while looking for "John", and which I have to say strikes me as another terrific Heisenberg track ‒ Dig my grave with a silver spade... Six foot in the ground and I can't get away.

Neil doesn't mention it himself, but I wouldn't be at all surprised if it's in his playlist somewhere. It's called "Headstone Blues".

I woke up this morning, with the headstone blues She's gonna kill me, gonna cut me loose Tied my tie in a pretty noose I can't win, she can't lose

I ain't the first, no, I ain't the first to leave you Oh but I know, I may be the last

Dig my grave with a silver spade Find a weeping willow to give me shade Bring me flowers on a summer day Six foot in the ground and I can't get away

I ain't the first, no, I ain't the first to leave you Oh but I know, I may be the last

[echoalyssa]

Omg I’m so sorry for some reason I automatically assume people know who I’m talking about 🤦🏼‍♀️ How about Marcus Baker x reader where she lives in another state and they met on like Instagram and one day she comes to see him?

ORRR (just to be safe😉😂)

Where her personality is like sunshine and rainbows so people are shocked that they’re together

Request 3 | Marcus Baker

You're gripping the steering wheel all too tight considering the road is empty and you've been driving for seven hours already.

Your comfort playlist plays through the speakers in an attempt to eradicate some of the nerves. You'd known him for a year, face-timed him every night for the past six months. He was real, you knew that much.

Though all those horror crime documentary's meant that somewhere deep down you were worried he might brutally murder you.

The two of you had met through a Instagram group chat for artists around the United States and had connected immediately. Your lives differed in every way possible.

You were from one of those small towns that barely made it onto the map with three siblings, and he was living in a million dollar house with his twin sister.

Your phone buzzes in your lap and its him.

'Hope the drive is going well! I'm excited to see you!'

You smile.

You're meeting him at a coffee shop in Wellsbury. It would be in broad daylight in a public place so not much could go wrong.

The navigation chimes, telling you to take the next exit.

Just like that, you're ten minutes away.

~~~ You take a breath outside of the door, using the slight reflection to check that your hair doesn't look insane. Your palms are sweating profusely so you have no choice but to wipe them on the front of your jeans.

You push the door open and the bell on top jingles softly.

The place is cute, with low ambience lighting and lounge chairs in the corner. There's plants just about everywhere and a mural has been painted on the far wall.

He spots you first, and he almost drops the two drinks he's holding. Marcus can't cross the small shop fast enough. He didn't even need a second to realize that it was you, he just knew immediately.

You shoot him a tiny shy smile and he returns it.

"Y/N!"

He wraps you in an awkward hug because he's still holding both drinks. Even though he's hugging you with his arms straight because of the drinks you can't help but think about how nicely you fit into his arms.

He smells good, like fresh linen.

His hair keeps falling into his face, and you keep wanting to push it out of the way for him.

"I got you a mocha frappe! I could have sworn that's what you told me you order but if that's wrong I can get you something else."

You're flattered by the fact that he bought you a drink and even more so that he remembered your order. That conversation must have taken place almost a year ago.

"That is perfect, thank you."

"Want to take a walk? You must be tired of sitting from the drive."

You nod, the weather in Massachusetts was stellar today.

He guides you out the door by placing a hand on the small of your back which sends sparks up your spine.

"I can't believe that you're here."

"I can't believe you're real."

He chuckles. "Are you cold?"

You're not really but he shrugs off his jacket anyway and drapes it over your shoulders.

His fingertips brush your neck and you shiver.

The town is cute but is very obviously a place where money is plentiful. Marcus tells you about his motorcycle and his plan to restore it.

You listen intently, your arm bumps against his as you walk.

He stops abruptly and turns to you.

"I feel like I know you already."

"You do! Now you're just putting a voice to the face,"

"I don't want you to ever go back home."

You can feel your face heat up, hopefully he wouldn't notice and would just think it was from the wind.

"You're just so far away." He continues, "And now that you're here I can't imagine you not being here."

Just the way that he looks at you makes you want to pack up all your belongings and move into this town, almost eight hours away.

His fingertips touch the side of your face, and he tilts your head so that you are looking up at him.

"It's a good thing I'm here for a week then." You whisper.

"We should make the most of it."

"Yes." You choke out because he's getting closer to you and you're barely breathing.

"You're beautiful you know."

You nod, scared to break this trance like interaction.

And then he leans the last few inches and his lips brush against yours, hesitant at first but they slowly grow more confident.

You tilt your head up for a better angle because there is no way that you're kissing Marcus Baker right now.

The butterflies in your stomach are doing somersaults.

It's slow and gentle. He pulls you close to him, his body radiates heat and warms you.

You could stay like this forever you think. This was perfect. All the anticipation and build up from the past year and finally, finally the two of you were together.

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Tag Game: Writeblr Interview

Thanks to @cowboybrunch for the tag, this looks fun!

Long post incoming.

----------

Short stories, novels, or poems?

I find I end up with novelette/novella-length stories more often than not. I've written plenty of one-shots and short stories for prompt events, and I like doing that especially when I'm doing fanfiction or nameless characters. When I write with ocs though I tend to stretch stuff out and what had originally started as a one-shot or short story ends up becoming a novella.

Don't get me wrong I have plenty of WIPs planned out to be novels (like Trials of the Six), but the first drafts of The Hunter, the Myth and the Cure and The Legend of Orian Goldeneye were both novella-length and will probably stay that way or end up being longer. My Hero x Villain series ended up being a novelette, so basically I can't plan for how long a story's gonna be lol.

I've written a little bit of poetry (heck, I wrote one for The Legend of Orian Goldeneye that may or may not get cut), but it's not my favorite thing to write because I way overthink things. But when I do compose poetry I usually do limericks.

What genre do you prefer reading?

Fantasy, no contest. And within fantasy, usually High Fantasy with a lightcore or hopecore focus. I read some gritty stuff, but I find they tend to have elements I don't really like more than the ones I do.

Are you a planner or a write as I go kind of person?

Both? I like having an idea of where the story's gonna go, and I plan that out either before writing or while writing, so I don't get stuck. But it's really loose and gives plenty of room for the characters to go feral. I'm in the middle, but I lean more panster than plotter.

What music do you listen to while writing?

Soundtracks, usually from videogames or movies. I really should start organizing my two writing playlists by vibes other than calming music and boss fight-type, but I'm pretty happy with how I have it now. I also have some seasonal aesthetic playlists which match the vibe of the current weather.

Field Music Playlist (calming background soundtracks)

Boss Fight Playlist (pump-up, more exciting soundtracks)

Seasonal Aesthetics: Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter

Favorite books/movies?

Oh goodness.

Uhhhh. UHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

My knee-jerk answer for favorite movie is and always will be The Princess Bride. But I also really like Back to the Future, The Martian, and Clue.

With books I tend to separate them into categories. For fantasy I would say it's a tie between Dragonlance: Dragons of Autumn Twilight by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman, The Death Gate Cycle: Hand of Chaos by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman, Mistborn: The Final Empire by Brandon Sanderson, and Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynn Jones.

For sci-fi it's The Martian by Andy Weir, followed closely by Skyward by Brandon Sanderson.

My favorite classic is Little Women by Louisa May Alcott, followed by Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austin.

And for nonfiction I like Stuck by Justina Van Manen, The Healing Imperative by Mike Aquilina, and Beautiful Holiness by Kathleen Beckman.

And of course the Holy Bible and the Catechism of the Catholic Church.

Any current WIPs?

This post is getting long enough already, I talk about my WIPs here and they're all linked in my pinned post in one way or another.

Create a character description of yourself:

Quiet, and keeps to herself. Never without a book, never without a rosary. Her brown hair is long, reaching nearly past her waist, and often kept up in a ponytail or a braid. She dresses mostly in dark colors, black jeans or skirt and a shirt or blouse that is black, navy, or gray, but occasionally wears a bright shirt. She wears little to no makeup unless she feels like being extra fancy. She always has a ring on her right hand, and usually a bracelet that matches her outfit, both of which she fiddles with. Her friends are few but she loves them dearly, and they are often on her mind. Though she may be quiet most of the time, she never hesitates to speak up for what she believes in.

Do you like incorporating actual people you know into your writing?

Eh... not really. I know my own thoughts and experiences much better than those around me and I wouldn't wish a lot of the stuff I do to my characters on the people I know so it just feels kinda weird to me.

Are you kill happy with your characters?

I find I like to bring my characters to the brink of death and back again rather than just killing them unless I want to write about grief. I'm more kill happy with immortal characters for the same reason.

Coffee or Tea while writing?

Usually just water, but if I can get my favorite iced coffee drink than I'd be happy to drink that.

Slow or fast writer?

It varies depending on the amount of research I have to do in a scene, but I think I write pretty fast. I haven't measured my words-per-minute in a while but it was pretty good if I recall correctly.

If you were in a fantasy world, what would you be?

I'd love to be a guide of some kind, part of the group enough that I won't get killed off. I'm pretty good with navigation and maps, and I'd like to have powers (minor ones, not overpowered) but that would depend on the fantasy world.

Most fav book cliche:

Scoundrel with a heart of gold. I eat that up like a starving woman. Han Solo, Mat Cauthon, Ifan Ben-Medz, etc. Draven Cozenson, Diana Ozborne and Korfel Domin are two oc examples.

Least favorite cliche:

Love triangles. Frustrates me to no end, especially how most of them are resolved and how they really only seem to drive wedges in the fandoms (Keeper of the Lost Cities fandom, I'm looking at you.) I have no love triangles in my stories and I never will. I have minimal romance anyway but in the two I got there is no competition.

Favorite scene to write?

*evil grin* Love writing the whump or hurt/comfort scenes, all my ocs get whumped in some form or another, and I have fun every single time.

Reason for writing?

Creative expression, love for my ocs, with a dash of "I maked these :D"

In all seriousness, it's a hobby that I love. It sparks joy and it's a craft that I continuously improve upon and the more I write the better I get at writing. I also occasionally fantasize about publishing one day and my books having fandoms of their own. Maybe that will happen someday.

----------

This was fun! Tagging @fourwingedwriter @phoenixradiant @thewritingautisticat @writingphoenix @somethingclevermahogony

@agirlandherquill @happypup-kitcat24 @imsoveryveryconfusedatlife @geode-crystal @pluttskutt and open tag! :D

Blank list under the cut:

Short stories, novels, or poems?

What genre do you prefer reading?

Are you a planner or a write as I go kind of person?

What music do you listen to while writing?

Favorite books/movies?

Any current WIPs?

Create a character description of yourself:

Do you like incorporating actual people you know into your writing?

Are you kill happy with your characters?

Coffee or Tea while writing?

Slow or fast writer?

If you were in a fantasy world, what would you be?

Most fav book cliche:

Least favorite cliche:

Favorite scene to write?

Reason for writing?

[a-halo-for-you]

Grishaverse Tribute

I'm pissed. I'm vengeful. I'm going to march on Netflix.

The cancellation is uncalled for, now all we will see in return for the snubbing of one of the best series on Netflix, with one of the best fandoms, cast and creators another stupid documentary glorifying a serial killer, another shitty teen show with no plot but plenty of sex (because sexualizing children will be something they always get away with), and another over-marketed pointless action film with some former boxer or wrestler leading it who can't really act more than one type of nice-buff guy.

In my mournful and restless vengeful spirit, I have come up with another playlist dedicated to the Grishaverse, the fans, the cast and Leigh Bardugo. This breaks their hearts so much because we know how excited and passionate they were about telling this story, and to think now so many won't be able to go on and live their beloved characters through to the end. I can't stand it.

"None of this had been fated; none of it foretold. There had been no prophecies of a demon king or a dragon queen, a one-eyed Tailor, Heartrender twins. They were just the people who had shown up and managed to survive. But maybe that was the trick of it: to survive, to dare to stay alive, to forge your own hope when all hope had run out. For the survivors then, Zoya whispered to herself as the people before her knelt and chanted her name. And for the lost." - Leigh Bardugo, Rule of Wolves

I got to dream through them, Shadow and Bone saved my Covid years, when I was alone in a dorm learning online, unable to be with anyone else, with no friends and no family. I had little to no confidence and was stuck in a place that scared me. But then I had Shadow and Bone, I had these amazing characters and when I dove into the books, I found so much more. (A found family is my favourite literary trope for a reason.)

“Kaz leaned back. "What's the easiest way to steal a man's wallet?" "Knife to the throat?" asked Inej. "Gun to the back?" said Jesper. "Poison in his cup?" suggested Nina. "You're all horrible," said Matthias." - Leigh Barugo, Six of Crows

This is a playlist for all of us who are mourning and for all of us willing to fight on. I've seen petitions already posted on change.org, lets sign them all, share them all and try our best to change this while we can. Warrior Nun got their season 3. Who says we can't? Who says we shouldn't? Brick by Brick we will build our season 3, or we'll go down trying.

“Have any of you wondered what I did with all the cash Pekka Rollins gave us?" "Guns?" asked Jesper. "Ships?" queried Inej. "Bombs?" suggested Wylan. "Political bribes?" offered Nina. They all looked at Matthias. "This is where you tell us how awful we are," she whispered.” - Leigh Bardugo, Crooked Kingdom

Pardon the ecclectic taste of this long playlist, but there are so many types of song that I feel fit the plot, the charcaters and themes as well as their relationships to each other. This has sparked inspiration in me to create more playlists catering to the Grishaverse and I'll do that alongside my usual playlist posts.

I would also like to say that this playlist isn't just mine, it's for everyone and I would love for any fans of the show or books to let me know if they have any songs that they love to be added to the playlist and I will do so.

There are over 60 songs on this playlist, so I'm not going to write them all here for obvious reasons, I hope none of you mind that.

For our founding mother Leigh Bardugo. For the Six of Crows; Kaz Brekker, Inej Ghafa, Jesper Fahey, Wylan Van Eck, Nina Zenik, Matthias Helvar. For our S+B crew; Alina Starkov, Malyen Oretsev, The Darkling, Baghra Morotzova, Nikolai Lantsov, Zoya Nazyalensky, Genya Safin, David Kostyk, Tolya Yul-Bataar, Tamar Kir- Bataar, Nadia and Adrik Zhabin.

Let the revival of Season 3 be our final grand mission.

Lets stream the show, post more art, more fanfics, more posts, more petitions. Let's fight for what we can.

No Mourners, No Funerals.

'Yuyey sesh'

'Ni weh sesh'

[socialmediasocrates]

MITZIE AND THE THINGS SHE FOUND IN THE RIVER; a wip intro

(intro graphics by @veneritia)

Genre: new adult, urban fantasy

Tropes: Cloudcuckoolander, But for Me, It Was Tuesday, Her Boyfriend's Jacket, Non-Linear Character, Red String of Fate, Necromancer, Child of Forbidden Love, Anthropomorphic Personification, Revenant Zombie, Interactive Narrator

5 Song Playlist: Inkpot Gods, Bulletproof Heart, The Last of the Real Ones, Call Your Mom, Breath of Life

TL;DR: Keyesville, PA's got a serial killer, and it's up to "undergrad" witch Mitzie Morse and yoga instructor Khalil Bashir to stop them.

Summary:

For six months, Mitzie Morse has been pulling murder victims out of the river.

She gets them fixed up, so she figures it's not really a big deal, but there's definitely a serial killer on the loose. One who's ramped up their activity lately, a pattern of escalation in both violence and frequency of killings that would give anyone other than Mitzie some pause. Necromancers have a dysfunctional relationship with reality. Someone has to remind them that death is scary for most people, or they forget. Luckily (for Keyesville, not Mitzie) the latest victim, burnt out physical therapist turned yoga instructor Khalil Bashir, is happy to remind her that she has the power to stop these killings once and for all. Unluckily (for Keyesville, for Mitzie, and mostly for Khalil) a quirk of fate and magic has bound the two of them together. Doubly unluckily (for Keyesville, for Khalil, and mostly for Mitzie), the killer has set their sights on a new target: Mitzie Morse.

Characters

Mitzie Morse

like all necromancers, mitzie has a sense of style kindly described as "macabre" and accurately described as "fucking gross." dir en grey, gazette, and my chemical romance posters war with gruesome anatomical diagrams of creatures ranging from humans to unicorns to, somehow, dodo birds for wall space. her kitchen cabinets are home to a collection of mismatched thrifted cups, plates, and bowls, an ancient, somewhat decrepit, rice cooker, and an array of body parts preserved in mason jars. the colorful ones your least favorite high school classmates use for drinks in their instagram posts.

[…]

"i think he might need a new left eye." she takes a step back to survey her handiwork. "maybe a couple toes and fingers, too. do i still have toes and fingers?"

unfortunately, the answer to that is yes. they're in the pantry, next to the box of gushers. the one that's already open, not the unopened one on the top shelf. kind of wedged between the gushers and the canned ravioli. yep, she's found them. she's never explained why she keeps them in there, to me or anyone, at least not in a way that i'm willing to accept.

"i told you, there's not enough space in the cabinets."

there would be plenty of space if she got rid of all the novelty cups.

"i don't want to get rid of my novelty cups."

she should, they're grungy in the gross way.

Khalil Bashir

"who are you?"

anyway, the yoga instructor, khalil, is up.

he's still sitting on mitzie's kitchen table, the blanket she threw over him folded over itself in his lap. he's twisting around, trying to figure out where he is (you're in mitzie's apartment, i just said that) and where i am (everywhere all at once, but i'm incorporeal so you can stop looking).

"who are you? who the fuck is mitzie?" he's got that high-pitched edge to his voice that people get when they're panicking. unfortunate.

"hello?"

oh. right. i'm stevie.

[…]

"what is this?" he holds the gift card out from himself like it's going to bite him.

"a twenty five dollar gift card!" mitzie stares at khalil. khalil stares back at mitzie. this goes on long enough that she decides to elaborate, "you know, for your trouble."

he looks like he'd like to say something but isn't fully certain what he wants to say or how he wants to say it. this is a common reaction to mitzie. she does tend to just open her mouth and say things. khalil opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens his mouth, then closes it. he looks at the gift card. he looks at mitzie. he looks at the gift card. he sighs, shakes his head, and stuffs it in a pocket.

"why did you settle on twenty five dollar gift cards?"

"i dunno, it seemed fair."

"right."

khalil's been having the longest day known to man for two and a half weeks.

Fatima Bashir

fatima is one of those unspeakably fashionable people that makes everything she wears look good. even, more than occasionally, dog vomit.

see, much like her brother burnt out on the whole "living in philly and fighting the demon in the homeless man outside the wawa for his life every time he wanted a hoagie" life, fatima got tired of having to sit through putting people's dogs to sleep for eighteen dollars an hour and no health insurance. so khalil's a yoga instructor, and fatima owns keyesville's first doggie daycare. somehow, her perfect manicures never get too fucked up.

"any news on khalil?" asks the office worker, passing a tupperware container of cookies across the counter. this is the fifth time today that someone has asked this. it is seven in the morning.

"not yet, but we're staying optimistic. thanks for the cookies; mom loved the last ones." it's true that her mom loved the cookies, but it's not true that she's thankful for them.

Johnny ???

"so, what's up with the mcdonald's napkins?" khalil is sitting extremely inadvisably unbuckled in the back of the van.

"no clue." two sharp turns and a hard stop at a red light. johnny sips his cucumber water placidly while everyone behind him climbs back into their seats. "gotta take 'em somewhere in oklahoma, though."

"how do you know that?"

"no clue."

johnny is a mystery wrapped in an enigma lodged in a mound of horse shit. you'll recall that his previous identity was cursed or something, so he turned it over to edna in exchange for the first of many mcdonald's napkins and a broken magic guitar. some garage sale special of unknown make, black paint flaking off the wood everywhere, strings curling around the pegboard like medusa's snakes. it doesn't matter how many times he changes the strings, or what he does when he changes them, they will always break as soon as he plays them, and the only song the guitar will reliably play is the mysterious one written on the mcdonald's napkins he keeps finding everywhere.

@seasteading ; @writinglyra ; @asablehart ; @zorya-km ; @silent-creed ; @cheshawrites ; @thewritersplace

[halfmoth-halfman]

i got an ask about advice for writing when you're discouraged, so i thought i'd make a post addressing some of the points because i think this is something that everyone has gone through and can relate to. most of this is just what's helped me/what i'd tell myself in the past, but if anyone has advice to add on please feel free! i hope this helps at least a little bit, anon!

"I’m not good at (dialogue/atmosphere/prose/etc)."

write it anyways! one of the best ways to build a skill is to keep doing it. even if you don't ever post it, or only share it with a few friends, or just read it to your pets, or whatever you choose to do, it's better to write something "badly" than to not write at all. or even asking for help on how to improve from other writers. i struggle a lot with atmosphere and scenery, and something that helped me a lot was talking to other writers whose fics i really enjoy and inspire me. i know it may seem intimidating, but there are plenty of writers on tumblr that would love to talk about how they compose their scenes, their dialogue, anything and everything if someone asks.

"I can’t make moodboards/headers/aesthetic posts."

the good news is, you don't have to! fics don't have to have anything other than the fic itself. i can't speak for everyone, but while aesthetics may get my attention, it's the person behind the blog that i stay for. if you want your blog or your fics to have a pretty aesthetic, it shouldn't be because you feel forced to but because you want to do it. if you don't find making moodboards or headers or aesthetic posts fun, then you don't have to do them. and if you want to, but don't know how, there are a ton of resources, links, and blogs dedicated to helping on tumblr.

"I’m not at (insert someone else)’s writing level."

and you might never be, and that's okay! every writer is different - they have different styles, write at different paces, perceive their skill differently. basing your progress on someone else's isn't going to help because you're not them. you have your own time, energy, ability, and ideas, you'll grow and improve at your own pace, just like they did. don't force yourself to try and follow the same timeline of someone else, and don't put yourself down because you're getting better - and you are getting better - at your own pace.

"I can’t find the motivation to write."

honestly same. i think it's a pretty universal experience to lose motivation for something you were excited about at one point. sometimes the vibes aren't it and the story doesn't want to story, but that's alright. it can be hard to stay motivated, and what gets someone inspired again is different everyone. i can't give advice for anything outside of what's helped me, but a few ways i've re-motivated myself to write something are: making a fic playlist, stepping away from the fic for a day or two, giving it to a friend to read, re-watching/reading the source material, doodling fic ideas, and skipping to a different part of the story.

"I can’t write fast enough."

unless it's for something like work where you have a fixed deadline, there is no "fast enough" in writing. don't let anyone tell you otherwise. when i first started writing, in the very early days of ao3 and tumblr, fic updates could takes months or even more than a year and that was fine! one of my favorite fics took a six year hiatus, and that didn't diminish any of the enjoyment i had when it came back. you are not a machine, you're a human being with needs outside of writing. it's always okay if you need to take a break, if there's a long wait between chapters, or if you want to stop a project altogether and come back to it six years later. if someone gives you grief because you can't write within their time-frame then they're not worth having as a reader - do not overwork yourself for the sake of finishing a fic.

"It’s hard to stick to one idea at a time."

then don't! write all the ideas. write every single one. working on a project and you have a drabble that you just keep thinking about? write it. you get a sudden idea for a one-shot in a different fandom? write it. woke up in the mood to start a new five-chapter fic? write it. you can start or stop writing about anything at any time. there is no rule that you have to stick to one idea and finish it before you can write anything else, don't make yourself stick to something if it's not what you want to write, and don't punish yourself if you need to take a break from your current project.

"Maybe I’m not made for writing on tumblr."

tumblr is a shitposting website that barely works at the best of times. half of my drafts get deleted every other week for no reason - there is no way to be "made for writing on tumblr"! but tumblr is huge, there's a bajillion communities on here that would be so excited to have another writer, and a ton that are solely dedicated to helping writers and providing different resources. i guarantee there is someone on this website that will love and adore your writing.

"The things I read are better than anything I can write/comparing myself to other writers."

i don't have the cake picture saved, but we all know the gist of it: the audience (generally) isn't going to care about how decorated your cake is compared to another, they're just happy to get two cakes. and that's really all it is. your fic might not be the same preferred flavor as the audience of other writers, but there is someone out there who's going to enjoy it. i won't tell you to just not compare yourself to others, i know that's not how it works, but what has helped me is changing the way i view other fics. instead of thinking "i wish i could write like this person", i look at like "this inspires me to improve my writing". and don't get me wrong, i still have moments of doubt about my writing compared to some of the people i read, i don't think that will ever really stop, but the best thing you can do is not let yourself give in to that feeling. try and stop that train of thought before it leaves the station. no one else can write the way you can. no one else can tell your stories the way you can. no one else has the same voice as you do. if everyone wrote the same way, everything would be boring. the heart of a fic is seeing the author's personality shine through it. if you see someone write a good fic, that doesn't mean yours won't be. you have to give yourself a chance even when you feel like your writing won't be as good as someone else's. you have to bake your cake anyway.

"How do I find joy in something I know I’ll never be good at?"

you won't. full stop. if you keep telling yourself you'll never be good at something, you'll never improve, there's no point in trying, then you'll never enjoy it. i know it's easier said than done, but you have to have some level of confidence in yourself and in your writing. not only will you not enjoy it, other people will see the lack of enjoyment, the "i wrote this and it sucks" comments, the self-degradation, and they won't enjoy it either - no one feels good about a fic the author clearly didn't want to write. and, if you try everything you possibly can and still can't find any joy in writing, then maybe writing isn't the hobby for you. and that's perfectly okay! i tried quilting and glassblowing several times before i realized i just didn't like it the same way i liked writing. you owe it to yourself to find something that's fun, that makes you smile, that you're excited to do. there's a million hobbies out there, i promise you'll find something that brings you joy.

[drivinmeinsane]

In case you're not tired of them yet- I've got some character asks :]

For Holland; 8, 16 and 27

For Julian; 15, 17 and 28 (Driver)

For K; 2, 17 and 47

Thank you for the message! I appreciated the opportunity to talk about these guys some more!!! <3

Holland

8. Unpopular opinion about them.

Holland loved his wife dearly, but Jackson Healy is the unexpected love of his life.

16. Deepest darkest secret they won’t even admit to themselves.

Holland is worried that Holly hates him. He thinks he genuinely might be a bad father. He couldn’t fault his daughter if she blames him for the death of her mom, he certainly does.

27. Their guilty pleasure.

It would be easy to say alcohol, smoking, or self-flagellation, but really? Holland likes all those cheesy family activities (this includes Jackson of course). He didn’t get to spend enough time with Holly and her mom together, so he tries to put in the extra effort these days for family game nights, dinners, movie trips, anything they can do together. He also gets the bonus satisfaction of seeing Healy’s face flush every time he’s included as part of the March family.

Julian

15. Worst thing they’ve ever done.

Julian has done plenty of terrible things in his life. He is a product of his upbringing. As gently as I can put this with the understanding that he was victimized, the worst thing he did was not love himself enough to save himself by cutting ties with his mother and his brother. Without them in the picture, he very likely would not have been engaging in the destructive (both to himself and to other people) behaviors to the extent that he was. Crystal truly was an epicenter of bad.

17. Quotes, songs, poems, etc. that I associate with them.

Off the top of my head, here are some of the songs that remind of Julian » I Bet on Losing Dogs - Mitski » God's Gonna Cut You Down - Johnny Cash » Afraid - The Neighborhood » Knives Out - Radiohead » Grip - Seeb x Bastille

28. How they feel about Driver.

I feel like Julian would find common ground with Driver. Neither of them had a stable childhood, however Driver was able to come out of his experiences being able to connect with others, to love, despite everything. Julian might be able to let him in. Perhaps he could heal.

K

2. A canon or headcanon hill I will die on.

I firmly believe that Deckard would have left that upgrade center with two kids, Ana and K, if he had truly known what was going on from the start. By all rights, they were siblings. K had found his family. He just would not -could not- consider himself human enough to deserve it. By the time Deckard realized, likely when Ana explained the circumstances of K visiting, it would have been too late for him to claim K in life. In a happier story, he would have pried K off those steps before he succumbed to his wounds and the thought that he wanted to die. Maybe he could have been saved. Deckard had loved a replicant as a partner, he could have easily loved a replicant as a son.

17. Quotes, songs, poems, etc. that I associate with them.

Here's just some of the songs I associate with K. We'll go ahead ignore that I'm pulling some of these off my Six/K playlist... » Like Real People Do - Hozier » Star Hopping Lover - Chance Peña » Take me to Church - Hozier » Achilles Come Down - Gang of Youths » Way Down We Go - KALEO

47. Their dream job.

I think that in another life, K would have really liked to do something involving agriculture. As we see in both the script and in the movie, he has a genuine interest in Sapper’s occupation. He wants to know what he farms. He wants to know what’s bubbling on the stove. He’s intrigued by the cowslip he finds on the ground. Anything involving the creation of life and the tactile use of his hands seems right up his alley. Personally, I specifically see him as keeping bees if he were not… leashed by the LAPD (if he were to survive defection or were allowed to openly have his own interests). They captivated him from the moment on landed on his hand. As he is, they’re part of a system working for the betterment of a colony. I also think that in keeping bees, he would feel closer to Deckard given that he has his own. It might feel almost as if it were a family business, and we all know how desperately K wants to belong to a family. I’ve included some of my notes on the script and some shots of K finding the hives. I have too many feelings. :(

[wastelandmoony]

Chapter Twenty-Six : Sweet Jane

Summary: In honor of my birthday, here's a short chapter about dr*gs =)

Characters: Remus Lupin/Reader, Sirius Black/Reader (no use of y/n), James Potter, Petter Pettigrew, Regulus Black, Marlene McKinnon, Mary MacDonald, Lily Evans

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI; mild dr*g use

Déjà Vécu Masterlist

Companion Playlist

Read on AO3

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

April 4th, 1976

The pressure of their impending O.W.L.’s was threatening to crush her. Lily and Remus felt it too, and the three of them had begun to spend most of their free time in the library revising, and once Spring reared its mild head, they moved the group outside to at least receive some small amount of fresh air and vitamin D. As the weeks drew closer to the start of examinations, some of the others began to join them, Mary was the first, followed quickly by James once he realized Lily was involved. Sirius showed up now and then, but he couldn’t be arsed to study in the slightest, and usually ending up complaining or goofing off until he had convinced the rest of them to wrap it up for the time being. 

Today was one of those days.

Her and Remus had spent the entire morning on the second floor of the library, quizzing each other on charms. Sirius, looking for James, had found them and decided (through her convincing) that he should probably study just a little bit. 

It lasted 20 minutes until he was leaning back in the chair and charming paper airplanes to dive-bomb students on the lower level. 

“Sirius,” she tried to sound as nice as possible, though at the moment she could throttle him.

“Yes, Yellowjacket,” he gave her the most innocent eyes, the picture of grace and decorum, as she heard another muffled “ouch!” from the floor below.

“You should really be focusing on your O.W.L.s, they’re important.”

He rolled his eyes, “I know, you’ve both made that abundantly clear. Besides, exams aren’t until June, I’ve got plenty of time to revise.”

She was too tired to argue with him, knowing that it was going to fall on deaf ears anyway, and instead went back to her notes. 

After a few minutes of Sirius drumming against the table, he leaned forward and tapped Remus with his foot.

“Mooooooony,” he sang, “I think you’ve studied enough, let’s find Prongs and swing by the greenhouses—“

“The greenhouses? For what?” She raised an eyebrow at him. Sirius hated Herbology, and he had always been very vocal about it.

He crouched lower towards the table, as if about to convey some big secret.

“I’m surprised you don’t know,” he whispered smugly, “Rumor has it, Richie Abbott’s been growing and selling muggle marijuana out of Greenhouse 3.”

“Richie Abbott?” Her jaw dropped, “Prefect, Richie Abbott?”

Sirius leaned back in his chair again, arms folded behind his head, “The very same.”

“And who did you hear this rumor from?”

He tipped the chair back on two legs, the old wood groaning slightly, “Some moody half-blood with a lunar affinity.”

Her head snapped to Remus, who was presently attempting to hide behind a textbook.

“Remus Lupin!” She hissed. He looked at her sheepishly from over the pages.

“Have you been buying drugs from my house Prefect?”

He cleared his throat uncomfortably, “I may have been…partaking in the horticultural excellence that is Hufflepuff House…”

“Do not play that game with me,” she closed the book on the table and began packing up her bag.

Remus grabbed his books and parchment, “Oh come on, don’t be upset! I just…needed to relax—it helps.”

Throwing the strap of her book bag over a shoulder, she turned to give him an incredulous look, “I’m not upset.”

“Could’ve fooled me…” Sirius grumbled.

“I’m annoyed that you didn’t ask me,” she said pointedly, watching as both of their faces slackened, “I know multiple housemates that grow, and I also know for a fact that Richie Abbott is a scheming arsehole and definitely overcharging you.” 

The two boys stared at her in disbelief, and before either could speak, she turned and strode down the shelves and left the library. 

She didn’t get far until they caught up, jogging up beside her outside the Artithmancy classroom. 

“We’re sorry—“ Remus breathed as she continued to walk through the crowds of students.

“You just want me to help you get better weed,” she squeezed in-between two groups of Ravenclaw third years.

“Of course we do!” Sirius threw his arms out, and Remus gave him a glare that said please shut the fuck up, “…but we’re also really sorry.”

She hummed as they rounded the Central Hall stairs, where she saw a familiar red head speaking to someone off to the side of the corridor. 

“Hey Lils,” she stopped beside her friend, happy for the distraction from the two morons trailing after her like needy puppies.

“Oh…hey!” Lily seemed nervous, and when the realization of who she was talking with sunk in, it all made sense.

Severus was sneering at them, eyes dragging to Remus and Sirius behind her.

“Oh Lily,” he patronized, “I’ll never understand why you still surround yourself with this…ilk.”

“Sev please,” Lily whispered, “they’re my friends.”

“Speak up Lils,” Sirius moved beside her, eyes narrowed at the Slytherin, “I don’t think Snivellus can hear you behind that layer of grease coating his head.”

Severus took half a step forward, “Watch yourself, blood traitor.”

Sirius didn’t back down, instead opening his mouth to retort.

“—Enough,” she grabbed his elbow and began to steer him towards the door at the end of the corridor.

“Always good to see you, Sirius. I’ll be sure to pass along your best to your family,” Severus called after them.

Sirius whirled around, breaking her grip, but Remus was there in an instant, pushing his friend around and through the door at the end of the hall. 

Outside in the courtyard, Sirius growled in frustration.

“What a fuckin’ slimy—“

“Don’t let him get to you, he’s just a pathetic little weasel,” she slipped her arm back through his again, steering him towards the glass building across the yard.

“Where are you headed?” Remus asked from behind, still wary of letting Sirius out of his sight.

She turned to glance at him from her peripheral, “The greenhouses.”

Sirius looked at her with raised brows, “I thought you were mad at us?”

“Oh I still am,” she smiled sweetly, “and the only thing that will fix it is to watch you two idiots buy overpriced dirt weed from a pompous pretty boy—” 

From behind, she heard Remus let out a low laugh. 

A smile grew slowly on her face, “—and if you’re nice, maybe I’ll share my top secret Hufflepuff contacts with you.”

Sirius grumbled something that sounded an awful lot like evil woman, making her grin wider.

[underacalicosky]

20 Question Fic Writer Tag

Yayyy! Thanks for tagging me @grapenehifics 😁 And thanks to @ineffable-snowman for tagging me too! ❤️

How many works do you have on ao3?

I only have six Obikin fics on AO3, which isn’t a lot, but I’m hoping to write more! I’ve posted fics for a different fandom that I’m no longer active in, but that was a lifetime ago and I don’t monitor those fics anymore.

2.) What's your ao3 word count? 

AO3 says 107,086. I know that’s not a lot compared to some folks, but it’s more than I thought I’d get to when I started writing again a few months ago.

3.) What fandoms do you write for? 

Right now, only Prequels/Clone Wars Star Wars, and only Obikin because they’ve taken over my brain. And mainly modern AUs, but I have couple ideas that are in the Star Wars universe.

4.) What are your top five fics by kudos?

Cruel Summer (Intern AU) - 175

Edge of Greatness (Figure skating AU) - 132

The Next Model (Top Model AU) - 125

Heartbreak Prince (Same age HS AU) - 70

In Good Hands (Hairstylist AU) - 69

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

Yes, I always respond to comments! I try to respond within a few days. But yes, I love comments. I’m grateful that someone would take the time to not only read my fics, but to also leave a note or an emoji or wall of text 😭 so I try to show my appreciation by responding. Sometimes I’ll get a comment that’s really touching and I’ll reread it when I’m having a bad day. I love when I get into little side convos or hearing about headcanons in the comments!

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

I’m incapable of writing anything but a happy ending for Obikin. I want so badly for them to find peace and joy together, whether that’s through lots of cuddles and sex or a platonic life-long friendship.

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

All of them? 😁 I like to end my fics in a way where they’re at a good place, and afterward they run off and have more adventures and I might not know exactly what they’re up to, but I know they’re happy.

8.) Do you get hate on fics?

Not since I’ve written for the SW and Obikin fandom. Everyone here has been wonderful and encouraging and kind of feral in the most amazing way. I can’t tell you how much I love love love the positive vibes.

It wasn’t always like that in my previous fandom and I eventually left. Although, it wasn’t really hate. I started getting comments about how I wasn’t incorporating certain extreme kinks (which I didn’t know how to write), sort of suggesting that what I wrote wasn’t interesting. And there were plenty of writers who did write those kinks so it was a little baffling. I’m a firm believer that everyone should be able to read or write whatever they like without judgment or shame, but it got to the point where my confidence took a huge hit and I wasn’t having fun anymore.

9.) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I do write smut! Soft, fluffy, vanilla smut where they look at each other with hearts in their eyes. If my smut were a cake, it would be funfetti.

10.) Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

No, but I like putting them modern AUs so maybe the Top Model fic is kind of a crossover?

11.) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I didn’t realize this was a thing. How do I know if a fic has been stolen?

12.) Have you ever had a fic translated?

A couple years after I left my previous fandom, someone reached out and asked if they could translate one of my fics into a different language. It was really heartwarming and humbling to hear that something I wrote resonated with someone enough to make them want to translate it and share it. I said yes, but I’m not sure I ever got the link to the translated version.

13.) Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

I co-wrote a big bang with another author for my previous fandom. It was a lot of fun and someone made a playlist to go with our fic. We had similar writing styles, to the point that our betas got confused over who wrote which chapters.

14.) What's your all time favorite ship?

Probably Obikin. Their dynamic is so intriguing to me. There’s endless possibilities. Plus, the authors in this fandom are so freaking talented and creative and that fuels my love for them.

15.) What's a WIP you'd like to finish, but doubt you ever will?

I don’t have too many WIP at the moment. I only have two that have actual words, the rest are ideas that haven’t solidified yet. But I plan to finish the ones I’ve started writing.

16.) What are your writing strengths?

I’m terrible at self-assessments. I like to think that I can create a feeling of longing or pining. I love a slow burn, especially a friends to lovers type relationship, and that’s where I like to live with the things I write. There’s that phase where they’re both too afraid to tell the other how they feel. But they stare longingly and wonder if the other’s thinking of them too. And maybe there’s miscommunication or an ill-conceived reason for why they can’t be together that leads to some mild angst before they confess their love and fuck all gentle and sweet.

17.) What are your writing weaknesses?

Writing anything that has a complex plot or interwoven side plots. I’m very linear and simplistic. I’m always so impressed when I read something and the plot has been intricately planned and the little details tie together in the end. These are truly talented writers. Like, you should be publishing novels and getting paid. If I had more time and brain space, I’d love to try planning something more complex someday.

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

I’m not against it, but I can barely post anything without typos in English so I wouldn’t trust myself to include dialogue in another language.

19.) First fandom you wrote for?

X-files, Mulder/Scully. I didn’t post it to gossamer. I just had it on my computer and was too scared to show it to anyone.

20.) Favorite fic you've ever written?

This is tough, and it’s going to be a long and rambly answer.

Definitely the fics I’ve written for Obikin are my favorites. And if I had to pick one of them, it would probably be Edge of Greatness, only because it was the first thing I posted to AO3 in about 12 years.

I started writing fics again a few months ago as a way to do something for myself because most of my life revolves around taking care of my family. I had the idea in my head for about a month before I finally dusted off my old 2008 Macbook and wrote the whole thing in about three weeks. It was such a freeing feeling to be writing again, but I still had that criticism in my head. At that time, I wasn’t sure I wanted to share it once I finished it, but I also was trying to challenge myself.

I took baby steps. I got a new AO3 account and sat on it for a week before I began uploading the first few chapters. It was exciting and terrifying at the same time. My hands were shaking when I posted the first four chapters knowing that they would be out there in the world. I was convinced that no one would read them and I was okay with that because the goal I set for myself was to post and not care what other people thought. But the next morning I saw that I had kudos and comments and had a nice little cry. Some people, like @grapenehifics left comments in every chapter and I can’t put into words what that meant to me. So I’m not sure that it’s my best fic, but it holds special meaning to me and I’ll always love it for that reason.

I’m tagging anyone who writes fics and wants to share! I love reading these types of responses! ❤️

[hd-wireless]

📻🎶 H/D WIRELESS 2023 - WEEKLY WRAP-UP #5

Five weeks of Wireless posting have passed. What a time to be alive!

After this we have roughly half a week of posting waiting for us and then that’s it! Are you already excited for reveals?

We will have one small wrap-up left to do and then it’s time for the guessing game!

Here’s a timeline for the rest of the fest:

Final wrap-up: Friday, August 11th

Anon masterpost and guessing game: Saturday, August 12th

Reveals and game winner announced: Saturday, August 19th

Until then, check out what you've missed in our round up for week five.

As always you can listen to the prompted songs for the works we post on two playlists:  

Click here for Spotify (many thanks to @evaeleanor for helping us out there) ❤️

And here for the YouTube playlist.

Please enjoy this week’s entries below the cut:

🎶 H/D Wireless Art 🎶

📻 Shivers and Cold Champagne [T, Digital Art]

🎵 Song Prompt: Padam Padam by Kylie Minogue

🎵 Summary:

"Padam, padam, I hear it and I know..."

Sometimes, you meet someone in the club, and you just know...

...they’re all in.

🎶 H/D Wireless Fic and Art 🎶

📻 The Waiting [E, 43,494, Digital Art]

🎵 Song Prompt: 'this tornado loves you' by 'neko case'

🎵 Summary:

It’s been almost ten years since Draco Malfoy disappeared during a routine Curse Breaker training exercise. Harry, his partner in more ways than one, is determined to figure out why. As the past resurfaces and the present fades into confusion, Harry discovers the only thing more unreliable than memory is love. 

🎶 H/D Wireless Fic 🎶

📻 Sun Thief [E, 28,228]

🎵 Song Prompt: ‘Anti-Hero’ by ‘Taylor Swift’

🎵 Summary:

“You’re stunning,” Harry blurts out, because Draco is pink-cheeked and his mouth is bitten and plump. Gasping beneath Harry, working his cock in his fist. “Say my name when you come?”

It’s 2005, and Draco Malfoy says, “Fuck the Ministry,” Harry works as a handyman in muggle London, and Draco should really stop pissing off the Squib gangs.

Or: Harry beats up a pimp and isn’t sorry about it, Draco deals black market potions, and they’re shagging. Again.

📻 Better not Touch (Don't Touch) [E, 8,945]

🎵 Song Prompt: Poison by Alice Cooper

🎵 Summary:

Harry is happy with his life, running a shop in Diagon Alley and spending plenty of time with his husband. When he is cursed, his and Draco’s relationship is put to the test. Can they move forwards together even if they have to put distance between them?

📻 Stars By the Pocketful [T, 2,151]

🎵 Song Prompt: 'Snow On the Beach' by Taylor Swift (feat. Lana Del Rey)

🎵 Summary:

Draco arrives first, to scope out the place and pick the best bed before Potter can beat him to it.

📻 Lover, Where Do You Live? [E, 38,079]

🎵 Song Prompt: 'Lover, Where Do You Live?' by 'Highasakite'

🎵 Summary:

Harry Potter has been running away since the War, disappearing into his job as a freelance curse-breaker. Work is his life. Home doesn't exist.

He's about to disappear again when he runs into Death Eater-turned-Healer Draco Malfoy.

It's supposed to be a one-night-stand. They're not supposed to pine for each other. Harry's not supposed to sleep with Draco a second time.

Or a third.

Or a fourth.

But when a nasty curse sends Harry back into Draco's arms, he might be forced to admit that home's been waiting for him all along…

📻 as it was [M, 6,476]

🎵 Song Prompt: As It Was by Harry Styles

🎵 Summary:

'in this world, it's just us. you know it's not the same as it was.'

📻 What is this feeling? [E, 4,734]

🎵 Song Prompt: What is this feeling? By Idina Menzel and Kristin Chenoweth

🎵 Summary:

New auror candidates are required to spend their first six months of training living in ministry dorms. While Draco requested a single dorm he finds himself sharing a room with the savior of the wizarding world. It’s loathing at first sight, or is it?

📻 the eighth sin [E, 16,834]

🎵 Song Prompt: 'Seven Devils' by 'Florence and the Machine'

🎵 Summary:

When Draco is sentenced to five years of house arrest, without magic, alone, the only person to visit him is Potter. But Draco’s beginning to doubt whether Potter is really there at all. 

📻 Wrong in all the Right Ways [E, 3,951]

🎵 Song Prompt: 'Raise Your Glass' by 'P!nk'

🎵 Summary:

Draco is pretty sure that Potter is trying to kill him.

Not in, like a murdery sort of way. There’s been too much atonement and forgiveness and redemption for that. Too many difficult conversations that ended, more than once, with awkward hugs. Maybe even some tears. They’re not friends obviously, but at the very least, they’ve moved past the past. (Mostly.) So no, Potter’s definitely not trying to kill him in a permanent death sort of way, but more like…

In a horny sort of way.

[larkthorne]

[Image ID: the cover of a book: Laundry Love: Finding Joy In A Common Chore by Patric Richardson with Karin B. Miller. The title is in rainbow letters on a yellow background with a stylized drawing of a front load washing machine with a heart on the door in the middle of the cover. /End ID]

Hello to all of you with laundry on chairs, etc, whose executives also fail to function, hope you're well, etc.

Just want to recommend this book to anyone who dislikes laundry or can't keep on top of it! I listened to the audiobook a couple months ago and it has changed the way I do laundry. Here's a TL;DR summary but if you can get this book from your library or whatever it's a charming, easy, quick read.

The basic gist of this life-changing laundry method is, you look at your week. You pick a day that works. That's laundry day babey. Six days a week, don't worry about it. On laundry day, do something. (Caveat: my laundry day is nominally Wednesday but well. It does shift around! For my two person household, as long as I don't go longer than 10 days between Laundry Day we're fine. Your mileage may vary.) Laundry!

Laundry Day, per the method in Laundry Love, is a celebration. One puts on a fun playlist. One watches a trashy romcom while folding. One has a disco ball in one's laundry room, etc. Laundry Day is for enacting care on the things that go on your body everyday.

(I've not quite got that far, but I do try to make it pleasant. I like an audiobook or a podcast.)

The method has you split your clothes into lights, darks, warm colors, and cool colors. I don't think this is like, totally necessary - I like to do it, but if it was a very low spoons day, just sort of making two to four mid-size piles regardless of color would be fine. It is handy to have more smaller piles rather than one or two big ones, in my experience - more on that later.

Before you wash each load, ideally you pretreat stains (the book goes into detail, i mostly just scrub soap onto stains with a toothbrush which mostly works).

(There are also ways you can process silky fabric and wool fabric to allow it to go in the machine instead of dry cleaning or just chucking it in and hoping for the best! Basically: laundry net bags. Silky things in them. Roll up wool sweaters or w/e tightly, then put in the net bag, and pin down the excess. But also, if you don't have silky or wool things, like. Don't worry about it.)

Each load of laundry is washed on warm, on the quick cycle, with extra/high spin. Use like. A tablespoon of eco-friendly clothing detergent. I use a tablespoon of washing soda in the detergent drawer of my front loader and 2 tablespoons of castile soap in the drum of the washer, because Nancy Birtwhistle from Great British Bake-Off told me to, and it's very cheap per load and very effective. But it is better to use eco friendly stuff where you can because it leads to less irritants and pollutants and, this is key, less buildup on your clothes. And use less -- a tablespoon is plenty.

The short cycle on warm is enough to get your clothes clean! Without letting them get too beat up for longer than they need. The extra spin gets them dryer so they take less time to dry.

It is ideal to dry things by hanging them on a line or whatever! That's the platonic ideal of laundry. Clothes last longer and smell nice if you dry them outside. But I've had a Month Or Two and I've been using the dryer. It does wear your clothes out faster and uses up not-strictly-necessary energy but you gotta make it out of the laundry chair cycle somehow so do what you gotta do.

The good thing about the three or four small-to-mid piles of laundry is, as they come out of the dryer, you can fold it and put it away promptly, and it can feel far less overwhelming than looking at Mount Laundry.

Rotate through the piles you made earlier - quick cycle in the wash, dry them somehow, put them away. Only one day a week! The book suggests this takes 3-4 hours. I get tired if I try to do it all at once so I tend to let it take all day, taking breaks as necessary, but it's like, my only chore to do that day. (I still sometimes leave the last load of laundry in the dryer...)

The book offers tips for if you use a laundromat too! I don't, so can't speak to that. I think, though, having the same mindset: one day a week (ish) everything gets done. Some weeks that's aspirational, but there's always another go.

But, crucially: if it's not Laundry Day, simply do not worry about laundry. Put it in a hamper and that's that.

It's not perfect and it won't work for everyone I'm sure, but I learned a lot from the book (despite having a background in costuming and being a hobby sewist - I know about taking care of fabric! And I learned a lot). I really enjoy assigning a day to be For Laundry, and just allowing it to fall off the radar the other days. I always know another Laundry Day is coming.

Anyway! That's me done being bossy on the internet today. Happy laundry!

[that-gay-jedi]

Dunno about all other Romance languages but a big thing both French and Spanish have going for them over English IMHO (besides not committing the sin of split infinitives) is how the concepts of Do and Make kinda share a single verb in faire and hacer respectively.

Sure you can do things that arguably don't create anything (I say arguably because they do create a moment in time, and via that moment in time a small fraction of your future self, and may create experiences for others who observe, etc) and there are plenty of instances in Spanish at least of actions that create something tangible but use a verb besides hacer, but that's not what I'm getting at- first language anglophones may garden instead of doing the garden, but we "do" groceries and "make" soup whereas Spanish uses hacer for both.

Like I dunno, look at all the instances of times I want to make- a story or poem, a plan, a fan edit or playlist, a decent breakfast, or even just a post- but kinda flop over early into the real meat of the process- would I struggle some indeterminate smidgen less with the doing part OF making if my first language didn't provide me with two separate common-use words to express it, implicitly priming some level of my brain to see them as two distinct concepts?

People are people everywhere and it isn't like procrastination, tiredness, overwhelm, laziness or anhedonia cease to exist outside anglophone-dominated spheres, but how many colours a person has names for directly shapes how well someone can tell two close shades of an affected colour apart. Two people might have an identical setup of cone cells in their eyes, but seeing is more than raw vision- one of the cone cell besties might have синий and голубой while the other only has blue. A demonstrable cognitive difference born out of a linguistic one.

And the flipside- if my physio consisted of "making stretches" and "making reps" of each exercise instead of "doing stretches" and "doing reps" I wonder if it would be just a little more connected to the idea of creating something in my subconscious and therefore seem just a little bit more rewarding. Not enough to determine whether or not I still do it, but maybe enough to make six reps instead of doing five.